Only yesterday Siegfried Sassoon was settling in to his new trenches. But just as the military temperature began to rise–his first patrol in a year, a bombardment and a casualty, now a raid–he rotated back to reserve.
June 9th
The Bosche came over on our left last night, a small raid against the next battalion. Only a few got into our trenches. This battalion had two killed and eight wounded.
I left the front line at 3 p.m. to-day, and after various delays got back to Habarcq at 11 p.m. So here I am in my quiet room again, with the trees rustling outside, and a very distinct series of war pictures in my head. Coming into it, for a short time, and then straight-out and clear away, leaves one with a very solid impression (like Mr Bottomley’s).
Yes: Sassoon is straightaway reminded of the bizarre rhythm of the trench-holding life. In and out, safety and danger, tense waiting and busy idleness… And what is his impression? He seems now, late as it is, to recognize the disturbing synthesis of those old sensations–the pastoral rear area and the tense trench, the joy of comradeship and the excitement of fighting:
The business-like futility of it is amazing.
But Sassoon doesn’t dwell on the futility. No: it’s the fact that this feels like business–rather than adventure–that strikes him. The old joy of war–which was always a cockeyed, problematic thing–is gone. And now he even admires the way in which the business is conducted:
Those Canadians were fine fighters, decent chaps, bloodthirsty brutes. They were holding their trenches very well; patrols, raids, and complete absence of ‘wind up’.[1]
In a faint English echo of this psychologically challenging back-and-forth pattern of trench-holding, Cynthia Asquith is back for a second stint as a nurse. After a few weeks on and then a few off, she returned to the hospital yesterday, and sounded a bit discouraged:
Saturday, 8th June
My first day in hospital. A convoy had arrived the night before—twenty-three new cases and they were all in bed, so we had a very heavy day. I spent the morning in the ‘slums’ washing bandages, etc. Nearly all our old favourites are gone…
Again, not unlike Sassoon coming back to a battalion that is no longer is, but finding meaning in caring for the (new) men under him. And indeed, by today, a century back, Asquith has warmed to the routine.
Sunday, 9th June
A veil seemed to have lifted between one and all the new men. Suddenly their individual personalities began to emerge, and one felt the almost tearful tenderness one had for the old ones…[2]