Towards the Goal | Page 9

like any
other incident in the day's work. _England's Effort_ has been useful;

therefore I am to be allowed again to see and write for myself; and
therefore, what information can be given me as to the growth of our
military power in France since last year will be given. It is not, of
course, a question of war correspondence, which is not within a
woman's powers. But it is a question of as much "seeing" as can be
arranged for, combined with as much first-hand information as time
and the censor allow. I begin to see my way.
The conversation at luncheon--the simplest of meals--and during a
stroll afterwards, is thrilling indeed to us newcomers. "The coming
summer's campaign must decide the issue of the war--though it may not
see the end of it." "The issue of the war"--and the fate of Europe! "An
inconclusive peace would be a victory for Germany." There is no doubt
here as to the final issue; but there is a resolute refusal to fix dates, or
prophesy details. "Man for man we are now the better army. Our
strength is increasing month by month, while that of Germany is failing.
Men and officers, who a year ago were still insufficiently trained, are
now seasoned troops with nothing to learn from the Germans; and the
troops recruited under the Military Service Act, now beginning to come
out, are of surprisingly good quality." On such lines the talk runs, and it
is over all too soon.
Then we are in the motor again, bound for an aerodrome forty or fifty
miles away. We are late, and the last twenty-seven kilometres fly by in
thirty-two minutes! It is a rolling country, and there are steep descents
and sharp climbs, through the thickly-scattered and characteristic
villages and small old towns of the Nord, villages crowded all of them
with our men. Presently, with a start, we find ourselves on a road which
saw us last spring--a year ago, to the day. The same blue distances, the
same glimpses of old towns in the hollows, the same touches of snow
on the heights. At last, in the cold sunset light, we draw up at our
destination. The wide aerodrome stretches before us--great hangars
coloured so as to escape the notice of a Boche overhead--with machines
of all sizes, rising and landing--coming out of the hangars, or returning
to them for the night. Two of the officers in charge meet us, and I walk
round with them, looking at the various types--some for fighting, some
for observation; and understanding--what I can! But the spirit of the

men--that one can understand. "We are accumulating, concentrating
now, for the summer offensive. Of course the Germans have been
working hard too. They have lots of new and improved machines. But
when the test comes we are confident that we shall down them again, as
we did on the Somme. For us, the all-important thing is the fighting
behind the enemy lines. Our object is to prevent the German machines
from rising at all, to keep them down, while our airmen are
reconnoitering along the fighting line. Awfully dangerous work! Lots
don't come back. But what then? They will have done their job!"
The words were spoken so carelessly that for a few seconds I did not
realise their meaning. But there was that in the expression of the man
who spoke them which showed there was no lack of realisation there.
How often I have recalled them, with a sore heart, in these recent weeks
of heavy losses in the air-service--losses due, I have no doubt, to the
special claims upon it of the German retreat.
The conversation dropped a little, till one of my companions, with a
smile, pointed overhead. Three splendid biplanes were sailing above us,
at a great height, bound south-wards. "Back from the line!" said the
officer beside me, and we watched them till they dipped and
disappeared in the sunset clouds. Then tea and pleasant talk. The young
men insist that D. shall make tea. This visit of two ladies is a unique
event. For the moment, as she makes tea in their sitting-room, which is
now full of men, there is an illusion of home.
Then we are off, for another fifty miles. Darkness comes on, the roads
are unfamiliar. At last an avenue and bright lights. We have reached the
Visitors' Château, under the wing of G.H.Q.

No. 2
_March 31st, 1917_.
DEAR MR. ROOSEVELT,--My first letter you will perhaps remember
took us to the Visitors' Château of G.H.Q. and left us alighting there, to

be greeted by the same courteous host, Captain----, who presided last
year over another Guest House far away. But we were not to sleep at
the Château, which was already full of