Dundreary,"
who, in his melancholy way, became quite jovial. I rode "Bob" every day
after that and felt that after all life was worth living again.

On November 11th came the news of the armistice. The flags and
rejoicings in the town seemed to jar somehow. I was glad to be out of
London. A drizzle set in about noon and the waves beat against the
cliffs in a steady boom not unlike the guns now silent across the water.
Through the mist I seemed to see the ghosts of all I knew who had been
sacrificed in the prime of their youth to the god of war. I saw the
faces of the men in the typhoid wards and heard again the groans as the
wounded and dying were lifted from the ambulance trains on to the
stretchers. It did not seem a time for loud rejoicings, but rather a
quiet thankfulness that we had ended on the right side and their lives
had not been lost in vain.

The words of Robert Nichols' "Fulfilment," from _Ardours and Endurances_
(Chatto & Windus), rang through my brain. He has kindly given me
permission to reproduce them:

Was there love once? I have forgotten her.
Was there grief once? Grief yet is mine.
Other loves I have, men rough, but men who stir
More grief, more joy, than love of thee and mine.

Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth,
Lined by the wind, burned by the sun;
Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth,
As whose children we are brethren: one.

And any moment may descend hot death
To shatter limbs! pulp, tear, blast
Beloved soldiers, who love rough life and breath
Not less for dying faithful to the last.

O the fading eyes, the grimed face turned bony,
Open mouth gushing, fallen head,
Lessening pressure of a hand shrunk, clammed, and stony
O sudden spasm, release of the dead!

Was there love once? I have forgotten her.
Was there grief once? Grief yet is mine.
O loved, living, dying, heroic soldier
All, all, my joy, my grief, my love are thine!

CHAPTER XIX

AFTER TWO YEARS

My dream of going out to work again with the F.A.N.Y.s was never
realised. Something always seemed to be going wrong with the leg; but I
was determined to try and pay them a visit before they were demobilised.
On these occasions the word "impossible" must be cut out of one's
vocabulary (_vide_ Napoleon), and off I set one fine morning. Everything
seemed strangely unaltered, the same old train down to Folkestone, t