again and go back to sleep: I decided to swim before
breakfast. So down to the beach. Hovered
on the shingle by the waterline, told myself not to be so feeble, etc., and
plunged in. Water pearly grey, absolutely bloody freezing, but, after
the first shock, total exhilaration. I stood for a while afterwards up to my
knees, feeling the surge and suck round my legs, neither in the sea nor on the
land. Marvellous. Still the slanting
light of early morning. Worm casts on the beach very prominent, the sun
casting vast shadows from little things, and I thought of the beach outside
Edinburgh where I made love to Sarah for the first time. Went straight back and
wrote to her. Then walked through town, giving myself small treats, chocolates,
etc. and avoiding other officers.
Saw Hallet with
his family, looking quite desperate. All of them, but I meant Hallet. Poor
little bugger's had a station goodbye that's lasted for days. I waved and
passed on.
On board
People playing
cards below deck, but there's quite a heave on the sea, and I'd rather be out
here watching it. Great bands of pale green in the wake, laced with thick foam,
and terns hovering, riding rather—only the most fractional adjustment of their
wings needed to keep them motionless. And they come quite close.
Watched the cliffs
disappear. Tried to think of something worthy of the occasion and came up with: The further out from England the nearer is to France, and then
couldn't get rid of the bloody thing, it just ran round and round my head.
Hallet came up
and stood a few yards away, not wanting to intrude on what he took to be a fond
farewell to the motherland. In the end I gave in, we sat down and talked. Full of idealism. I'd rather have had the Walrus and the
Carpenter.
It's very
obvious that Hallet's adopted me. Like one of those little pilot fish or the
terns for that matter. He thinks because I've been out three times before I
know what's going on. Seems a bright enough lad. I
wonder how long it'll take him to work out that nobody knows what's
going on?
Sunday, 1 September
Étaples
marginally less brutal than I remember it, though still a squad of men passed
me running the gauntlet of the canaries, who yelled abuse in their faces much
as they always did. And you think , All right it has to
be brutal—think what they're being toughened up for —but actually
that misses the point. It's the impersonality that forms the biggest part of the sheer fucking
nastiness of this place. Nobody knows anybody. You marshal men around—they
don't know you, don't trust you (why should they?) and you don't invest
anything in them.
Same feeling, in
a milder form, between the officers. We sleep in dormitories, and it's the same feeling
you get on big wards in hospitals—privacy sacrificed without intimacy being
gained.
Hallet's in the
next bed. He sat on his bed this evening and showed me a photograph of his
girl— fiancée, I should say. His parents think he's too young to marry, which
he fiercely objects to, pointing out that he's old enough for this. Of course I
don't think he's old enough for this either, but I don't say so. Instead I told him I'd
got engaged too and showedhim a photograph of Sarah.
And then we sat smiling at each other inanely, feeling like complete idiots.
Well, I did.
Wednesday, 4 September
Time passes
quickly here. Enough to do during the day, and a fair amount
of free time. But the atmosphere's awful. The mess has scuffed no-colour
lino—the colour of misery, if misery has a colour— and a big round table in the
middle, covered with dog-eared copies of Punch and John Bull , exactly like a
dentist's waiting-room. The same pervasive fear. The
same reluctance to waste time on people you're probably never going to see
again anyway.
I get out as
often as I can. Walked miles today, great windswept sandy foothills, and a long
line of stunted pines all leaning away from the sea.
Saturday, 7 September
Posted to the
2nd Manchesters. We
breakfast. So down to the beach. Hovered
on the shingle by the waterline, told myself not to be so feeble, etc., and
plunged in. Water pearly grey, absolutely bloody freezing, but, after
the first shock, total exhilaration. I stood for a while afterwards up to my
knees, feeling the surge and suck round my legs, neither in the sea nor on the
land. Marvellous. Still the slanting
light of early morning. Worm casts on the beach very prominent, the sun
casting vast shadows from little things, and I thought of the beach outside
Edinburgh where I made love to Sarah for the first time. Went straight back and
wrote to her. Then walked through town, giving myself small treats, chocolates,
etc. and avoiding other officers.
Saw Hallet with
his family, looking quite desperate. All of them, but I meant Hallet. Poor
little bugger's had a station goodbye that's lasted for days. I waved and
passed on.
On board
People playing
cards below deck, but there's quite a heave on the sea, and I'd rather be out
here watching it. Great bands of pale green in the wake, laced with thick foam,
and terns hovering, riding rather—only the most fractional adjustment of their
wings needed to keep them motionless. And they come quite close.
Watched the cliffs
disappear. Tried to think of something worthy of the occasion and came up with: The further out from England the nearer is to France, and then
couldn't get rid of the bloody thing, it just ran round and round my head.
Hallet came up
and stood a few yards away, not wanting to intrude on what he took to be a fond
farewell to the motherland. In the end I gave in, we sat down and talked. Full of idealism. I'd rather have had the Walrus and the
Carpenter.
It's very
obvious that Hallet's adopted me. Like one of those little pilot fish or the
terns for that matter. He thinks because I've been out three times before I
know what's going on. Seems a bright enough lad. I
wonder how long it'll take him to work out that nobody knows what's
going on?
Sunday, 1 September
Étaples
marginally less brutal than I remember it, though still a squad of men passed
me running the gauntlet of the canaries, who yelled abuse in their faces much
as they always did. And you think , All right it has to
be brutal—think what they're being toughened up for —but actually
that misses the point. It's the impersonality that forms the biggest part of the sheer fucking
nastiness of this place. Nobody knows anybody. You marshal men around—they
don't know you, don't trust you (why should they?) and you don't invest
anything in them.
Same feeling, in
a milder form, between the officers. We sleep in dormitories, and it's the same feeling
you get on big wards in hospitals—privacy sacrificed without intimacy being
gained.
Hallet's in the
next bed. He sat on his bed this evening and showed me a photograph of his
girl— fiancée, I should say. His parents think he's too young to marry, which
he fiercely objects to, pointing out that he's old enough for this. Of course I
don't think he's old enough for this either, but I don't say so. Instead I told him I'd
got engaged too and showedhim a photograph of Sarah.
And then we sat smiling at each other inanely, feeling like complete idiots.
Well, I did.
Wednesday, 4 September
Time passes
quickly here. Enough to do during the day, and a fair amount
of free time. But the atmosphere's awful. The mess has scuffed no-colour
lino—the colour of misery, if misery has a colour— and a big round table in the
middle, covered with dog-eared copies of Punch and John Bull , exactly like a
dentist's waiting-room. The same pervasive fear. The
same reluctance to waste time on people you're probably never going to see
again anyway.
I get out as
often as I can. Walked miles today, great windswept sandy foothills, and a long
line of stunted pines all leaning away from the sea.
Saturday, 7 September
Posted to the
2nd Manchesters. We
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