The Ypres Times.
135
Good Lord he cried," this place must begetting on your nerves too much. Let's
get out of itGhosts you silly old ass
So he climbed out of his blankets and proceeded to fold them up. As he turijed
round to shake them he suddenly stared across the barn.
Who the hell's smashed up the tripod he chuckled.
I'm going to get this job done as quickly as I can. I want to get out of the war area.
I can't stand itin peace time.
YPRES IN 1915.
By LieutE. C. MATTHEWS, D.C.L.I.
In April, 1915, Ypres was an active town—apparently having suffered slightly from the
months of fighting. The Cloth Hall and Cathedral were only framework, but the mass of
houses were intact. Shops were open, markets were held, and even an hotel or two
provided meals. Soldiers swarmed in the streets, and it was hard to believe that the
German line was in places not more than three miles away.
Within six months of that date, Ypres had altered considerably. It is difficult to
convey in words any adequate record of the impressions which the scene left upon the man
who went along the Grand Place, the Rue de Lille, or past the Menin Gate. There is no
doubt that wherever ortune took the majority of troops afterwards, experiences in Ypres
formed one of the most vivid memories of the war.
Nothing except possibly an earthquake could have created such an atmosphere of
utter desolation as was produced in this civilised town by the effects of systematic and
searching bombardment. A great fire would not have left such jagged and chaotic ruins.
It would have swept cleaner, even if it were checked here and there by human effort. It
was difficult to find a single building in Ypres which had not suffered from the effects of
shells. Frequently a heap of debris was all that was left of what was a human dwelling
or institution. Even where the walls of a house were standing, it was exceptional to come
across a roof in anything approaching an intact condition. And yet one was continually
startled by finding some little corner, or often some particularly exposed object, preserved
in a surprising perfection. The most fragile ornaments sometimes stood out in the
wreckage of a home as if to symbolise the mute resistance which the human spirit offers
to rage and violence in the least expected quarters. The glory of the Cloth Hall was
seared and torn but a little shop which was sheltered under one of its porticoes still
contained a number of intact vessels of earthenware and glass. There was a house near
the ramparts of which the walls alone stood up in gaunt tnd jagged outlines. But in a
sheltered garden behind them an ornamental statue surrounded by shrubs was as perfect
as it was before ever a soldier in khaki set foot in Ypres.
The haphazard character of the destruction wrought by a bombardment was only
one illustration of the whimsical incongruities which forced themselves on one's attention
in Ypres. What more extraordinary scene could be imagined than the following The
rain was falling in the summer twilight upon the half-destroyed walls of a large roofless
church. All round were heaps of debris and ruined houses. A large hole had been dug
to receive refuse and incidentally a dead mule and several ancient skulls had been turned
up. But on the whole the smell of chloride of lime predominated over that of decaying
organic matter.
One or two solid piles of sand-bags had been built up to protect particular points
from the effects of shrapnelwhile a couple of large circular incinerators, constructed
according to the approved British Army pattern out of masonry picked up from the debris,
had been prepared to receive combustible refuse. In the background rose the ramparts
of the city wall covered with trees and shrubs. They disappeared on the right behind a
brewery, which backed on to them. A small group of British soldiers could have been
