The Ypres Times.
35
"You remember what is said to have happened here in the early part of the war
I asked. It was on the blue doors that the Celt was crucified."
Yes," exclaimed Dobbinson, anxiously. Have you ever looked at the Convent
gateway, towards nightI mean as the shadows begin to fall
Though my duties had taken me through a trench (Convent Lane) which passed within
view of the gateway, I told him that I had not observed the shadows particularly.
You a man of light and colour exclaimed Dobbinson, jumping to his feet, the
dramatic effect of which was ruined by the confines of my dug-out. I laughed. But you
don't follow me," he said with emphasis. I think I do, Dobby," I replied encouragingly.
Give me a cigarette," said Dobbinson. I handed him the tin. He took one out in a
leisurely manner, rolled it round in his long tapering fingers, and leaning over, lit it by
the candle flame. I noticed a little eager look in his eyes which seemed to foretell that he
had something of import to tell me.
Have you never observed the shadow in the Convent gateway he asked, religiously.
What shadow I asked. It is the shadow of He paused for a moment.
The shadow of a cross." A cross I exclaimed.
Yes," he continued. One can see it any day as the sun goes down, or on aclear
moonlight night."
Dobby, old boy," I said, you're dreaming. The question of association is playing
havoc with your imagination. The blue door and the unhappy destiny of the Celt have
lent themselves too unkindly to your creative faculties."
I want none of your big talk, little 'un," he said decisively. I tell you there is a
shadow it is a physical fact which can be seen with the naked eye."
I will judge for myself," I replied, rising.
I put on my box respirator, my steel helmet, and placed my revolver in my pouch.
Come," I commanded. I will see this monstrosity of your brain."
It was not a hundred yards from my ruined chalet on the cross-roads to the trench
from which a view of the gateway could be obtained. The day was just dying, and all
was still as if to welcome a Belgian night of peacea rare event our days.
You're a sport, little 'un," he said. He pushed open the door, kicked some bricks
out of his path, and led the way.
Out into the village street we came, and I saw in a glance the awful havoc which the
afternoon's shelling had wrought on the cobbled road. We skirted carefully round three
large shell-holes, over a pile of timber, and then into the trench. A dozen yards, and
then I mounted an old fire step. Above the small shrubs and torn fruit tree I saw the
Convent gateway against the failing light of day. Come further this way," said Dobbin
son. By setting my head and following the direction of his hand I saw a shadow falling
on the far side of the gateway. There is a shadow certainly," said I. Look again,"
he cried. I did as I was bid. There' was no doubt about it. There was the semblance
of a cross, though a rough-edged cross but I would not allow my imagination to run
rampant. It must be some physical coincidence," I muttered to myself. Dobbinson
heard me. Come," he said. It is quiet nowlet us go to the gate and see from whence
the shadow comes." Yes," I replied. We can get across under cover of the wall,
but remember there is no trench the far side of the gateway, and he can see us from the
ridge." Not in this light," said Dobbinson, climbing over the trench. I followed. Across
the broken ground we scrambled. I tumbled and fell many times, always to rise to the
encouraging words of Dobbinson, Are you alright, little 'un Eventually we reached,
the large yellow-bricked gateway from whose sides the ancient roofed-wall had been torn.
The structure stood out upon the little ridge, a feature of isolation, like a lone monument
one often sees in a landscape. Coming out from up behind our cover of shrubs, Dobbmson
and I got to our knees upon the tiled way which led up to the open space on which the
gateway stood. Through the archway we could see the slow depression of brown and green
