The Ypres Times. 33 THE SHADOW IN THE CONVENT GATEWAY. By CLAUDE V. WHITE, Lieut. M.G.C: My German Dug-out. My Dear D1917. A few words in the form of an apologia for this new ventureThe Shadow in the Convent Gateway.''' This little narrative is interesting in one thing only, inasmuch as it was written in a concrete dug-out soon after being vacated by the enemywritten by a soul physically weary who allowed his fancies to play during the long hours of watchfulness, and in it all there is truth, though it did not all happen so sequelly as the confines of a story compel it to. Dobbinson did live, and Dobbinson did die, like the soldier and gentleman he was. If the hour should come, I only hope that I shall be able to meet my Maker as nobly face to face as he did. Yours sincerely, CLAUDE V. WHITE, Lieutenant, B.E.F. THE sound of hurried steps broke the silence in the village* street. The feet paused outside the broken porchway of the ruined dwelling in which I was incarcerated. I heard next the bricks outside my doorway being hastily removed amid great breathings. In a few minutes the piece of rope nailed outside my door was rudely pulled, and silhouetted against a cloud of brickdust, impregnated with phosphate fumes, stood the huge figure of Dobbinson. Thank God," he cried, as his eyes fell upon me, sitting on the edge of my mattress bed, the very impersonation of a broken creature and he came in in the usual Dobbinson manner. The thick door banged behind him, and as he came within the halo of my candle he smacked me on the back. So you've got the impertinence to be alive," he said, laughing merrily. Yes, old man," I replied, in the tone of a regular Jonah-man. I have been here a solid houra veritable prisoner of war. I did promise to give you tea in my upstairs reception room, but Fritz has brought it down upon me, as the bricks and timber outside doubtless announced to you." Yes, I was on an O. Pipjob in the front line from where I watched the little 'un getting a fair share of five-nines in his chilet by the cross-roads. As soon as things settled I came along to see if Le Petit Blanc were still alive and kicking, and lo, and behold I find him bricked-in, and, as soon as I have dug my way into him, I find not the tiny wit of yore, but a weta very wetsandbag, sadly requiring a sapper's pat to put him into shape again." Heavens, I'm glad you've come, Dobby,' I said with all my heart. About two hours ago I thought I would never hear a human voice again. Twice I tried to get out, and twice I was blown back again. On the second occasion I got the flash. Isn't it a devil not being able to see Good heavens, little 'un," he cried, again smacking me on the back, Get a move on, or, at least, sit up and take nourishment." He laughed merrily again. Now don't let us have any more of that algebraical look upon your face," he said. I laughed at last, for his last remark recalled the days whert he did my Maths." for me in exchange for my parsing. There is something wonderfully clinging, masonic, if one may use the word, in old boys of the same school. To play on the same field is something, but, years later, to fight on the same field is better. Dqbby and I had shoved in the scrum together on many a wet field, but we had never shoved so hard, or tackled the mud so strenuously, as we did in this new game where one had not always the luck to get temporarily laid out on the touch line. Therefore I knew my Dobbinson well, that is, if one can estimate a man as one would a good book which everyone should know. As a boy he was full of wild fancies which he frequently related to me, and they formed the basis of many a story I penned in the School Magazine. Little did I think then that one such as these imaginings was destined to end Voormezeele, near St. Eloi.

HISTORISCHE KRANTEN

The Ypres Times (1921-1936) | 1922 | | pagina 13