The Song of Picardy (1918)
170
THE YPRES TIMES
was invariably associated with "A" Battery in all operations. Our Colonel knew that
the two units combined well and were united by ties of friendship in all ranks and
consequently he always detailed "A" and "D" Batteries to work together.
One bright autumn morning the two Majors went forward together and selected their
O.P.s not far from Epéhy and began the day's shooting. The C.O. of "A" Battery, a
young Regular Captain, R.H. A., was accompanied by a telephonist and his Sergeant Major.
He had not been ranging for many minutes before a 5.9 landed right on top of the little
party, killed the signaller and severely wounded both the Sergeant Major and his Battery
Commander. An Infantry company nearby sent a stretcher-party to the scene of
the little catastrophe. There was only one stretcher. The Sergeant Major was un
conscious. The Major, whose name was Miles Stavely, though very severely wounded
was still in possession of all his faculties and ordered the stretcher-bearers to leave
him and take the Sergeant Major to the First Aid Post.
When the stretcher- bearers returned Major Stavely was dead.
We were all proud to think that we had been his friends. His last act was of a piece
with everything we knew of him, and I dare to say that this bit of utter unselfishness
will shine brightly in the memories of all the men of the 44th Brigade for the rest of
their lives.
Such splendid acts were not rare in those days. I am delighted to have the op
portunity of setting on record the story of one of them in the Ypres Times."
A.D.T.
By Patrick Macgill.
Author of'. "The Red Horizon"; "The Great Push"; "The Brown Bretheren Etc.
Oh barren hearth of Picardy
And trampled harvest field,
The poppies blow in Picardy,
The skylark sings o'erhead,
Say, who will light your fire at night
Or mill your autumn yield
And flower and bird their vigil keep
Above the nameless dead
No more the reaper plies his trade,
The hours of peace are o'er,
But though above the dark sky lowers,
Beneath its gloom is set
And gone the matron and the maid,
And they return no more.
The little seeds of Freedom's flowers,
To rim the parapet.
And hearts are strong in Picardy,
Where Hope is still aflame,
Where Freedom's heroes see ahead
The goal at which they aim
Though drear and cold the ruined hearth
And barren fields are dumb,
A voice breathes soft across the earth
Of peace that is to come.
