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Still, the sacrifice was well meant.
THE GOLDEN VALLEY.
Abbeydore, Abbeydore, Land of apples and of gold, Where the lavish field-gods pour Song and cider manifold; Gilded land of wheat and rye, Land where laden branches cry, "Apples for the young and old Ripe at Abbeydore!"
Abbeydore, Abbeydore, Where the shallow river spins Elfin spells for evermore, Where the mellow kilderkins Hoard the winking apple-juice For the laughing reapers' use; All the joy of life begins There at Abbeydore.
Abbeydore, Abbeydore, In whose lap of wonder teems Largess from a wizard store, World of idle, crooning streams-- From a stricken land of pain May I win to you again, Garden of the God of Dreams, Golden Abbeydore.
AT THE FRONT.
There is one matter I have hitherto not touched on, because it has not hitherto touched on me, and that is Courses.
The ideal course works like this. You are sitting up to the ears in mud under a brisk howitzer, trench mortar and rifle grenade fire, when a respectful signaller crawls round a traverse, remarking, "Message, Sir."
You take the chit from him languidly, wondering whether you have earned a court-martial by omitting to report on the trench sleeping-suits which someone in the Rearward Services has omitted to forward, and you read, still languidly at first; then you get up and whoop, throw your primus stove into the air and proceed to dance on the parapet, if your trench has one. Then you settle down and read your message again to see if it still runs, "You are detailed to attend three months' Staff work course at Boulogne, commencing to-morrow. A car will be at the dump for you to-night. A month's leave on completion, of course."
But all courses are not like this; all you can say is that some are less unlike it than others. I was sitting in a warm billet about twelve noon having breakfast on the first day out of trenches when the blow fell on me. I was to report about two days ago at a School of Instruction some two hundred yards away. I gathered that the course had started without me. I set some leisurely inquiries in train, in the hope that it might be over before I joined up. I also asked the Adjutant whether I couldn't have it put off till next time in trenches, or have it debited to me as half a machine-gun course payable on demand, or exchange it for a guinea-pig or a canary, or do anything consistent with the honour of an officer to stave it off. For to tell the truth, like all people who know nothing and have known it for a long time, I cherish a deeply-rooted objection to being instructed.
Unfortunately the Adjutant is one of those weak fellows who always tell you that they are mere machines in the grip of the powers that change great nations. So on the third day I bought a nice new slate and satchel and joined up.
Even now, after some days of intense instruction, I find my condition is a little confused and foggy. Of course it covers practically the whole field of military interests, and I ought to be able to win the War in about three-quarters of an hour, given a reasonable modicum of men, guns, indents, physical training and bayonet exercise, knowledge of military law, and acquaintance with the approved methods of conducting a casualty clearing station, a mechanical transport column, and a field kitchen. The confusion of mind evident in this last sentence is a high testimonial to the comprehensive nature of our course.
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