From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 77)

I am annoyed. While putting on my waistcoat this morning I noticed a certain snugness. Then, when I did it up the last button, it popped off and Jack ate it!

I am not especially worried about this. He has eaten far worse, and Griffin always deals with the consequences. It did mean I delayed Jack’s breakfast for ten minutes, which is a long time for a dog. When we are at home, I like us to eat together. He looked at me most plaintively as I ate. I had intended a twenty-minute wait, but his eyes were far too sad. He is, unlike most humans, capable of complete repentance.

Which brings me to Christmas recently past. I was sad to leave Euphemia behind, but otherwise I couldn’t shake the dust of White Orchards from my feet fast enough. The whole sad affair was a series of clandestine diplomatic meetings designed to bring the war with the Kaiser to a swift conclusion. As far as the outside world was concerned, the Stapleford’s were hosting an extended Christmas and New Year Eve event.

I cannot fault either Euphemia or her husband’s effort. Bertram was an affable host, and while he insisted on having his duck hunt (or, as I refer to it, a senseless day of avian slaughter), a great many gentleman guests were only too eager to join in. I came down with a bad cold and ended up spending much of the day with Euphemia. Strangely, by dinner that night, my cold had entirely disappeared. I told the cook her home remedy had done the trick and left out the minor detail that I had poured it directly down the drain.

No, the real tragedy of the event was that although the diplomats from both sides were happy to eat, drink, make merry and even talk to one other, they stubbornly refused to make the slightest progress towards peace. It is understandable from our point of view. The Kaiser is the aggressor and his demands and ambitions unseemly. However, our generals must know by now that we are in for a war of attrition and I fear a huge number of young lives will be sacrificed. I had hoped that we would have put forward some ideas on changing the arena, or minimising the scale of the conflict, but it didn’t even seem to enter any of the minds of the diplomats or politicians. They stuffed their faces, drank fine brandy by the fire and even played charades. Yes, that was all part of the cover of the event, but I could not help reflecting on the other men serving our country. While the diplomats and politicians sat comfortably around a table, young men were fighting for their lives in muddy, rat-infested ditches, savouring the briefest of respites from the front line in full knowledge of the atrocities they must return to.

I have now heard that a number of soldiers from both sides met on Christmas Day to exchange cigarettes and chocolate in a show of seasonal peace and goodwill. I only hope their superiors won’t shoot them for fraternising with the enemy, abandoning their posts, or some other such rot. It’s a sad day when the average man seeks peace only for his so-called superiors to hasten them back into conflict.