I’m the happiest person in London to-day at the thought of my return. This is quite unreasonable, when I sit down to calculate the certain discomfort and danger. I can’t explain it, unless it is that only by being at the Front can I feel that I am living honourably. I’ve been self-contemptuous every minute that I’ve been out of the line. I began to doubt myself and to wonder whether all my protestations of wanting to get back, were not a camouflage for cowardice. I can prove to myself that they weren’t now. “The Canadians will advance or die to a man,” were the words that General Currie sent to his troops. Isn’t it magnificent to be included in such a chivalrous adventure? I don’t think you’ll read about the Canadians retiring. Whatever happens I’ve had a grand romance out of life—there’s nothing of which to complain. I owe destiny no grudge. The world has been kind. I don’t think I shall get killed; I never have thought that. But if I am, it will be as fine an ending to a full day’s work as heart could desire. I think I’m younger than I ever was. I no longer know satiety. The job in front of me fills all my soul and mind. I’m going to prove to myself and others that my books are not mere heroic sentiment. Going out a second time, despite the chances to hang back, will give a sincerity to what I’ve been trying to say to America. Heaps of people would think it brutal to want so much to go where men are being slaughtered—but it isn’t the slaughtering that attracts, it’s the winning of the ideal that calls me. C. has command of my battery now. He’s a fine chap. You remember how he left London before his leave was up, “because he wanted to be among men.” That’s the sort he is, and I admire him. XXXVII London April 14, 1918 We’re sitting together in the little flat at Battersea, and Reggie is with us. It’s Sunday afternoon. To-morrow morning early I set out for France. The little party wanted me to sleep here to-night so that they could get up about 6 a.m. and see me off. I wouldn’t have that. So we’re going to say good-bye comfortably to-night and the boys will sleep with me at a hotel just outside the station. You can’t guess how glad I am at the thought of going back. I was afraid I should never be a fighting man again. Now that I’m once more to be allowed to do my bit I feel extraordinarily grateful. I have the silly feeling that just one more man might make all the difference at such a crisis, and I’m jealous lest, when so many are being called upon for an exaggerated display of heroism, I should lose my chance. I know now why soldiers sing when they go out to war—they’re so proud that they have been chosen for the sacrifice. The boys came down to camp with me and lived near to the camp. I took an anti-gas defence course before re-joining in France. Friday night we came up to town and we’ve had a very jolly time.