the world, and the colours are those of life and death. None the less the effect on the mind is that of near bigness, which is always of its nature wearisome. It is not of that weariness of the detached mind that I now write, but of the more intimate and crushing fatigue of the actual man on the spot. There may very well be units of this immense army that on their return home will have apparently little to show for their lost blood.
People will say to them—
"I suppose you were in the dash at X? No? Oh, it was the capture of Y? I mean, of course, the round-up at Z?"
And they will answer rather dully—
"No. We just held on. We are the lot that just stuck to A, and weren't shifted out of B."
And the response will be a disappointed and belittling "Oh yes!"
But, when it is understood, this long endurance will be seen to be something very notable in itself, and, more than that, an essential element in the slow and great victory. Movements are picturesque, but in order that something should move it was necessary that something should stand still. The ends of a lever move effectively only when it is based on an unmoving fulcrum. If the rivet of a scissors did not stand fast, the blades would cut little. And the tale of the units to whom it came merely to hold the line is the great tale.
In the trenches it is the day-by-dayness that tells
