VIII 

 A WEEK-END IN WILTSHIRE 



I SUPPOSE that there were week-ends in 

 war-time ; but then no one could abandon 

 himself fully to the joys of the country. 

 Even over the banks of a Wiltshire trout- 

 stream there always hung the war-cloud, and 

 thoughts of the thin and ever thinner line of 

 the best of our manhood, bending and nearly 

 breaking before the pressure of enemy hordes 

 driven forward to destroy all the ideals that 

 make life worth living in this world. Now all 

 is changed. This is the story of a typical May 

 week-end in Wiltshire water-meadows. 



After the usual journey from Waterloo through 

 the wilderness of brick that seems- never-ending, 

 till sleep comes to one's aid, eyes open upon a 

 country of dry-looking downs which might be 

 in the Free State or the Transvaal, if it were not 

 for the happy knowledge of a little trout-stream 

 and its water-meadows, tucked away only a 

 few hundred yards from the part of the line 



7 9T 



