A Story of War

Went on a gasht yesterday. Sugar loaf, Greenwood’s Corner, Camel Hump, 78, shoulder and home. Quite alot of snow still up there which soaked my feet in my chappies. Rumour seems to have it that we shall return to Razmak about 26th and go out on a column shortly afterwards. The home trooping draft has been postponed again until May. A deck tennis court has been rigged up here and my “City of Venice” “all in” games stand me in good stead here.

We have a concert the other night. The troops spend most of the evenings singing, and you hear a surprising number of hymns. This country must surely be as far from the imagined India as possible. The hills are all covered in short bushy scrub, and at present there is not a blade of grass anywhere. It is pleasant to sit up a hill on a warm day and watch the lower heights and nullahs. Traffic on the road, or another picquet going up below you and to your left are like so many ants, although their movements are easily distinguishable. One can easily imagine a dushman lying behind a rock and taking careful aim on one.

I have my confidential report sent down from Razmak. I am ‘tactful with Indians, strictly temperate, and rather abrupt.’