"I have several times expressed the thought that in our day the
feeling of patriotism is an unnatural, irrational, and harmful
feeling, and a cause of a great part of the ills from which mankind
is suffering; and that, consequently, this feeling should not be
cultivated, as is now being done, but should, on the contrary, be
suppressed and eradicated by all means available to rational men."
(TOLSTOY.)
A change had come over us all. Instead of long spells of dreary silence
interrupted by outbursts of irritability, by grumbling and by violent
quarrels over nothing, there was animated conversations and sometimes
even gaiety. Our talk was all about one subject--not about peace, for we
had abandoned all hope of peace and hardly ever thought of it--but about
leave. We had been waiting for seventeen months when, without warning, a
leave allotment was assigned to our unit. About half a dozen men were
going every day and no one knew whose turn would come next. We were full
of intense excitement and glad expectation, but also of anxiety in case
something should happen to stop our leave altogether.
I made up my mind to enjoy myself thoroughly. I would see parents and
friends and forget all about the army and the war. I would be gay and
frivolous and go to theatres, music-halls and cafés. And one day I would
spend in the British Museum and lose myself in books--that would be
just like old times! Of course, our leave would not last for ever and
the return journey would be terrible. No doubt the fortnight would pass
very quickly, but I determined to enjoy every single hour with
deliberation and understanding, and to squeeze every drop of pleasure
out of it. How many hours were there in a fortnight? More than three
hundred! Many would be wasted in sleep, but still, there would be many
left and by dwelling upon each one, the fortnight would seem an age.
* * * * *
An afternoon and an evening in a train that travelled all too slowly. A
night and half a day at Calais Rest Camp. How terrible was the rankling
impatience that gnawed our hearts as the hours dragged on.
But at last we were on the leave boat. There was another long delay, and
then, with a feeling of immense relief, we heard the engines throb and
the paddle-wheels begin to turn. I looked overboard and saw white foam
hissing along the surface of water rapidly widening between us and the
quay.
Seventeen months of exile and slavery had come to an end and before us
lay a wonderful fortnight of freedom and happiness. And at the end of
the fortnight? There was no need to think of that now.
The sea was blue and smooth and a cool breeze was blowing. We saw the
cliffs of England grow larger and larger. Soon we were able to
distinguish the town of Dover, the houses clustered round the harbour,
and the Castle up on the cliff. It was there that I had begun my career
as a soldier more than two years before. How much had happened since
then! I felt that I had become a different being altogether.
The boat entered the harbour and ran alongside the quay. A train was
waiting for us. We poured out of the ship in two streams that spread out
fan-wise and flowed into the carriages.
It was good to sit by the window in a comfortable compartment and lean
back against soft cushions.
Glad anticipation and barely suppressed excitement were visible on
everybody's face.
The train sped through familiar country: meadows, pastures, cornfields,
orchards and woodlands. People waved their handkerchiefs at us from
cottage windows.
It was growing dark as the first rows of drab suburban houses began to
glide past.
So this was London. I stared out of the window and tried to grasp the
tremendous, wonderful fact with all the power of my mind. Somehow or
other it did not seem real, but I felt I could make it real by an effort
of the will.
Streets and houses and moving people soon crowded the whole view. The
people filled me with intense curiosity. I longed to talk to them and
find out what they felt and thought about the war.
We entered Victoria Station. I opened the door of the compartment with
hasty, trembling hands. I did not wait to change my French money, but
hurried out into a street and got on to a 'bus.
London, with its subdued lights, lay all around me. It had not changed
since I saw it last, and yet I felt it ought to have changed. The reason
was that I had changed. And then I began to fear that I had changed
beyond the power of recovery. The oppressive sensation that I was in a
dream forced itself upon me. I felt that there was only one reality in
the whole world--the war. Would I ever escape from the war? It would
come to an end some day, and I would leave the army, but would not the
war obsess me until the end of my life? Would I ever be myself again?
But this was not the way to enjoy my leave! I began to feel
disappointed at not being so happy as I had expected to be. Why was I
not full of rapture? Why did not every object fill me with delight? But
I ought to have known that habitual discontent and bitterness and revolt
are not shaken off in a few hours or a few days, and that they persist
even after their immediate cause has been removed.
I looked round at the other people sitting on the 'bus. I had visited
foreign countries in former years, but never before had I felt that I
was amongst complete strangers. There are moments when a dog, a horse,
or a bird fills us with a sense of the uncanny--its mind is an insoluble
mystery, with depths so dark and inscrutable that one feels something
that approaches fear and horror. And so it was as I sat on the 'bus. The
civilians around me seemed like animals of a different species. They
were not human at all--or was it I who was not human?
I went to another seat in order to listen to a man and woman who were
talking together. I felt that if they were to talk about the war, the
uncanny spell would be broken, the dream would dissolve and I would be
restored to my own fellow creatures. But they spoke about trivial
domestic matters and about a flower show. If they had only mentioned the
word "war" I would have felt relieved by its familiarity, but they did
not mention it once.
And then, in great mental agony, I said to myself: "I _will_ be happy, I
_will_ enjoy my leave." But a number of invisible cobwebs hung between
myself and the world around me. I tried to brush them away, but they
were so impalpable that the movement of my hand did not disturb them at
all.
I gave up the attempt. I would wait until I got home. Then I would talk
and forget myself--only by forgetting myself would I enjoy the present.
Only those who forget themselves are happy. The obsession of self is
the most oppressive of all burdens.
I descended from a 'bus and took a train. A girl sitting opposite me
stared at my blue chevrons and whispered to her fellow passenger: "He's
just come from the front." So I too was regarded as a strange kind of
animal. I got out at my home-station. I showed my leave-warrant to the
ticket collector. He was a benevolent looking old man. He smiled and
wished me good luck. Things began to seem a little less foreign. And
then the thought of being home in a few minutes absorbed me entirely.
I hurried down the street. I knocked at the door, and it opened. The
long yearned-for meeting took place at last.
I threw my pack, equipment and steel helmet contemptuously into a
corner. I took an infantile delight in clean, furnished rooms, in the
white table-cloth, the shining silver, the cut flowers, and the
oil-paintings on the wall. And we talked until late into the night.
It was good to wake up the next morning and to know that the first day
of my leave was still before me. I felt encouraged to face my new
surroundings boldly. I would understand them and identify myself with
them. If the sensation that I was dreaming came upon me again, I would
welcome it and then I would destroy it once and for all. I would enjoy
my leave at any cost. It would become my only reality, and when it was
over it would be a reality which I would take back to the front. I would
hoard it and always think of it out there, so that the war would seem
like a dream, the end of which I could await with patience and
resignation.
I went out to seek friends and acquaintances. I also hoped to meet some
war enthusiasts. I would tell them something about the war. How would
their theories be able to stand before my actual experiences!