l such boys and so plucky in the face of certain
knowledge.

This morning I woke up thinking of our motor-tour of two years ago in
England, and especially of our first evening at The Three Cups in
Dorset. I feel like running down there to see it all again if I get any
leave on landing. How strange it will be to go back to Highbury again
like this! The little boy who ran back and forth to school down Paradise
Row little thought of the person who to-day masquerades as his elder
self.

Heigho! I wish I could tell you a lot of things that I'm not allowed to.
This letter would be much more interesting then.

In seventeen days the boys will also have left you--so this will arrive
when you're horribly lonely. I'm so sorry for you dear people--but I'd
be sorrier for you if we were all with you. If I were a father or
mother, I'd rather have my sons dead than see them failing when the
supreme sacrifice was called for. I marvel all the time at the prosaic
and even coarse types of men who have risen to the greatness of the
occasion. And there's not a man aboard who would have chosen the job
ahead of him. One man here used to pay other people to kill his pigs
because he couldn't endure the cruelty of doing it himself. And now
he's going to kill men. And he's a sample. I wonder if there is a Lord
God of Battles--or is he only an invention of man and an excuse for
man's own actions.

Monday.

We are just in--safely arrived in spite of everything. I hope you had no
scare reports of our having been sunk--such reports often get about when
a big troop ship is on the way.

I'm baggage master for my draft, and have to get on deck now. You'll
have a long letter from me soon.

Good-bye,
Yours ever,
Con.

IV

SHORNCLIFF, August 19th, 1916.

MY DEARESTS:

We haven't had any hint of what is going to happen to us--whether Field
Artillery, the Heavies or trench mortars. There seems little doubt that
we are to be in England for a little while taking special courses.

I read father's letter yesterday. You are very brave--you never thought
that you would be the father of a soldier and sailors; and, as you say,
there's a kind of tradition about the way in which the fathers of
soldiers and sailors should act. Confess--aren't you more honestly happy
to be our father as we are now than as we were? I know quite well you
are, in spite of the l