YPRES CALLING. The Ypres Times. against the endless stream of traffic, in charge of a dismounted party with Hotchkiss guns, without a map or more definite orders than to relieve some unit believed to be holding a bit of line near He would try his best, but seldom reached his objective. The confusion was indeed confounded. Xow and again, such parties sighted the field-grey uniforms, and knew themselves to be in truth the thin red line not seldom a burst of fire from friendly machine-guns took toll of them. The officer often found himself in charge of a party drawn from stragglers of a dozen different regiments. The Somme, which runs north to Peronne, turns west to Amiens, and in the river valley at Corbie our unit came at last to rest. For some mysterious reason the German push petered out. A thin fringe of worn-out soldiers and untrained clerks, waiters and cooks occupied the villages between Corbie and Yillers-Bretonneux. But neither side found strength to move. The Germans dug in at Yillers-Bretonneux, in full view of Amiens, and set about demolishing the railway stations. I saw them put one shell into the cathedral. The moon shone bright, and every night Amiens was made a hell by the Taubes. Streams of refugees, many flying from the enemy for the third time, passed daily- through the town, blocking the congested traffic. A familiar sight, the long farm wagon drawn by, a skeleton horse the piteous assortment of household goods, a bedstead and mattress, furniture, a hutch of rabbits, a sleeping child, or invalid old woman, chickens, a crucifix and, toiling behind, tethered by the horns, the family cow, lowing piteously. They were grand, these peasants. On none had the horrors of war fallen more cruelly. In the calmness of despair or made indifferent by fatigue, they trudged onwards to immor tality. The French farmer is tenacious of his rights the bright, new, agricultural instruments were not abandoned in panic to the sale bcs:he. The Roye-Amiens main road falls sharply into the suburbs of Amiens. Down this road during the hour of panic a strange assortment of men ran terror-struck. Dagoes, Italians, Indians, Chinks behind them and apparently out of control, an immense farm roller, petrol-driven, thundered towards safety. The panting runners drew aside to let it pass—all but a Chink, whom panic had made deaf. His pancaked shape was visible in the road long afterwards. At this spot, five months later, was set up a park of captured and unfired German guns, scores of them. Such are the changes and chances of war. But I fancy that to advance victoriously is the hardest test of military genius and organisation. Certainly we were never called on to starve till we began to advance under peace conditions triumphantly into Germany. As for that March retreat, it was a nightmare and, as is the way of bad dreams, eludes the memory, leaving behind nothing but a bad taste in the mouth, a vague impres sion of the utter chance which directs the science of war, the frailty of soldiers, the splendour of mankind, the agony of fatigue and fear of death at that smiling season of the year when men care most for life. Reprinted by kind permission of The Evening Standard." Much has been written, since the War ended, about Ypres. Pilgrimages have been described, ceremonies have been duly reported, and war-time experiences in and about the Salient have been recounted and discoursed upon. In this article, however, I will endeavour to picture to the many who read these words what the experience of revisiting Ypres really is like, and in the ultimate hope that the reader who has not yet been to renew acquaintance with the Salient will be induced

HISTORISCHE KRANTEN

The Ypres Times (1921-1936) | 1927 | | pagina 5