Day 18

Three cock pheasants fighting at the edge of the woods beyond my door. They leap at one another then wander about quite contentedly, so I assume it's a mock fight. Meanwhile I'm thinking about men being slaughtered by machine guns and torn apart by shrapnel.

There's a poignant memorial at a cemetery, once a trench, near Fricourt: 'The Devonshires held this trench. The Devonshires hold it still.'