The Ypres Times.
87
such terrific cost was lost again and the enemy were all round the city. So desperate
was the fighting that villages changed hands several times a day. Bailleulwhere we
journeyed in comparative safety for a day's outing in 1917, was in the hands of the
Germans. They were critical days, the enemy were almost up to the very wall of the
city but not in Ypresthank Godnot in Ypres! By the end of the month the initiative
fell into our hands, ending in the great victory offensive.
What other nation could have stood a four years' defence under such conditions
The jagged ruin of the Cloth Hall is a pillar of victory gained by an immense sum of death
now gathered into the beautiful graveyards, where our comrades lie. The largest of
these cemeteries in the salient is Tyne Cot where 14,000 rest and more than half the
stones bear the inscription Known unto God," for these belong to the great arm}' of the
unknown.
Of these spots it can be said that
There honour comes a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And freedom shall a while repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there."
These boys who died had no hatred in their hearts they were not conscious even
for the most [part of high ideals they wereas I knew themofficers and men, simple
men with an instinctive inarticulate love of their country or some little spot called home
which means the same to them. They loved fair play, they had a pride in their man
hood they liked comradeship they were laughing fellows with a courage so splendid
that they were utterly unconscious of it. In the grisly game of war, so monstrous in its
mechanics of slaughter, they were in the mass like schoolboys, rowdy, obedient to
discipline, but not fond of itso full of life that death did not frighten them much for
they had the sense of immortality. They were the flower of our race would to God we
had more of their spirit in evidence to-day. But words seem foolish to those of us who
marched with them through Ypres and up the Menin Road, or lived with them in lousy,
rat-infested dugouts and rubbed shoulders with them in the narrow, muddy trenches.
These men hated wordsthey jeered at the name Hero." They grinned from ear to
ear under their old Tin Hats" when some War Correspondent wrote of their valour
and their sacrifice. They were simply doing their job and not liking it a bit. That
was their splendour and their glory upholding the tradition of the Salient, keeping faith
with the Old Contemptibles.
What do we owe to the men of Ypre§ Nobody can say. Probably our very existence.
Can we forget NoStanding there in one of the beautiful cemeteries of the Salient one's
pity for the loss of youth is overwhelmed by the homage of one's heart. The spirit of
these boys is not dead it is our greatest heritage, a new and undying tradition.
There was humour too in the Salient! Without it men would have gone mad. The
Wipers Timesfather of our present periodicalwas published regularly. One advertise
ment in this cheery trench journal ran as follows
Cloth Hall, Wipers."
The Great Silent Percy
(Brings the House down).
The Hunny Company in their little Song Scena entitled
Star Shells softly falling on You and Me."
The Brothers Wizz Bang.
(These merry little fellows get there every time.)
Special performance of the "Queen of the Movies known as
Good Old Number Nine."
Guaranteed Change of Scenery every Night.
This is the best ventilated hall in the city.
