(Don't argue: only wonder! We the Huns did this. Why discuss what we
have done? We have destroyed your city. Gape and stare, stupid fools!
What does it matter to us? We took your precious town from you, because
we wanted it. Now we don't want it any more. Here it is back again.
With our love.) Some merry soldier wrote that up, I suppose. It was a
pity.
There were French officers in ---- to-day. I spoke to one. He answered
with a quiet, simple bitterness and determination that would have turned
even a Hohenzollern pale, I think. Unhappy Emperor! he must be feeling
decidedly uneasy nowadays.
Another odd sight was a tub full of water, with a little dog trying to
get out. But the little dog was dead. A crump evidently landed somewhere
near, and just petrified him, as it were. You often see men like that,
struck dead in the middle of some act. Men are usually turned a dull
purplish or greenish black. So was this little dog. We ate a delicious
lunch on the battlements, our legs dangling 50 feet above the reedy
water. Lots of moorhen and coot swimming about.
The sun was warm. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. What a heavenly world
it is!
_April 6._
After a hectic day comes this chance of writing to you. Eleven-thirty
p.m.
Would you like to hear about night flying? I didn't go, but I sketched
the others going. And these are some notes. A bombing raid. It had been
ordered in the morning. A raid on ----. After a cheery dinner we trooped
out, singing foolish songs. The hangars a few hundred yards away across
the mud. They looked huge and eerie, looming up from the dark ground,
all stately in the moonlight. The moon had a halo, but was very bright,
bright enough to sketch by.
[Sidenote: NIGHT FLYING]
Six flares were flickering at intervals round the aerodrome. A vivid
orange colour against the dim blue sky. The horizon was greyer, and
little flames flashed intermittently from it. There were the aeroplanes
waiting.
It was very cold. Soon the mechanics were starting the machines. The
usual loud spurting and fizzing till presently the first machine begins
to move. A big semi-luminous beetle lurching forward; then faster and
faster and away, lifting up, up, up into the night. Only the lights
visible now, but you can hear the hum of the engines a long way off.
Other machines follow. The sky is full of twinkling fairies. They circle
about for a bit, and then all head towards the east. Gradually the
humming dies away in the distance. Look out for yourselves, you sleeping
Huns!
A long while afterwards the humming again.
The first aeroplane is coming home. There he is. Gradually lower and
nearer. The machine descends smoothly on to the ground, turns and
"taxis," spitting angrily towards the hangar where it lives. Muffled
figures get out, and the mechanics take in the machine tail first to its
home. What? oh yes, quite successful. Smashed the place to blazes.
Anyone got a cigarette? Other machines begin coming in. It's such a
clear night that we still stand about in groups waiting for the last one
to arrive. Damn it all! where can old Rupert have got to? We'll just
wait till he comes back, and then bundle off to bed. Anxious? Good Lord,
no! What about?
Suddenly a small sharp flash high up in the night. Another and another.
The Huns! They are coming. Archie is shelling them. Now another Archie
poops off nearer here. Quick! Where's the orderly officer?
In a couple of minutes all is dark. Gradually the drone of the Huns,
high up in the air, becomes audible. No. They seem to be steering more
towards ----. Searchlights from three different directions grope slowly
to and fro. Where the devil are the Huns? The searchlights cannot find
them. They must be cruising somewhere up above those thin cirrus clouds.
Are they going to drop bombs on us? No, their direction is too far
south. The searchlights cannot find them.
[Sidenote: THE END]
No sign of Rupert yet. Probably he has landed at another aerodrome. Dear
old Rupert. One of the very best in this world. He'll be all right. Come
on. It's too cold. Let's turn in.
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