"I do not reckon that I often have conscious intuitions; and when I have had vivid dreams they have not meant anything, though once or twice I have recorded them because I have them seldom. I happen, however, to have had an intuition this morning, before I was more than half awake, which, though not specially vivid, perhaps I had better record, namely, that an attack was going on at the present moment, that my son was in it, but that 'they' were taking care of him. I had this clearly in mind before seeing the morning papers; and indeed I do not know that there is anything in the morning papers suggesting it, since of course their news is comparatively old. One might have surmised, however, that there would be a struggle for Hill 60, and I know that my son is not far off Ypres. (By the way, I have been told that the Flemish Belgians really do call it 'Wipers'; it does not sound likely, and it needs confirmation. I know of course that our troops are said to call it so, which is natural enough.) O. J. L." I now (August 1916) notice for the first time that the coincidence in time between dream and fact is rather good, especially as it was the only dream or 'impression' that I remember having during the war. Practically I do not dream. But as this incident raises the question of possible presentiment I must deny that we had any serious presentiment about Raymond. My wife tells me that her anxiety about Raymond, though always present, was hardly keen, as she had an idea that he would be protected. She wrote to a friend on 22 March 1915:-- "... I ought to get him back safe. I have a hole in my heart and shall have till he comes back. I only saw him for the inside of an hour before he left, as I was away when he came home for six hours...." At the same time I must admit that on the morning of 15 September 1915 (the day after Raymond's death, which we did not know of till the 17th) I was in an exceptional state of depression; and though a special game, to which I had been looking forward, on the No. 1 Course at Gullane had been arranged with Rowland Waterhouse, I could not play a bit. Not ordinary bad play, but total incompetence; so much so that after seven holes we gave up the game, and returned to the hotel. To make sure of the date, I wrote to Rowland Waterhouse, asking him when that abortive match occurred, since I knew that it was his last day at Gullane. He replies:-- "Violet and I left Gullane for Musselburgh on Wednesday, 15 September. Our final match ended that morning on the eighth tee" [which that year was on the reservoir hill]. One more dream I may as well now mention:--