I wish I had my camera. Unfortunately it got damaged, and I have not
been able to take any photographs. These farms would make a good
subject. They are dry and burn well. The fire bursts out of windows and
doors with a loud roaring, and black volumes of smoke roll overhead.
Standing round are a dozen or two of men holding horses. The women, in a
little group, cling together, comforting each other or hiding their
faces in each other's laps. In the background a number of Tommies are
seen chasing poultry, flinging stones, and throwing themselves prostrate
on maimed chickens and ducks, whose melancholy squawks fill the air.
Further off still, herds and flocks and horses are being collected and
driven off, while, on the top of the nearest high ground, a party of
men, rifles in hand, guard against a surprise from the enemy, a few of
whom can generally be seen in the distance watching the destruction of
their homes.
One hears the women talk. Their ideas about the war are peculiar, for
they all maintain that they will succeed in the long-run in asserting
their independence, and seem to think that things are going quite
satisfactorily for them. "Of course we shall go on fighting," they say,
quite with surprise. "How long?" "Oh, as long as may be necessary. Till
you go away." It is curious coming to household after household and
finding the whole lot of them, women and children, so unanimous, so
agreed in the spirit in which they face their afflictions.
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