Last week I was standing among the graves in a War Cemetery in northern France. It was only one of the smaller ones, but I was surrounded by rows and rows of grave stones.
The day before we'd been to the "In Flanders Field" museum in Ypres, a town which was an important part of the front line landscape. It was a reminder of how harsh the trench warfare environment was. How it played on the body and the mind. The house in which we were staying, although several miles back from the front, was still surrounded by the sort of countryside which the front occupied.
It was a salutary reminder of how important that was in bringing home the horror of conflict; the individuality of the fighting. That each death was the end of a person. A proper, real person.
All this is now very much in my mind as I learn Claire's words and Mark's notes for Home at Last. Sergeant-Major Adams had seen all this; he'd suffered the loss of men and had endured the hardship of the trenches. I hope to be able to bring just a little insight back from France with me, too.