The Ypres Times.
55
Staggering down the road came three men, lurching from side to side, bumping up
against one another, then falling apart ever and anon collapsing in the road or the
gutter, disappearing into shell holes, tripping over débris, over trees, over dead things.
Gasping and panting they came on with their legs not strong enough to hold them. Nearer
they came, and their faces were yellow-green, and their foreheads were thick with sweat,
though the evening was chilly. They were half-sobbing, half-moaning, with their collars
open and their clothes coated in mud. And one of them had a great gash over his head.
Just before they reached us he collapsed in the ditchfor the last time. He was leaning
forward and heaving with the agony of getting his breath. A froth was forming on
his mouth, and his face was green.
In God's name what is it we asked one of the other two as they staggered by.
He stared at us vacantly, gasped out the one word, Gas," and disappeared into the
shambles of Ypres. We had not seen it before. We have since, and the first horror
of it is past but as there is a heaven above, there is not a man who has seen its effects
who would not give every worldly possession he has to be able slowly to dribble the con
tents of a cylinder of the foulest and most diabolical invention yet conceived into a trench
full of the originators of a device which most savages would be ashamed to use. We
picked up the poor devil in the ditch and got him to a dressing station. He died in fearful
agony half an hour after, so I subsequently heard. That was a fortnight ago.
Four nights ago there was a great light in the sky. Standing up out of the blaze what
was left of the cathedral showed up like a blackened sentinel. Through the trees the
yellow flames shone with a lurid glow, and the crashing of falling houses completed the
destruction started by German shells. The sight was one which will never be forgotten
by those who saw itthat final gutting of a stricken town. For three days and three
nights it blazed, and now all is over. It is the best end for that historic citythe scene
of so much senseless carnage. How many of its harmless inhabitants have perished
with it will never be knownwill probably never be even guessed at. But fire is a
purifier, and purification was necessary in Ypres.
EDEN REVISITED A Parody.
By S. J. CLIFT, late Signaller, R.F.A.
Sweet Ypres warmest city of the plain
Where muttering men repaired thy ways in vain,
Where Brigadiers their slenderest visit paid,
Nor, feigning mirth, their journey home delayed
Dear nooks of seeming innocence and ease,
Famed on those nights when scarce a sound could please,
How oft have I at dawn, with envy green,
Beheld a laughing Colonel in his sheen,
And, quitting stirrups in diurnal calm,
With winning smile a languid sentry charm
A never-wailing cook, a glittering grill
That bid immortals eat beyond their fill,
The Q.M.S., to whom we homage paid,
Cheer warriors fresh from some nocturnal raid,
And then unto a shivering rank and file
Distribute blankets from his secret pile.
How often at the road's enchanted bend
(For streams of upstart shells the, journey's end)
Have I beheld a driver's radiant face,
When lo the heavenly mule kicked o'er the trace.
