14
The Ypres Times.
How many British soldiers have had the self-same reflections of the author of Lost
in Ypres
I cannot steer by the star-shells, for they seem to be on every side. And at night,
too, the jagged spires of the cathedral are reduplicated by the remains of buildings all
over the city. Like the fingers of ghosts they seem to point importunately to heaven,
crying for vengeance. It is a city of ghosts, the city of the dead. For it, and with it,
the sons of three nations have suffered and died. Yet within that city, not many days
ago, a little maid of Flanders was found playing. That is an omen. Ypres has died,
but shall live again. Her name in the past was linked with kings but to-morrow she will
have a nobler fame. Men will speak of her as the home of the British soldier who lives
in her mighty rampart caverns or in the many cellars of her mansions. And even when
the busy hum of everyday life shall have resumed its sway in future days, still there will
be heard in ghostly echo the muffled fumbling of the transport and the' rhythmic tread
of soldiers' feet."
But it was the wonderful spoof advertisements which captivated the Army. Over
these I have seen Field-Marshal Lord Plumer himself chortle with glee. Here is one of
the best
CLOTH HALL-YPRES.
THIS WEEK.
The Great
SILENT PERCY
Brings the House Down
The Three Sisters HUNY, in their little song scena, entitled
"STAR SHELLS SOFTLY FALLING."
The Brothers WHIZZ-BANG
(these merry little fellows get there every time),
etc., etc.
Entire change of Programme weekly.
Best ventilated hall in the town.
Prices 1 fr. to 20 frs.
A day came when our division was taken out of the Salient to rest, and prevailing
sentiment was voiced as follows by The Wipers Times."
Whatever trials restmay hold, whatever the future may have for us, I think
that always I shall be glad to have seen the Salient. A month there holds more than
a year elsewhere. Wipers.' He's a strange man who can gaze on that unmoved. Who,
that has known it, will forget the high-strung tension of the Menin Road who, unmoved,
can pass those fields of crosses The Menin Road and all it means. To know all the
by-paths and alternative ways so as to dodge when shelling starts To know all its hbles
and ditches when machine guns loose Can there be any emotion to equal that of lying
prone in a crump-hole with a machine-gun ripping across your back Hell-fire Corner
Aptly named. The span from there to Hooge Who that has slithered along it in gum
boots thigh high will ever forget And now no more to ponder as to which route to
use. Nö longer the old question, Where are they putting them to-night For we're
going back to rest
But not allsome of us remain. Poor lads. There they stay in the Salient, and
crosses mark the price they paid. Always, when the strain of the Salient may have left
us, the memory of those crosses will remain, and those true hearts who sleep there may
