secular
Frenchmen, all fighting on the one side against another side
which includes Catholics, Protestants and Mohammedans? I say what
matter what a man believes if he does his duty?

The last two or three days I have spent in more or less local
work, meaning by that districts within about ten miles of
headquarters. I have been in the saddle all day, from 9 _A.M._ to
7 _P.M._, the only interval being for lunch. Riding is glorious
sport. I don't think I shall ever be able to live without a horse
in the future. I have been using here one of my own mares, and
a fine charger belonging to a 9th Lancer employed at H.Q. (you
remember it was this regiment that made the famous charge at Le
Cateau back in October). It is a glorious steed this, full of
"devil," and a bit bad-tempered. My own big mare is a rather
quiet horse, very good at trotting long distances; my other one
is smaller but more fiery. I prefer to ride whenever possible a
horse that really takes some managing.

_September 8th, 1915._

I am glad you are invigorated and pleased with your trip to the
land of Burns and Harry Lauder. The Scottish Highlands are the
exact opposite of these flat plains. Never in my life have I seen
a district so absolutely level as this. There are but three hills
in these parts, and these are the only landmarks for miles and
miles. Otherwise every road is like every other, every field and
every clump of trees the same. The roads are all either dead
straight or, in the case of side roads, full of right-angle
bends. There is nothing of that sinuous curving which
characterises English country roads. As you get nearer the
firing-line the roads become worse owing to the passage of Army
traffic, till finally they end up in mere broad tracks full of
holes and humps. When the weather is bad the mud is
appalling--even the Dulwich footer-ground variety comes a bad
second--added to which there is, in the case of main roads, the
nuisance of a most unlevel _pave_, which, it is true, keeps free
from mud, but to travel along which in a motor-car is torture.
The way the Army lorries go bumping along--many of them old
motor-buses with the top parts discarded--is stupendous. It is a
strange sight occasionally to see approaching you a