p72  April 9, 1943

Monday. Riding has begun anew. Many old wounds, both mental and physical, have already been reopened. This being the first day, I had foolish ideas that perhaps horses and I will forget the past and begin anew. But those things down in the Riding Hall, besides closely resembling elephants have the same type of memory. Upon our arrival several of the more eager animals were restrained with difficulty from rushing over and devouring me. They had only to wait a short while, however, as I was soon ordered to come out of the dark corner I had found and get over where they could reach me. After that it was the same old sordid story. A frantic fifty yards of ride, a pleasant thirty yards of free flight, and then between twenty and thirty yards of ricocheting. After an hour or so of this we left the Riding Hall and repaired to the Swimming Pool where we were forced to hurl ourselves from dizzy heights into deep, octopus-infested water. There must be an easier way to earn a living.

Tuesday. Compared to yesterday, today I had a good time. But somehow I did not enjoy it.

Wednesday. We went out and directed the fire of large guns today. My other wife carried away by the sensation of power enjoined by causing heavy shells to go out and dent the landscape, attempted to shell a location that shall be nameless by map coordinates. The instructor became suspect when he began ordering "Charge 28", however and nipped my other wife's plot in the bud. His first plot too. What a shame.

Thursday. The Last Trump did not sound today. That does not mean we are lucky though.

Friday. Another mad, merry day. We attended Tactics of the Combined Arms until 3:11, the last eleven minutes being passed in a spirited battle for three hundredths made by a smaller member of our class and involving an interesting point as to the correct shade of meaning cast by the second comma in part (d) of section three of the second question of the writ. After this ensued a short blurred period, the end of which found us standing in ranks, heaving like the spavined horses we were shortly to ride. Then we went and rode. There is a point upon which I am in doubt; is it that the people down at the Riding Hall have been around horses so long they have become like them, or is it that the horses have taken their natures from the people? Following the riding we went over to the pool and drowned by battalions. Oddly enough, I am exhausted.

Saturday. I love week-ends. For more reasons than one.

Sunday. My other wife seems sad. I would tell him to keep a stiff upper lip if he had one.

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