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The dream referred to, near the beginning of this long letter to his mother, Mr. J. Arthur Hill remembers that I told him of, in a letter dated 7 May 1915, which he has now returned; and I reproduce it here:—

"To J. A. H.

"7 May 1915

"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:—

After the family had returned home from Scotland and elsewhere, near the end of September 1915, and begun to settle down, Alec, who had felt Raymond's death exceedingly, told me that the night before he heard the news—or rather the early morning of the same day, 17 September—he had had an extraordinarily painful and vivid dream, quite an exceptional occurrence for him, and one of which he had spoken to a manageress in the hotel near Swansea where he was staying, describing it as the worst he had ever had in his life. He did not know that it had any significance, and neither do I, as the dream, though rather ghastly, was not about Raymond or anyone in particular; but it seemed an odd coincidence that the ill news should be, so to speak, on the way, at the time of a quite exceptional and painful impression. The person to whom he told the dream handed him the telegram a few hours later. He has written the dream down, but it need not be reproduced.

No real provision is involved in any of this, unless it be that of an hour or two in my own impression, in May; but for general remarks on the question of the possibility of prevision Chapter V in Part III may be referred to.

"Friday, 14 May 1915

"I had a glorious hot bath yesterday; Fletcher and I went up to the brewery here. The bath is zinc, and full length, and we have as much water, and as hot, as we like. …

"I spent some time too stemming the leaks in the roof of our shed. With my two waterproof sheets I have rigged up a kind of chute above my bed, so that any water that comes through the roof is led down behind my head. I don't know what happens to it there. I thought of leading it across on to the man next me, as the Germans used to do in the winter campaign. They fitted a pump in their trenches and led the delivery pipe forward, so that the water used to run into ours—only the plan was discovered. …

"I wonder if you saw the appreciation of the soda cake on the back of my letter from the woods. M.P. stands for Mess President. Fletcher was M.P. and was a very good one. I am now, as he has done it for a long time and is tired. …

"As cheerful and well and happy as ever. Don't think I am having a rotten time—I am not."

"Sunday, 5.40 p.m., 16 May 1915

"We had a very fine piece of news yesterday. Over three weeks ago we were called out one night and were urgently required to dig a certain new trench behind our lines. The men worked splendidly and got the job done in a very short time (working of course in complete darkness). The next day the Brigadier-General inspected the trench and sent in a complimentary message about it to our Colonel. The day after he complimented us again—for the same piece of work! Well, we have had several such jobs to do, and just recently we have been to Hill 60, where the bulk of our work was deepening the trenches and improving the parapets. We were lent for this purpose to another Division (the Division that is at the moment occupying that area), and were away from here exactly a week. We got a splendid testimonial from the General of this other Division, who told our Colonel he had got 'a top-hole battalion.' Arising out of all this, we have now been selected as a 'Pioneer Battalion,' We are relieved from all ordinary trench work for some time to come. We simply go out at night and dig trenches or build parapets and so forth, and have the day to ourselves. This was arranged yesterday, and last night we went out and returned here at 1.30 a.m. The work is more or less under fire, but only from stray shots and nothing very serious. Our Colonel is awfully pleased that we have done so well; and we are all pleased with the new arrangement. One great advantage is that we can settle down in our billets and are not continually having to pack up everything and move off. We can now start and make tables, chairs, beds, a proper door for the hut, a glass window, and so on. …

"As to aeroplanes, when one passes overhead a whistle is blown and every one either takes cover or stands perfectly still. The men are forbidden to look up. Then the whistle is blown several times when the danger is past. I am afraid, though, these regulations are more honoured in the breach than the observance.

"We had quite a nice informal service here this afternoon sitting in a field. The chaplain has the rank of Major and has been out here seven months.

"Yesterday the Captain, Fletcher, and myself went for a ride on horses. We went about five miles out, stopped for about twenty minutes at a little inn (the last in Belgium on that particular road), and then came back again. The country was perfectly lovely, though I did not appreciate it as much as I otherwise would have done, as I had a trooper's saddle and the Captain would trot. I got most awfully sore going out, and thought I should never be able to get back. However, I discovered a method at last, and that was to go at a full gallop. So I alternately went at a walk and 'hell for leather,' and got back in comparative comfort. I thoroughly enjoyed it; it was very bad for the horse, I am afraid, on the stone setts (pav�), but sometimes I could get him on to the softer bits at the side. I was terribly afraid some one would think the horse was running away with me and 'block' him, so I had to look as pleased as possible. And really I was pleased, it was such a blessed relief after that awful trotting. I trotted along in rear of the other two until I could stand it no longer, and then I encouraged my nag and hit him until he broke into a canter, and then I roared past the others, who cursed like anything because theirs wanted to gallop too. My horse's cantor changed imperceptibly into a full gallop, and I 'got down to it' and felt like a jockey. After about half a mile I would walk until the others came up and passed me, and then I would go off again. All the same, I am very sore.

"Good-bye for the present; it is lovely hot weather and we are all well—fit—and happy."

"Tuesday, 18 May 1915, 5.15 p.m.

"My dear Norah and Barbara—I don't expect I am far wrong in attributing my ripping present of dates and figs to you two. I did enjoy them, and they are not finished yet.

"They arrived by the first post after we had returned from our little trip. We were at Hill 60; it was so interesting and rather exciting, although we were there chiefly, I think, to improve the trenches, which were very shallow and dangerous when we arrived.

"The men worked splendidly—all night and most of the day, and, when we left, the trenches were vastly improved and quite habitable. We also made some entirely new ones. We are now kept for this sort of job only, and we go out working at nights and sleep by day.

"I must explain to you about 'standing to.' A proportion of the men are always awake in the trenches to guard against surprises, for as the most likely times for an attack are at dawn and at dusk, everybody has to be awake and ready then. Of course it does interfere with your sleep, and you do not get very much as a rule in the trenches, but that is why you are not there for more than about three days at a time. In the 'supports' you 'stand to' so as to be ready to reinforce the front line quickly in case of an attack. Out in 'Rest Billets,' I am glad to say, it is no longer necessary.

"I am so sorry, my friend Fletcher has just gone off this morning for a rest cure. I shall miss him awfully. He is about five miles away and I am going to ride over to-morrow to see him. But later on he will probably go back to England. His nerves are all wrong and he needs a rest,

"Good-bye for now, and very best wishes to you both.—Your very loving brother,

Raymond"

"I hope you get my communiqu�s regularly from home (swank). Some one must have the time of their lives copying out all the stuff I write. I hope, however, there are a few grains in the bundle of chaff (I'm fishing again)!

"You say, Norah, that you don't think the ch�teau was as quiet as I described. Well, provided I mentioned our gun, that went off at occasional intervals close behind it with a terrific report, it was just as I described—a peaceful summer afternoon. I know that people think that everything in Belgium is chaos and slaughter, but it isn't so. For instance, where Fletcher is, is a charming country place with trees and fields and everything in full green. Simply ripping. If I had only had a motor-cycle to see it from instead of a trotting horse I should have enjoyed it even more!

R."

"Wednesday, 19 May 1915, 12.50 p.m.

"You must know that we have now only three officers in our Company. I am very sorry indeed to lose Fletcher. He went off for a rest cure yesterday morning to a place about five miles from here. He is my greatest friend in the Battalion, so I miss him very much and hope he won't be long away. He will probably go back to England, however, as his nerves are all wrong. He is going the same way as Laws did and needs a complete rest. I am going to ride over to see him this afternoon with the Captain. I am afraid it won't be 'good going' as the roads are thick with mud. The slightest rain, and they are as bad as ever.

"I told you that I was Mess President (M.P.). I am sure you would smile to see me ordering the meals, and inspecting the joints. I don't know anything about them, and when the cook calls me up specially to view a joint I have hastily to decide whether he means me to disparage it—or the reverse. However, I am usually safe in running it down."

"Thursday, 20 May 1915, 9.10 a.m.

"We rode over and saw Fletcher yesterday and had tea with him. He is with about twenty other similar cases in a splendid ch�teau (this one is not ruined and has magnificent grounds). Unfortunately this is probably the very worst possible treatment he could have. He has nothing to do, no interest in anything, and no society except people who, like himself, want cheering. He does not read, he does not even walk about the grounds. He cannot sleep much, and he said he did not know exactly what he did. Under these conditions I know it will not be long before he is sent home. Brooding is just the very worst thing for him. He sees all the past horrors all over again; things which, at the time, he shut his mind to. The best treatment (even better than home, I think) would be to send him back for a month or so to Crosby. He would then have plenty to occupy his mind and would have cheerful companions. … "

"6.20 p.m.

"I have attached a list of a few slang terms and curious expressions in use in this Regiment and I believe universal at the moment. Some of these are amazing, and it is difficult to trace the origin. 'Drumming up' is one, and 'wind up' another. I saw an old Belgian cart yesterday, a three-wheeled affair. It had been overturned on its side and the spokes of the lowest wheel had been broken. Well, some one had 'drummed up' on them—every one had disappeared. These men here will 'drum up' on anything. 'Drumming up' on a thing does not mean lighting a fire on it but with it.

"When we were at that place where we were for a week, there was a most peculiar state of affairs. The Germans were holding a small piece of trench joining, and in line with, ours. They were only separated from us by double barricades—their and ours. They corresponded to the meat in a sandwich. [A sketch is omitted.] When I say 'ours' I mean the English. I was not actually in this trench, but in the one just behind. The trench on one side of the 'meat' was held by one of our Companies, and the other by another Regiment. … "

"Friday, 10.20 a.m.

"My nickname in the Mess is 'Maurice' (with a French pronunciation); I am called after the small boy in the grocery shop here. The good dame always says 'Oui, monsieur le lieutenant!' 'Non, monsieur le lieutenant!' to everything one says; she gets in about six to the minute. Well, we used to imitate her after our visits to the shop, and one day she called out 'Maurice'; so Fletcher calls me 'Maurice,' and I reply, 'Oui, monsieur le lieutenant.'"