“_Lyndhurst, New Forest, September 22nd, 1914._--I must keep up the old Diary during this most eventful time, when the biggest war the world has ever been stricken with is raging. To think that I have lived to see it! It was always said a war would be too terrible now to run the risk of, and that nations would fear too much to hazard such a peril. Lo! here we are pouring soldiers into the great jaws of death in hundreds of thousands, and sending poor human flesh and blood to face the new ‘scientific’ warfare--the same flesh and blood and nervous system of the days of bows and arrows. Patrick is off as A.D.C. to General Capper, commanding the 7th Division. Martin, who was the first to be ordered to the front, attached to the 2nd Royal Irish, has been transferred to the wireless military station at Valentia. That regiment has been utterly shattered in the Mons retreat, so I have reason to be thankful for the change. I am here, at Patrick’s suggestion, that I may see an army under war conditions and have priceless opportunities of studying ‘the real thing.’ The 7th Division[18] is now nearly complete, and by October 3rd should be on the sea. I arrived at Southampton to-day, and my good old son in his new Staff uniform was at the station ready to motor me up to Lyndhurst where the Staff are, and all the division, under canvas. I was very proud of the red tabs on Patrick’s collar, meaning so much. I saw at once, on arriving, the difference between this and my Aldershot impressions. This is _war_, and there is no doubt the bearing of the men is different. They were always smart, always cheery, _but not like this_. There is a quiet seriousness quite new to me. They are going to look death straight in the face.
“_September 23rd._--I had a most striking lesson in the appearance of men after a very long march, _plus_ that look which is quite absent on peace manœuvres, however hot and trying the conditions. What surprises and telling ‘bits’ one sees which could never be imagined with such a convincing power. A team of eight mammoth shire horses drawing a great gun is a sight never to be forgotten; shapely, superb cart horses with coats as satiny as any thoroughbred’s, in polished artillery harness, with the mild eyes of their breed--I must do that amongst many most _real_ subjects. But I see the German shells ploughing through these teams of willing beasts. They will suffer terribly.