20
On Whit-Sunday morning, 1931, the sun shone brightly through the historic
streets of Ypres as my chum and I bent our steps towards Skindles Hotel, near
the railway station, where breakfast awaited us.
And then a strange sight met our gaze, for out of the station their poured a
large party of our late enemies. These were the men to whom, for four weary
years of agony and bloody sweat, we had barred the road to Ypres. They shall
not pass," that was our watchword, and on roads and fields of sacrifice we
stood until the peace.
Eagerly we studied the faces of these men as they gazed curiously at the new
city which had sprung up from the ashes of the old Ypres. One of them carried
a wreath, and that emblem of homage told the object of their pilgrimage. They
had come back to pay tribute to old comrades who had laid down their lives in an
enemy country, men who had died for the Fatherland in a cause they believed to
be just. It was just that fact which drew us close to them in spirit, for we too
had come back to pay homage to brave comrades who had died for the
Motherland.
I greeted the man who carried the wreath with an English Good-morning."
A friendly smile suffused the face of this one-time enemy as he returned my
greeting, and somehow 1 knew immediately that I had met a natural gentleman
of whose friendship I should be proud.
Asking their destination and intentions I received a reply that they were to
hold a memorial ceremony in Broodseinde German Cemetery and afterwards they
were to tour the Salient. Then he surprised me with a very pressing invitation;
he and his friends would be very pleased to offer seats in their buses to me and
my comrades, in all the circumstances a generous invitation. Instinctively they
seemed to know that we were one with them in our desire to perpetuate the
memory of brave men who had died on the battlefields of Flanders. I explained
our inability to spend a day with them due to other engagements, but said we
would hire a car and join them at Broodseinde and Tyne Cot.
Soon we were speeding to Broodseinde between bus loads of German ex-service
men, my party now numbering four.
Arrived at the German Cemetery we removed our hats as we entered. Our
gesture of reverence for the resting-place of our late enemies seemed to be much
appreciated by our new friends.
A German ex-officer, wearing the Iron Cross, mounted a temporary pulpit and
made a very earnest speech, or so it seemed to his compatriots. We learned
later that this officer had been wounded, while serving in the Salient, no less than
five times. This was followed by an old comrades song and a ceremony of
laying the wreath on one of the rude Trees of Calvary which border the west side
of the cemetery.
After the ceremony I again sought my English-speaking friend and regretfully
he said that they might not have time to visit Tyne Cot, but if possible they would
do so. He then asked me if I would correspond with him and we exchanged
addresses. Then with many hearty handshakes we left them and took the road to
Tyne Cot.
We had been in the cemetery for five minutes when I saw the German party
arriving. Reverently, with heads bared, they entered the gate; I was deeply moved
at their reverent attitude, it made one marvel at the madness of the dark war years.
We met them at a spot where two German soldiers lay buried, their graves care
fully tended and covered with lovely flowers by British gardeners. They seemed
to lie very interested and deeply appreciative of the work of our great-hearted
caretakers.
I asked one of my friends to make a speech of welcome to our new friends.
