2 August, ’17.

Weather worse and worse, positively awful. Rain incessant — and cold. No news of a move, and no working party last night.

This morning got a very old paper. Young French kids bring papers right up, when they can get hold of them. . . . A French “civile” will face the whole German Army for a franc. They have a Jew or a Scotchman backed right off the map. The papers have the early news of the opening battle in Belgium. We hoped for a complete smash; but what could you do in this weather and without ’planes? Our delayed move was only to be minor, anyway, in comparison with the big show, and now in this weather I don’t know what they will do. A success as planned might have ended the war. The Kaiser has some excuse for saying Gott is mit him.

. . . Well — We are not going up. The show is off.

Now’s your chance to prove to me that the Almighty is with us. This push was intended, without a shadow of doubt, to finish the war. The weather intervened in favour of the Germans, and the war is prolonged.