ONE MEMBER A YEAR.—AN APPEAL.
"Kitchener Drowned (The News in Normandy).
166
The Ypres Times.
Members are frequently writing to Headquarters ashing in what way they can best
help to promote the welfare of the League. We could make many suggestions, but know
ing that the spare time öf the majority of our members is limited we shall content our
selves with putting forward a single suggestion only, but this a very important one.
Our great need is a larger membership. This can only be obtained by a much more
determined and sincerer effort on the part of each individual than has been made in the
past. We therefore make an earnest appeal to each and all to recruit at least one member
a year.
Were this to be made a general practice we should double our membership each year.
Those contributing their share towards such an achievement would have the satisfaction
of knowing that they had helped to give greater stability and a longer life to an
association whose badge its members are proud to wear.
At present members are being chiefly recruited by the indefatigable labours of a small
and devoted minority. The same aims unite us all and the effort to maintain them should
be general. The year is still youngthere are many months yet in which you can fulfil
the resolution, which we hope may be the result of this earnest appeal for your support.
By S. H. RICHARDS SCALES.
Half a world was at war, yet Idespite my uniform-was, momentarily, at peace
with all that world. It was eventide in early June. I sat in one of the tonnelles of the
Café au Renaissance on the slopes of the Invalids' Mount above Rouen. A 'mi-litre
carafe of la champagne de Normandy and the current issue of the Paris Midi failed
completely to distract my attention from the charmfamiliar though it wasof my
immediate environments. Through interlaced vines I caught fragmentary glimpses of
a valley in which nestled a village, picturesque in architecture as in name, the Field of
Birds." Beyond reared the gloomy heights of William's Wood, on the marge of which the
Union Jack and the Geneva Cross floated significantly side by side. Immediately behind
me, invisible but familiar, the tricolour of martyred Belgium seemed to challenge all
who sought to pass the adjacent octroi barrier. To my left, a break in a lofty hedge
revealed marvellous chains and clusters of variegated roses clinging precariously to a rugged,
rock-bound hillsidea view frequently obscured by the noisy passage of toy tramcars
arrayed in blinding yellow. The angelus had rung out from the dimly discerned grey
spire of St. Aignan, whose clock continued relentlessly to chime the quarters leading to
the end of a perfect day and Lights outA weird chant, monotonous yet melodious,
commenced slowly to ascend the hill. L'lntranse was the oft-repeated refrain, as
unintelligible to a stranger as are the cries of our own news arabs. Leisurely I left mv
arbour, crossed the gravelled terrasse and descended a steep flight of rustic stone steps
which led to a sunken back lane.
My old crony, the newsagent from St. Maur, was gossiping and gesticulating excitedly
with a pal a dozen yards down the hill. Upon glimpsing khaki, however, he unceremoniously
broke off the conversation and, shouting incoherently, ran up the incline. Once he had
recovered his breath, he fired off his news in a solitary staccato French sentence.
The English Minister for War," I understood him to say, has fallen! Tidings
sufficiently startling, in all conscience, especially after similar anterior rumours concerning
Gallipoli, but how insignificant compared to the ghastly truthEagerly I seized and opened
my copy of L'Intransigeant, but he stopped me with an eloquent gesture. Then, still
struggling for breath, he gaspedPas la rn'sieuJournal de Rouen," grabbed my sou
and recommenced his climb towards St. Aignan. I returned te my tonnelle, content to
seek my Journal de Rouen as soon after the morrow's revéillé as practicable. Put the
