The Journal of a Disappointed Man

pity,” Ruskin calls them⁠—have taken compassion by softening the jagged edges of the strata or nestling in the scars. It is an excellent example of “Contortion” as Geologists say, for the beds are bent into a quite regular geometrical pattern⁠—syncline and anticline in waves⁠—by deep-seated plutonic force that makes the mind quake in the effort to imagine it.

On the top of this rock and overhanging the water⁠—a gaunt, haggard-looking Fir tree impends, as it seems in a perilous balance, while down below, the pool, sleek and shiny, quietly waits with a catlike patience.

In summer time, successive rows of Foxgloves one behind the other in barbaric splendour are ranged around the grassy rubble slopes like spectators in an amphitheatre awaiting the spectacle. Fire-bellied Efts slip here and there lazily through the water. Occasionally a Grass-snake would swim across the pool and once I caught one and on opening his stomach found a large fire-bellied Eft inside. The sun beats fiercely into this deep hollow and makes the water tepid. On the surface grows a glairy Alga, which was once all green but now festers in yellow patches and causes a horrible stench. Everything is absolutely still, air and water are stagnant. A large Dytiscus beetle rises to the surface to breathe and every now and then large bubbles of marsh gas come sailing majestically up from the depth and explode quietly into the fetid air. The horrificness of this place impressed me even when I was intent only on fishing there for bugs and efts. Now, seen in retrospect, it haunts me.

May 28

It is only by accident that certain of our bodily functions are distasteful. Many birds eat the faeces of their young. The vomits of some Owls are formed into shapely pellets, often of beautiful appearance, when composed of the glittering multicoloured elytra of Beetles, etc. The common Eland is known to micturate on the tuft of hair on the crown of its head, and it does this habitually, when lying down, by bending its head around and down⁠—apparently because of the aroma, perhaps of sexual importance during mating time, as it is a habit of the male alone.

At lunch time, had an unpleasant intermittency period in my heart’s action and this rather eclipsed my anxiety over a probable zeppelin Raid. Went home to my rooms by bus, and before setting off to catch my train for West Wycombe to stay for the weekend at a Farm with E⁠⸺ swallowed two teaspoonfuls of neat brandy, filled my flask, and took a taxi to Paddington. At 3:50 started to walk to C⁠⸺ H⁠⸺ Farm from W. Wycombe Station, where E⁠⸺ has been lodging for some weeks taking a rest cure after a serious nervous breakdown through overwork. As soon as I stepped out of the train, I sniffed the fresh air and soon made off down the road, happy to have left London and the winter and the war far behind. The first man of whom I inquired the way happened to have been working at the Farm only a few weeks ago, so I relied implicitly on his directions, and as it was but a mile and a half decided that my wobbly heart could stand the strain. I set out with a good deal of pleasurable anticipation. I was genuinely looking forward to seeing E⁠⸺, although in the past few weeks our relations had become a little strained, at least on my part, mainly because of her little scrappy notes to me scribbled in pencil, undated, and dull! Yet I could do with a volume of “Sonnets from the Portuguese.” These letters chilled me. In reply, I wrote with cold steel short, lifeless formal notes, for I felt genuinely aggrieved that she should care so little how she wrote to me or how she expressed her love. I became ironical with myself over the prospect of marrying a girl who appeared so little to appreciate my education and mental habits.15 My petty spirit grew disenchanted, out of love. I was false to her in a hundred inconsiderable little ways and even deliberately planned the breaking off of the engagement some months hence when she should be restored to normal health.

But once in the country and, as I thought, nearing my love at every step and at every bend in the road, even anticipating her arms around me with real pleasure (for she promised to meet me halfway), I on a sudden grew eager for her again and was assured of a happy weekend with her. Then the road grew puzzling and I became confused, uncertain of the way. I began to murmur she should have given me instructions. Every now and then I had to stop and rest as my heart was beating so furiously. Espying a farm on the left I made sure I had arrived at my destination and walked across a field to it and entered the yard where I heard someone milking a cow in a shed. I shouted over the five-barred gate into empty space, “Is this C⁠⸺ H⁠⸺ Farm?” A labourer came out of the shed and redirected me. It was now ten to five. I was tired and out of sorts, and carried a troublesome little handbag. I swore and cursed and found fault with E⁠⸺ and the Universe.

I trudged on, asking people, as I went, the way, finally emerging from the cover of a beautiful wood through a wicket gate almost at the entrance to the Farm I sought. At the front door we embraced affectionately and we entered at once, I putting a quite good face upon my afternoon’s exertions⁠—when I consider my unbridled fury of a short time before. E⁠⸺, as brown as a berry, conducted me to my bedroom and I nearly forgot to take this obvious opportunity of kissing her again.

“How are you?” I asked.

“All right,” she said, fencing.

“But really?”

“All right.”

(A little nettled): “My dear, that isn’t going to