Wooden Crosses at West Byfleet Church.
The Ypres Times.
189
On the opposite page is a photograph, for which we are very greatly indebted to
Mr. Bates. Photographer, Chertsev, that has a very beauti.'ul and touching signif cance.
It is a photograph f the interior of Byfleet Church in Surrey and shows the
crosses that once were placed above all that was mortal of its members who fell in a foreign
land for Britain's honour, now hung as a permanent memorial in their old church. It
was an idea that does credit to the church to hang the crosses th re, for in their stark
simplicity they are a memorial mere impressive and more eloquent than the finest in
brass or in stone. One does not see how the most casual cf visitors could fail to bow his
head and his heart as he realises what they are.
It is now possible for relatives to obtain possession of the wcoden crosses cs circum
stances permit. '1 here is a certain amount of formality, however, to be observed. The
written authority of the Imperial War Graves Commission is essential in all cases and
the crosses can only be handed over personally and under definite conditions. There
are, we are sure, ever so many people who would like to have he wooden cross that once
stood over the grave of a loved one but who do not know how to obtain them or who are
unable to go over to France to receive them. All such should write to the Church Armjr,
War Grave Department, Marble Arch, London, W. 1, who will, if it is possible to get
the cross wanted, make all arrangements to obtain it.
THE ANSWER.
Oh, how will I manage to stick it all, if I ever get back again?"
The Revelation," by Robert Service.
We're back at last to the dreary grind of office or general store,
But many of us have a different job from the one we had before,
For some of our bosses grew angry whan we 'listed at Kitchener's call,
And many there are who longed for Life who haven't a job at all.
Some of us travelled ten thousand miles to life in an office abroad,
Breaking the friendships we made in France, cutting the golden cord
Whispered the voice of a foreign shore, hearing, we sailed away,
Glimpsing that land where we once took part in the shock of an epic day.
And now as we sit on our office stools, the ledgers do fade and blur,
For the memory sometimes gets a jog and the blood feels the old, old stir,
And instead of a pile of letters there, we gaze through the veil of years,
On the land of the Great Awakening, the home of a thousand fears.
We wondered indeed what the hell we'd do if we ever came home again.
When the days of our Madness were over, the life in the Mud, Blood and Rain.
An officeGod help us, we couldn'twe lived for the open air,
The flowers, and the breath of the country, for the peace of the world lies there.
Alas for those dreams of the future now, we're back on our office stools,
Just the same, you see, and it had to be, though the world may call us fools
T'was Take it or leave it," we had no chance, for most of us live by our pay.
We've only the pride that we helped the Side through the Night to the dawn of dav.
H. U. S. N.
