Albert I
11 n /ID c in o v t a m
44
THE YPRES TIMES
In this position we were firing all hours of the day and night. In between
the firing we were unloading the ammunition, which was brought to the guns by
pack horses. Many weary hours were spent endeavouring to keep the shells free
from mud. The poor little drivers who had struggled through slush and shell-fire
to feed the guns can perhaps be forgiven for occasionally unloading the shells and
dropping them in the slush near the guns, but this did not lessen our labours.
The plight of the horses was pitiable. They looked at us with their big sad
eyes as if to say, Is this the best that man can do? If such an existence as
I have attempted to describe was the best that man can do it would be a black
outlook for the human race.
Few of the gunners escaped without feeling the effects of the gas, and most
of us were soon cawing like a flock of crows.
I came away from the guns on the 20th October, and went to the wagon line
at Elverdinghe, where I soon recovered from the effects of gas, so far as my voice
was concerned, but it left its imprint on my physique, and when we left the district
on November 3rd, and I was given a bicycle to ride, I found this was beyond my
powers, and so I followed the wagons on foot during a six days' march, in which
we took the route of St. Sixte, Godewaersvelde, Calonne, Maries, Mingoval, to
Boiry St. Martin, a devastated district about ten miles south of Arras.
On our way there, owing to the casualities among our horses, we could only
raise four-horse teams, and all of these were badly in need of rest.
This experience changed my whole philosophy of life. I made up my mind
that whatever came I could never go through a worse time and live. It was
certainly a cure for grousing."
C. S.
KING OF THE BELGIANS.
O valorous heartIf the dead acclaim
Great souls, and splendid coming in their ways
Then halls immortal shook with your fair name.
What man of all these days, or other days
Called forth a grief so sudden, and so strong
As you when bidden to the lordly throng
Of those who kept their souls in face of terrible hours?
In days of mockery who mocked this man?
Few kinder ever throned in hearts of men.
Not him to waste his breath while great hours ran
Not him to loudly boast with voice, or pen
In some proud hour that he had saved the world
Yet saved it was when he with pride unfurled
The oriflamme of Belgium when the hosts were hurled.
R. Henderson-Bland.
