46
The Ypres Times.
Boche. This ascertained we rushed to the spot in lorries loaded with hydrogen in
cylinders and releases," and got as close up to the line as was safe with our highly
explosive cargo. Arrived there, we erected a canvas screen, and one by one the paper
balloons were filled with gas, a release was attached to the neck, the top of the tinder
was ignited and up she went, sailing over the German lines. As the tinder burnt down,
bundle after bundle of our poisoned arrows were let loose and flew around, sometimes
to immense distances. The whole thing was done with scientific precision, so that when
the balloon was exhausted (we had to cut a little hole in the neck, so that increasing
pressure by expansion as the balloon rose should not bust it) the last bundle of
inflammatory and defamatory literature should have left it.
It was a sporting job, as we were always potentially under fire from shells which
had started with too high a trajectory. But we always had a highly knowledgable, and
generally humorous Sergeant-Major who acted as a sort of keeper," and when the
beastly whine became audible he would call out To the right! To the left!
Well over! or, at sensational intervals We're for it! and then, in a second every
thing human was in the nearest trench.
Amongst the light literature with which we beguiled Michael in his lonely
graben were featured," as they say in Film-land, facsimiles of letters written by
prisoners to their friends. If a prisoner wrote enthusiastically of the plenteous food, the
entertainments, the Gesang Vereine," the work they did and the money paid them for it,
imploring their relations to desert or get taken prisoner as quickly as possible, we had
his letter so marvellously facsimiled that it was difficult to tell the original from the
reproductions. These were sent over by thousands. I remember one splendid letter
which we sent out." A few weeks later we intercepted his wife's reply. She said
I was delighted to get your letter, but now I fear it was not genuine for I have received
twenty-seven copies of it." People used to pick them up and imagining they were
accidentally lost, stamped and posted them.
Well, they are great daj-s to look back upon in the life of an elderly civilian, pipped
and tabbed for the partybut I often wonder what would have happened if a howitzer
shell had fallen into my lorn* of hydrogen cylinders. I am afraid I should not have been
able to tell you.
M.I.7b.I.
THE GUNNER.
The Gunner closed the hungry breach.
He knew the end was nigh,
For soon the enemy would reach
His post, and he must die.
Yet once again the cannon spoke
And through the acrid battle-smoke
A shell leapt to the sky!
He fought alone, for those he'd led,
Swept by the iron hail,
Had joined the multitude of dead
And lay beside the trail.
Undaunted, from the battered gun,
Point blank, he hurled death on the Hun,
And saw his foemen quail!
Came a swift thought of his own land.
And cooled his smarting brain.
As though a touch of that loved hand
Which soothed his earliest pain
Had sped the narrow belt of foam
And drawn him to the peaceful home
He would not see again.
There cheerily by day and night
The bright stream purled along,
And, winging in the azure height,
The lark poured forth his song
There children's voices joined in mirth.
And tree and flower and patient earth
Had never suffered wrong!
Here Havoc held unchallenged rule.
Distorted from its plan
By shattered trench and crater-pool.
Where blood and water ran,
The tortured earth stared at the skv,
Her once-fair visage pitted by
The pestilence of Man!
How silent now the scornful gun!
Ev'n with its latest blow
England gave up her dauntless son.
Yet he died not!for though
His valiant spirit seemed to cease
'Twas gone to that eternal peace
Which only heroes know
V. W. Gubekt.
