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Waiting for Daylight   By: (1873-1958)

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First Page:

WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT

BOOKS BY H. M. TOMLINSON

THE SEA AND THE JUNGLE OLD JUNK LONDON RIVER WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT

THE FIRST PRINTING OF THIS BOOK CONSISTS OF TWENTY ONE HUNDRED COPIES, OF WHICH TWO THOUSAND ARE FOR SALE.

THIS IS NUMBER

669

WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT

By H. M. TOMLINSON

NEW YORK · ALFRED · A · KNOPF · MCMXXII

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc.

Published May, 1922

Set up, electrotyped and printed by the Vail Ballou Co., Binghamton, N. Y. Paper furnished by Henry Lindenmeyr & Sons, New York, N. Y. Bound by the H. Wolff Estate, New York, N. Y.

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To MY WIFE

CONTENTS

I. IN YPRES 3

II. A RAID NIGHT 12

III. ISLANDS 24

IV. TRAVEL BOOKS 28

V. SIGNS OF SPRING 31

VI. PROSE WRITING 36

VII. THE MODERN MIND 40

VIII. MAGAZINES 44

IX. THE MARNE 49

X. CARLYLE 56

XI. HOLIDAY READING 58

XII. AN AUTUMN MORNING 65

XIII. NEWS FROM THE FRONT 74

XIV. AUTHORS AND SOLDIERS 80

XV. WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT 88

XVI. THE NOBODIES 96

XVII. BOOKWORMS 112

XVIII. SAILOR LANGUAGE 115

XIX. ILLUSIONS 120

XX. FIGURE HEADS 127

XXI. ECONOMICS 133

XXII. OLD SUNLIGHT 135

XXIII. RUSKIN 140

XXIV. THE REWARD OF VIRTUE 147

XXV. GREAT STATESMEN 149

XXVI. JOY 152

XXVII. THE REAL THING 162

XXVIII. LITERARY CRITICS 170

XXIX. THE SOUTH DOWNS 175

XXX. KIPLING 182

XXXI. A DEVON ESTUARY 188

XXXII. BARBELLION 194

XXXIII. BREAKING THE SPELL 200

WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT

I. In Ypres

JULY, 1915. My mouth does not get so dry as once it did, I notice, when walking in from Suicide Corner to the Cloth Hall. There I was this summer day, in Ypres again, in a silence like a threat, amid ruins which might have been in Central Asia, and I, the last man on earth, contemplating them. There was something bumping somewhere, but it was not in Ypres, and no notice is taken in Flanders of what does not bump near you. So I sat on the disrupted pedestal of a forgotten building and smoked, and wondered why I was in the city of Ypres, and why there was a war, and why I was a fool.

It was a lovely day, and looking up at the sky over what used to be a school dedicated to the gentle Jesus, which is just by the place where one of the seventeen inchers has blown a forty foot hole, I saw a little round cloud shape in the blue, and then another, and then a cluster of them; the kind of soft little cloudlets on which Renaissance cherubs rest their chubby elbows and with fat faces inclined on their hands consider mortals from cemetery monuments... Continue reading book >>




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