We kept on until 4 A.M., and as it was getting a little bit light we

saw in the distance what looked like a small town. We were much

astonished, because if we read our map aright the only town on our

route should have been passed the night before. We lay up in a field

and talked it over, but we couldn't locate ourselves. It wouldn't do

for us to lay up for a day so near a town, so we must either turn back

or hasten on. At last I said, "Let's flip a coin and see which we will

do--heads, we go on; tails, we turn back." We did this, and it turned

out "heads," so on we went. I forgot to say between us and the town

was a canal, and we couldn't find a bridge. This canal was another

puzzling feature. Well, we swam it, and came out very wet, cold, and

tired. We passed within half a mile of the town and finally struck the

main road on the other side. It was now daylight, and we had to be on

the lookout for people every instant. Finally we saw a signpost just

ahead, and we thought that would surely solve our problem. But when we

came to it we found the lettering had become almost obliterated. One

town that the hand pointed to we figured out as "Neda," but the one we

had just passed could not be made out. Finally, with Mac's help, I

climbed up to the top of the pole, and from there I made out a few of

the letters. Comparing these with an address I had found on a piece of

wrapping paper earlier in the morning, I made out the name as

"Haakshergen." However, our map didn't show either of these towns, so

we were just as much at sea as ever.

Then it occurred to us that the border troops must be stationed in

either one of these towns, and there would surely be some of them

passing on this road; so we determined to hide in the ditch close by

and watch for them. We came to a place where there were some bushes

growing at the side of the ditch and we hid in these. Finally we saw

two mounted men coming, but they passed so quickly that we couldn't see

much except that they wore grey uniforms. We waited a little longer,

and along came two soldiers on foot. One of these was evidently sick

or wounded, for just as they came opposite us he begged to be allowed

to sit down. They talked for a minute or two and then moved on, but we

had a good look at them. They wore exactly the same uniform as the

German excepting that their hats were different. Instead of a

"pill-box" they had a cap with a square top. All at once I remembered

having seen some pictures of Holland soldiers in the _Daily Mirror_ (an

English paper), and I said, "By golly, I believe they are Hollanders,"

but Mac said, "No; if they were, they wouldn't be dressed like

Germans." One thing we decided on, and that was that we must find a

safer place than the one we were in; so when there was no one in sight

we made our way to a nearby wheat field. We lay there discussing the

situation, and just at 9 o'clock we heard the whistle of a train. We

could hardly believe our ears, and we crawled to the edge of the field

to see in which direction it was going. We found it running right into

the town we had passed, and now we were more muddled than ever, for the

German town that we thought was on the border hadn't a railroad nearer

than fifteen kilometers. We made our way back into the field, took out

our map, and tried to solve the problem.

[Illustration: As I looked before I left Germany; as I looked before I

saw Germany.]

At last we got desperate; we couldn't go on at night unless we found

out where we were, so we thought we would take a chance on going

farther down the road. We hadn't gone far when we saw a man in the

distance, and we slipped into some bushes until he had passed. Going

on farther we saw there was a man coming on a bicycle. We ducked and

hid, and as he got nearer we could see that he had a gun strapped on

his shoulders. We were afraid he had seen us and we were sure there

would be some fun, but fortunately he too passed. When everything was

quiet we started out again, and presently we spied an old man working

on the road. He had only a wheelbarrow and shovel, so we decided to

risk asking him what country we were in. When we came up we bid him

the time of day, and, in the best German we could muster, asked, "Which

is this, Germany or Holland?" The old man looked at us, smiled, and

said "_This is Holland_." It sounded too good to be true, and for an

instant we could only stare at him and each other, then the realization

came that we were _FREE_ and we laughed and hugged one another in our

joy. The old man watched us with a sympathetic smile, for though he

could not understand all that we were saying he knew that we were

escaped prisoners. We must have been a rough-looking pair. We had

travelled a hundred miles at night over all kinds of country, and had

been eight days without any cooked food. Our faces were covered with

hair, and our clothes were ragged and dirty. I weighed only 125

pounds, and the long period of anxiety and mental strain, had aged me

at least ten years. Mac was just as bad, and we must have looked more

like a couple of jail-birds than anything else.

Well, finally we sobered down sufficiently to ask the man how far it

was to the nearest town. He told us it was about five miles to the

little town of "Neda"; but before we started he asked us if we were

hungry. We looked at each other and smiled--and the old man

understood--he insisted on our taking all of his lunch, even the bottle

of tea that he carried--and I assure you no food ever tasted better.

We felt like new men after getting something to eat, and we shall not

soon forget the old Hollander's kindness to us. It was with light

hearts that we finally said "Good-bye" to our new friend and started on

our way to "Neda."

The world looked very different to what it had a few hours before, and

we were so busy talking about our experiences that we scarcely noticed

a man passing by us on a bicycle. He must have heard a scrap of the

conversation, for he turned and looked, and then jumped off his wheel

and came toward us. He said, "Are you Englishmen?" We said, "No, not

exactly; we are Canadians." "Oh," he said, "Canadians. I am a

Hollander myself, but I was educated in England; you must be escaped

prisoners." We replied, "Oh, we are not telling _what_ we are." He

said, "You needn't be afraid, for my sympathy is all with the Allies."

So we told him everything, and he walked with us until we got almost to

Neda. Then he mounted his wheel and rode into town, telling every one

in sight that we were coming. So when we arrived the streets were

lined with people; men, women, and children turned out to welcome us.

They finally conducted us to a store where the proprietor spoke

English. We sat and chatted for a few minutes, and then his wife came

out with a lunch. She brought bread and butter, cake and tea, and I

leave you to imagine how good it tasted.

But our friend on the wheel had left us at the store, and had reported

our coming to the police headquarters. So while we were at our lunch

the chief of police and an attendant arrived and asked us to go with

them. This didn't look good to us--it seemed too much like what we had

been getting for the past year. I said, "By golly!! Mac, I don't like

this." He said, "Neither do I, but I guess we have to go," so we went

along; but instead of landing in the police station, the chief took us

to his own house. Here we were made to understand we were _guests_;

and we were given water, soap, clean towels, and fresh shirts to

replace the ones that were torn to pieces. After we got cleaned up we

felt like new men, and our host took us out where a table was set under

the trees and we had our first properly served meal since leaving

England--a year and nine months.

Of course we were not given a regular dinner--our friends were too wise

for that--heavy food would have killed us. All we had was bread and

butter, cake, and strawberries with cream; but oh, they were scrummy.

The next thing we needed was sleep, and our host wished to put us to

bed in the house. But we felt much too dirty to get into his clean

beds, and we made him understand we much preferred going into the

hayloft. So he brought us some blankets, and we turned in. We slept

for fourteen hours without waking; that's how badly we needed it. We

wakened at 2 A.M., and at first we didn't know where we were. But

after we got our bearings we went to sleep again and didn't wake until

nine in the morning. Then we got up and had another light meal. We

lay around and rested all that day, but as their English was as limited

as our Dutch, conversation lagged. That night we had our first taste

of meat since entering Germany--and maybe we didn't enjoy it!

Early next morning we took the train for Rotterdam, the chief sending

an escort with us. Once there, we were taken to the British consul,

and after proving our identity we were given clothes, money, and a

passport for England. It was ten days before we got a boat out of

Rotterdam, and during that time we received nothing but kindness from

the people we met.

Finally we secured passage on a boat, and on the _first day of July_ we

landed in England.

"MY COMRADES, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM, AS TOLD TO ME IN LETTERS, BY MY

OLD CHUM BOB GODDARD."

DEAR JACK:

Well, you certainly had a pretty tough time in Germany, and I don't

envy your experience. And now you want to hear what we did after you

were taken prisoner, and what became of the bunch that you and I knew

so well. It's not pleasant to recall the things that happened, Jack,

but I'll do my best. Let me see; the Battle of St. Éloi was the last

scrap you took part in. Well, after that things cooled down a bit, but

we still took our turn in the trenches on that part of the line. No.

10 Platoon was still intact. We missed poor old Woodrow, and his chum

Fred went around looking like a ghost. The latter had never gotten

over his experience in No Man's Land, his eyes were sunken in his head,

and he was nothing but a wreck. One night, when we were in reserves in

Dickiebush, a few of us were talking and saying how lucky our little

bunch had been, when at that minute an order came in sending us out on

a working party. Fritz had gotten busy and blown down a section of our

front lines, and the boys holding this spot had no protection, so we

were being sent up to repair the damage. I guess Fritz was sore, for

our Stokes light trench mortars and heavies had been pounding the

German trenches all day long. Well, we were told off in small parties

to carry up sandbags, corrugated iron, picks and shovels, to repair the

line.

Our little bunch consisted of Tommy, Bink, Scottie, Bob Richardson,

Newell, McMurchie, and one or two others whom you do not know.

"Flare-pistol Bill" was in charge, of course; and just our luck, we had

to carry the corrugated iron (and damned awkward stuff it is), it's too

wide to carry through the trenches, so we had to go overland--and I

tell you, the machine gun fire was wicked. The boys holding the

trenches had a lot of casualties. Well, we got our loads and started

off in and out of shell holes. Tommy fell into a hole that was full of

water and got soaked; and Chappie, with his poor eyesight, if he fell

once, he fell at least a dozen times. We went along cursing our hard

luck, and making the best time we could, for the bullets were flying

mighty thick. Flares were going up every few minutes, and every time

one went up we would "freeze" till it went out again. At last we got

quite close to the front line, and when Fritz sent up a flare it would

fall right behind us. They couldn't help seeing us, for we made a

lovely target with those big slabs of corrugated iron on our heads.

The machine guns just ripped lead at us, and we were hurrying to get to

the trench, when young Blair got it through the thigh. He started to

yell at the top of his voice; and Scottie, who happened to be next in

line, cussed him roundly for the noise he was making. We would likely

have been all killed if he hadn't shut up. Well, they bound him up and

carried him out, and the rest of us went on.

We hadn't gone fifty feet when Scottie went down with a crash, just in

front of me. I crawled up to him, and he was badly hit--the blood was

pouring from his mouth, and he mumbled "Stretcher bearer."

Flare-pistol Bill went on to the trench to hunt up one, and I crawled

back to see if I could find the one who had come up with us. Before I

got back with Bob the stretcher bearer from the trench had fixed

Scottie up as well as he could. Poor Scottie! his jaw was shattered.

Bink insisted on carrying Scottie out on his shoulders, and they

started. But before going halfway Bink played out, and when

Scottie saw that Bink was all in he got down and walked to the

dressing-station. Say, that boy was sure game. By the way, he's in

Blighty now. Well, the rest of us got through safely, we fixed up our

trench and managed to get back to our supports. A few nights later we

made another trip to the front lines, and this was disastrous for No.

10. First of all, Tucker got shot in the face while on a wiring party;

then Jack Branch was on a working party behind the trench when Fritzie

started shelling, and he got a shrapnel bullet through his arm. We

bound him up, and he was in great pain, but he smiled all the time. As

he went out, he said, "I'll give your love to all the girls at

Shorncliffe." I thought, "Well, isn't this a hell of a war, when a man

can be pleased over getting a bloomin' big hole through his arm?"

Later that same night Tommy Gammon was on sentry go, and I was sleeping

in the dugout behind him, when Corporal Banks came in and woke me. He

said, "Do you want to see Tommy? He's hit." Gee, I jumped up in a

hurry and ran down the trench to where Tommy was; but I breathed freely

when I saw that it was only a hole through his arm--I was afraid he had

got it bad. "How did you get it, Tommy?" I said. He said, "Oh, you

know the sandbags we rolled out of the way to fire through last

night?--well, I thought some one might be walking past and get a bullet

through his bean, as a fellow had farther down the trench, so I put up

my arm to roll the bag into place, and _bingo_! Fritzie was right on

the job." I wrote to Tommy's mother that night and told her that I

thought Tommy had a Blighty, and she came all the way out from Canada

to see him. But he didn't get farther than our base hospital, and he

was back to the trenches again in six months, so his mother did not see

him after all.

Well, after Tommy left us, we were sent back to rest billets, and it

was then that the Battle of Hooge started. We could hear the guns

roaring and at night the whole sky on our left was lit up. The roads

were jammed with machine guns, marching troops, cyclists, and

cavalry--while coming from the scene of battle was a constant stream of

ambulances. Tales of what was going on came leaking through and we

fully expected to be sent up. But we couldn't move without orders, and

we thought we might just as well enjoy ourselves, so we got up an

open-air concert. It certainly was a dandy, and we had no end of a

time. A lot of the old boys took part; and then some one got up and

gave us a parody on "The Sunshine of Your Smile." It goes like this:

"Oh, Fritzie that hands those Blighties out so free,

Just send a nice sweet cushy one to me--

One that will strike me just below the knee.

Six months in Blighty--oh, how sweet 'twould be!

"Send me a shell with pellets nice and round;

Scatter them, all but one, upon the ground;

Send me that one, but let it come a mile,

And I will give you the sunshine of my smile."

This met with great applause, and we sang it till we all learned the

words. The concert was scarcely over when our officers told us that

word had come for us to be ready to move at a moment's notice. After

talking to some of our wounded boys that had come back from the

fighting, we began to realize that something very serious was

happening. They told us that whole battalions of Canadians had been

wiped out by shell fire. Fritzie had just blown everything to pieces

before he advanced, just the same as he did at St. Éloi. We realized

that our time on rest was likely to be cut short; so we got busy and

spent all our money--and sure enough, next day the order came for us to

move, and away we went along the road to V---- just behind Ypres. We

reached there safely and some of our officers and N. C. O.'s went on up

to the lines to see what kind of a place we were going into. They

found that we would be on the left flank of the attack, and although

the Germans had blown most of the front line to pieces, they had not

attempted to advance here. That night two companies, A and B, were

sent on ahead of the rest of us, and they went as near the lines as

they could in motor-buses, then they took over what was left of the

front lines, consisting mostly of shell holes. The rest of us were

marched through Ypres, and we found it a mass of ruins. It was here

that we saw the affects of war--dirty, horrible, stinking war.

Hundreds of people were buried when Ypres was bombarded, and the stench

of the place was unbearable. We followed the railroad for a piece and

we passed some shell holes made by the "Fat Berthas" used by the

Germans at the beginning of the war. You could bury an ordinary-sized

house in any one of these holes. Dead horses were lying everywhere,

showing that the road we were on had been shelled earlier in the

evening. We didn't know what minute they would open up again, so we

hurried over every crossroad. Fritzie had a mania for shelling

crossing roads, and those in the Ypres salient are all named

appropriately. Here are a few: "Shrapnel Corner," "Hellfire Corner,"

"Hell Blast Corner." We were marching in single file by this time, and

every man carried a sandbag, bomb, rifle and bayonet, rations and a

bottle of water. Some load, eh? Judging from the flares going up all

around us, we seemed to be going into a pocket. On our right, the

machine guns were going all the time, and they sounded like a thousand

riveting machines, only instead of construction their noise meant

destruction. Pretty soon we came to a big barrier of sandbags known as

"China Wall," and here dead men were lying everywhere, and we couldn't

help stumbling over them on our way in. At last we came to the

communicating trench, and just as we reached it Fritzie sent a salvo of

shells across--one or two of the boys caught it--the rest of us kept on

our way. We followed the trench, scrambling over parts that were blown

in, and stumbling over the dead that were lying everywhere. Finally we

came to the trench that we were going to take over, and we relieved

what was left of the Royal Canadian Rifles. They were an awful sight,

dirty and bloodstained--many were shaking as though with a palsy--their

nerves literally torn to pieces by the shell fire. But they had no

word of complaint. "All right, boys, it's quiet. All's over now," was

their greeting, but what they said didn't sound exactly true, for we

had not been in five minutes, when with a roar all of Fritzie's guns

opened up once more. Bullets swept over us like hail; it was hell let

loose. The officer in charge was killed almost at once, and Major

Q---- took over the command. I sat in a bay with Sammy, Emerson, and

Sergeant-Major Banks; the other boys were farther along the trench. I

had never seen anything like what we were getting; machine guns were

enfilading our trench--just at my feet was an old empty water can, and

the bullets going in sounded as though some one was playing a drum.

They couldn't hit me, because I was behind a traverse, or jog in the

trench. After a while it quieted down a little, but it didn't entirely

stop, and next morning, just at dawn, it started again, and I hope that

I shall never be called on to go through what I did that day. But if I

lived to be a hundred I could never forget it. Our trench was

literally blown to pieces, and we couldn't do a thing but sit there and

curse our gunners for not firing back--no doubt they were doing all

they could, but the terrific noise of bursting shells all around us

drowned the sound of our own artillery, and we fancied that we were not

being supported. Wounded men were crawling along the trench looking

for a spot that would offer comparative safety, and the rest of us were

sitting in a daze. I was suffering for a drink, and I had no water. I

had started to make some tea, but a shell knocked a big chunk of dirt

into the trench and it upset my canteen. I wouldn't ask any of the

boys for water, for every one needed all they had, and we are supposed

to look after our own. Finally I got desperate, for the smoke and gas

from the bursting shells parches the throat, and I made a search

through a dead man's pack. It wasn't pleasant work, but I found a tin

of milk, and it was worth a million dollars to me then. I had just

gotten my drink, when, all at once, the earth under my feet began to

heave and I was thrown on my face. I scrambled up again, but the earth

was rocking like a ship at sea. Finally it stopped, and we looked over

to the front lines which were held by A and B companies, but all we

could see was smoke, black smoke right up to the sky, and then we

realized what had happened. Our front lines had been blown up with

mines, and now all the artillery that had been playing on our front

lines was lifted on to us, and our hell became worse than ever. Then

the Germans came and we had our hands full. A machine gun battery in a

strong point just ahead held out, and a trench mortar on our left

supported us, and our few lads did the rest. We were using the Ross

rifle, and we fired it till it jammed; then we grabbed some

Lee-Enfields that had been left behind by the E. C. R.'s. Fritzie

seemed doped, and he came forward carrying full kit and trench mats.

They were evidently surprised to find any one alive, for when we began

to fire they stared around stupidly. Then our fire caught him, and as

he attempted to get through the gap in our front lines the portion of

line that had not been mined swept him with their machine guns. All

the time our boys were just being wiped out with shell fire. Little

Henry Wright was hit in the knee and started to crawl out over the back

of the trench. I grabbed him and brought him back and stuck him into a

hole out of the way of flying splinters. "You won't leave me, will

you, if you have to go back?" he cried. "Not on your life," said I.

"But don't be afraid--Fritzie is not going to chase us out of here."

Just then somebody came along and said that the Germans had broken

through on our right. I looked at Sammy and said, "This back to back

stuff isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?" Sammy grinned and we

went on firing, and an officer that came along told us that the report

we heard was not true--our line still held.

Just then poor old Baldy was blown to pieces by a shell; he had thrown

up his bomb-proof job and had come back to the battalion. Chappie was

struck by a piece of that same shell, and he got it right through the

lung. Oh, how he did suffer! We couldn't take him back to the

dressing-station on account of the terrific shell fire, and he lay in a

sheltered part of the trench slowly bleeding to death. We took turns

in going to see him. "Tell my little girl that I died fighting," he

said to Bink. His chum, Marriot, came rushing along--"Oh, deah boy,

I'm so sorry you are hit--cheer up, old chap." He, like the rest of

us, didn't know what to say. But old Chappie didn't "go west" after

all. He was ill for a long time, but was finally invalided home to

Canada.

While we were worrying over old Chappie a call came for volunteers to

dig out some men that had been buried. McLeod and I grabbed shovels,

and away we went in the direction pointed out. There was smoke

everywhere and shells were continually coming. We went down the trench

for quite a distance, and, turning a corner, what a sight met our eyes!

There, sitting around on the firing-step of a bay, were nine of our

boys, dead. The shell must have burst just above them, for they were

full of holes, and their clothes were on fire. I turned to Mac:

"Nothing for us to do here, old boy," and we started back. Just then I

stumbled over something, and looking down, I saw that it was a body

almost entirely buried in the dirt and wire netting. I scraped away

some of the dirt and found that the man still breathed, so I got busy

and tried to get him out. He was covered with the wire that is used to

keep our trenches from caving in, and it was an awful job getting the

wire and dirt off. We dug with our shovels, and tore at the wire until

finally we got him extricated. We couldn't see a wound, but we thought

it might be concussion, but when we lifted him up there was a hole in

his back that I could put my fist in. Poor fellow, I saw that it was

no use, but I threw some water in his face, and he opened his eyes, and

tried to speak, and then quietly "went west." I went back to the boys

feeling mighty blue, and their only greeting was, "Where in hell have

you been? Don't you know your place is here?" but I just cursed back,

and explained.

The Germans had stopped coming over by this time, but they still held

portions of our front line. Out of the five hundred men who took over

our portion of the front trenches, only one or two came out, and this

is what they told us. They had been shelled for hours and their

casualties were very heavy, as their only protection was shell holes.

Then Fritzie started to come over, but they gathered in a bunch and

bombed him back, and then the mines went up and that finished them.

When Fritzie came over the few that were left were half buried and

dazed, and had lost their rifles, so they were taken prisoners.

In the second line there were about a hundred of us left. Spud Murphy,

our officer, fought till his arm was disabled, but we continued to hold

the trench. Bink and Sammy took a bunch of bombers and went up to the

advance post; and that left our numbers still smaller. Just then

Sergeant Faulkener came in from the strong point wounded in the

shoulder. He had tried to keep it a secret, but loss of blood made him

so weak that he had to give up. I spoke to him, and he said, "Ain't

this hell? I get hit every little scrap I get into." He had been

wounded down at Kemmil when Fritzie blew up the trenches there.

"Honest John" we used to call him, and he was a good old scout.

The shell fire was still on just as bad as ever. Bob Richardson, our

stretcher bearer, was working like a hero, the wounded lying all around

him, and often the poor fellows were hit again before he got through

binding them up. A boy went past me with a bandage on his head. I

said, "Hello, Jack, got a Blighty?" He said, "No, I'm afraid it's not

bad enough for that." Poor fellow, he was shot through the eyes, and

he didn't know that he would never see again.

That afternoon, in response to an urgent request for help, a company of

men from the 29th came in. Towards evening the shelling died down a

bit, and the wounded that could walk went out. Carrying parties

arrived, and took out those who were badly wounded. Chappie was one of

the first to go. That night the Sergeant came along and said, "Goddard

and Wilson, go out on listening-post." We looked at the spot where he

wanted us to go. Fritzie was landing shells there about one a minute,

and there was absolutely no protection. I said "Say, Sergeant, that's

suicide!" "I know," said he, "but I have orders to put a post there."

I said, "All right, but if I get killed I'll come back and haunt you."

Well, over the top we went and we got to the place he had pointed out;

we had barely lain down in a shell hole when _whiz-bang_! a shell

landed just in front of us. It covered us with dirt, and we had hardly

gotten the dust out of our eyes when _whiz-bang_! another landed just

behind us. "Now," thinks I, "if one comes between those two, our name

is mud." It wasn't more than a minute when we heard another coming,

and this one landed in the part of the trench we had just left.

Shrieks and groans went up, and Wilson and I lay there shaking like

leaves. Just then, the Sergeant came out and told us to go back into

the trench, and you bet we were glad to do it. We found that the last

shell had killed three and wounded six, and no doubt we would have

gotten one had we stayed. It's funny how things happen--our

Sergeant-Major was badly wounded, and I helped to carry him to a place

of comparative safety, but the poor fellow died after his wounds were

dressed. We buried the dead as best we could, and then we hung on for

two days more. We had no water and scarcely any food, and we suffered

terribly, especially from thirst. Our ration parties were all killed

trying to get food to us. Bink and some of the boys on the outpost

were relieved first, and they brought us water. Poor lads, they had

been sitting on an old culvert with water up to their waists. The only

sleep we got all this time was during the day when we lay in the mud at

the bottom of the trench. We were relieved on the third night, and oh,

what joy when the 29th came in and took over the trench! We were "all

in," and we staggered back to Ypres throwing away everything we carried

except our rifles. When we got to Ypres, we found that we had to go

back to where we had started from, so we struggled on. On the way we

met a bunch of Lancashire men. "What do you belong to?" they asked us

as they passed. "We are all that is left of a Canadian battalion," we

replied. "Gorblimey, it's bleedin' orful," said they. Just as day was

breaking we hit camp. The Quartermaster gave us a drink of rum, and

the cooks had a feed ready, and we got our blankets and turned in. We

slept till the afternoon, and then we had to answer a muster call. Two

hundred and seventy-two was all that was left of what, three days

before, had been a battalion one thousand strong. Tears rolled down

our old Colonel's face as he looked at us. "My boys! my boys!" was all

he could say. We were only out twenty-four hours, and during that time

we read our mail, wrote a few letters, and opened our parcels. There

were parcels everywhere, many of them belonging to boys who had been

either killed or wounded, and these were distributed among those that

remained. We were dead-tired and we were hoping for a good long rest,

when in marched a big bunch of reinforcements, and shortly after we

received orders to pack up and be ready to move that night. It was

raining when we started out, and oh! we did feel rotten to have to go

back to that hell-hole again. But the new fellows didn't know what it

was like, and we laughed and joked with them. Bob Tait and I were

carrying No. 10's rations; and we were "connecting file"--that is, we

kept in sight of the platoon behind. It was raining so hard that we

were soon soaked to the skin, and we were glad when they stopped at

Ypres that night. Bob and I missed the platoon in front, they went

into some dugout, so we went in with the rear platoon. We were

billeted in what had been an old wine cellar. The house which had been

there before the war was blown down, and from the outside it looked

like nothing but a pile of bricks. Bob and I were in a little place by

ourselves; we knew that it was useless to try and find our own platoon

in the dark. We had nothing but a stone slab to sleep on, and it

didn't look very inviting to stretch out there in our wet clothes. I

was just preparing to lie down when Bob said, "Wait a minute, see what

I found," and he held up a bottle of rum. Gee, I could have kissed

him!--we had a good drink, and maybe we weren't glad that we carried

the rations that night. We had a fine sleep in spite of the artillery

thundering overhead. Every now and then a heavy German shell would

land right on top of our sleeping-place, but it couldn't break through.

The concussion would put out the candles, that was all. That night,

the First Division of Canadians and some British troops made their big

counter-attack; and took back all the ground that the Germans had taken

in the previous nine or ten days.

Bob and I woke up next morning and had our breakfast, and after awhile

we wandered out around town. Some German prisoners were coming down

the road, and we stopped and spoke to them. One who could speak a

little English said, "Too much shell." They were very hungry; one of

them spotted a piece of biscuit beside the road. He grabbed it up and

ate it like a dog. All at once we heard a shout, and turning we spied

Bink and Charlie Pound. When they got up to us they said, "Where the

devil have you fellows been? We want our rations." They seemed quite

peeved and they hadn't worried a bit about losing us. It was not

having their rations that bothered them.

Well, that night we went back to the same trenches that we had left

just three nights before, only this time we marched on the Ypres-Menin

road. This is the worst road in the salient; the Germans sweep it with

their machine guns every night, and it sure is wicked. Of course Rust

had been over it months before and knew all about it. He told us that

the bullets come about a foot from the ground, and if a fellow gets one

in the leg, he will get hit again before he can crawl away. We were

nicely started down the road when all at once the machine guns started

to crackle. I took one jump and landed, rifle and all, in a ditch full

of water. Most of the boys came with me, but I couldn't help laughing

at some of the reinforcements. They took refuge behind trees, just as

if a little tree would stop a machine gun bullet. Of course we told

them, but not till one or two of their number got hit did they realize

their danger. The Germans were shelling the trenches that we were

going into, and now and again they would send over some high-explosive

shells and sweep our road with shrapnel, so we had a few more

casualties.

Well, at last we reached the trenches, and McMurchie and I stopped to

help a fellow that was hit. By the time we got in our boys had

relieved the 29th, who had been holding it ever since we left. Well,

just as Mac and I jumped into the trench, we heard some one say to our

Sergeant, "The officer wants you to send a couple of men for the

bombing-post on the road; the two that were holding it have just been

killed." Donnslau turned around and spied us making tracks up the

trench. "Goddard and McMurchie, you will take charge of the

bombing-post at the end of the trench: Sergeant Oldershaw will show you

where it is." Mac was ticked to death, and I followed him looking as

happy as I could--but, say, I wasn't feeling a bit heroic. We went on

the post and Fritzie shelled us there for two days, and it sure was a

marvel that we didn't get hit. I remember, we were lying on the

cobblestones in the middle of the road--the idea being to stop any

Germans that might be sneaking down that way. Sometimes when things

got too hot the Sergeant would call us into the trench and let us stay

there for awhile. While in the trench we would go around whistling;

and he was always cooking up tea or something. We always burned

candles for this, and when our supply ran out he went and borrowed from

the officers. Nothing seemed to bother him, and he would watch the

shells bursting overhead--big black shrapnel and "woolly bears." When

the latter burst they make a noise like a ton of bricks being dumped,

and Mac would watch them with a smile--once when we were sitting in the

mud, and I suppose I was looking about as cheerful as a dying duck in a

thunderstorm, Mac remarked, "In spite of orl 'is trials and privations,

the British Tommy remyns as cheerful as ever." He brought it out just

like a Cockney, and I just had to smile. Shortly after this along came

"Fat." He and Bink had been up at the culvert, and they were supposed

to be on their way out, but poor old Fat was so stiff with the cold

that he couldn't walk. We offered to fetch him a snort of rum, but he

said he wouldn't take it. I suppose he had promised some darn girl

back home, and he would die rather than break his word. Well, we gave

him some hot tea, took off his socks and rubbed his feet; and I got him

a pair of my dry socks. After awhile we coaxed him to eat a little,

and we joked with him, till at last he gave a bit of a smile--and soon

we heard his familiar "Tee he, tee he!"--he had the funniest laugh I

ever heard. Well, he stayed with us till we were relieved.

A funny thing happened up the trench that same day. Marriot and some

of the other boys were sitting in one of the bays of the trench cooking

some Maconachie rations, when _bang_! right through the parapet came a

shell. It went between Marriot and the next chap, and the shock must

have been awful. Marriot rushed into the next bay, and meeting our

Sergeant he spluttered, "Oh say, old chap, ain't I a lucky devil? All

those fellows in the next bay are blown to hell, and I escaped." The

Sergeant rushed around to find the bay empty except for the shell which

hadn't exploded, but was reposing quietly in the bottom of the trench

and Marriot had been too excited to notice. Maybe he didn't get

chipped about it afterwards. That night we were relieved by the

Coldstream Guards; and say, Jack, they are soldiers! They came in like

clockwork, every man knew his place, and exactly where to go. They

fixed bayonets on entering the trench and there was no confusion. They

had taken over the trench almost before we knew it.

How glad we were to be relieved no one knows but those who were there.

We were not sorry to see the last of Hooge. They gave us about a

week's rest and then we went back to our old trenches at ----. It was

quiet there, and for awhile we had it pretty easy. Just after taking

over these trenches we were treated to a great sight. Our aeroplanes

made a general attack all along the British front from the coast to the

Somme, and they burned all the German observation balloons. We stood

and watched them come down in flames, and it was great. Mind you it

meant a lot to us; while they were watching us there couldn't be a stir

behind our lines but we would be treated to a salvo of shells. In

fact, we had orders not to move around in the daytime. But after the

balloons were gone we could go about with comparative freedom. Even

one man would attract the attention of these German eyes. Our old boy,

Charlie Pound, was a runner or dispatch carrier between the front line

and Headquarters, and he often came up to see us when we were in the

line. One day he said, "There's a fat Fritzie in that balloon that I'd

like to get my hands on; he must have a grudge against me, for he

shells me every time I go down the communication trench." So Charlie

was tickled to death when that particular balloon was brought down.

Well, Jack, our next trip in was at Hill 60, and it was a warm

spot--not artillery fire this time, but trench mortars. Every morning

Fritzie would send us "sausages" for breakfast; they came at the rate

of one a minute. It wasn't that they caused so many casualties, but

they made so much work. Every day Fritzie would blow up our front line

and we would have to build it up again each night under machine gun

fire. We took it in turns, half of us would be on working parties and

the other half on outpost duty. One night several of us were down in a

cutting on a bombing-post. The cutting had once been the Ypres

Commines railway and it ran across the German lines as well as through

ours. We had strong posts there to keep the Fritzies back in case they

took a notion to come over. In the daytime it was exposed to rifle

fire. We were sitting there this night when our Corporal came running

in and said, "Hurry back to the trench, there's a show going to start."

He had scarcely finished speaking when the trench mortar bombardment

opened up, and we had barely hit the trench when a sausage landed on

the very spot where we had been. The next few minutes were very

exciting and we were kept busy dodging the sausages. We could easily

see them coming through the darkness, for the fuse burned and left a

trail of sparks. One would have thought they were rockets, if he

hadn't seen them before. Then Fritzie opened up his artillery, and

things got very warm indeed. We had several casualties, but once more

our little bunch was lucky. We expected Fritzie would try to come

over, so a bunch of us got out on the parapet and threw bombs and the

others kept up a steady fire with their rifles. Our trench mortars

were doing great work throwing over six bombs for every one Fritzie

sent, and the Germans evidently thought we were too wide-awake, for

they failed to show up.

Next day I missed fourteen days' leave, and gee! I did feel sore over

it. I was on sentry duty with Ernie Rowe, and I was just in the act of

changing my boots for a pair of rubber waders when along came an

officer. I paid no special attention to him, as a sap ran underneath

Hill 60 and there were always engineering officers around. This chap

stopped and passed a few commonplace remarks about the wetness of the

trench, etc., and then passed on. I thought no more about it and was

taking my turn at looking through the periscope, when along came

Captain Breedan and a bunch of scouts. "Did you see an officer go by

here?" was their excited greeting. I answered, "He went past about

fifteen minutes ago. What about him?" "He's a spy, that's all, and if

you had caught him it would have meant fourteen days' leave for you,"

said Captain Breedan. Just my luck to miss a nice fat chance like

that--the beggar was never caught, he seemed to vanish into thin air.

After he left me the boys kept up the hunt for a long time and then

gave up in disgust.

That day I left the battalion to take a course of instruction in the

Stokes trench mortar. I always had a fancy for it, as it seemed to

offer a chance at getting back at Fritzie. This sitting down and

taking everything he had a mind to send over, and giving nothing in

return, was not my idea of fighting. I hated to leave the boys, but I

was "fed up" and I wanted a change. Bink took a machine gun course at

the same time and we were at the same school. When we finished he went

back to the platoon and I went to the Stokes gun. The first time I

went in with the gun crew, they sent us to the old St. Éloi craters.

There was always lots of trench mortar fighting here, and we had orders

to send over six shells for every one that came across. They put me on

lookout; that is, to watch for sausages and give the boys who were

working the gun time to get away. We hadn't been firing more than five

minutes, and the sausages were coming thick and fast, but most of them

were landing about fifty yards away, when all at once something hit me

in the face. I turned around with my fists clenched, for I thought

that some one had hit me. One of the boys looked at me sharply and

began getting out his bandage. He said, "You're hit," then I felt the

blood trickling down my cheek, and after the boys fixed me up as well

as they could I went to the dressing-station. One of the boys in the

trench had been killed by the shell that I got a piece of; and I was

out at the dressing-station for a day or two, and then had orders to

report to my unit. On my way back I met Rust and Tommy Gammon, and we

sat and chatted about old times. "Come with me and join the Stokes

gun," said I; "it's lots better than the infantry." "Nothing doing,"

said Tommy, "you're a poor advertisement;" and I suppose I did look

funny with a big bandage around my head. "No, we are not looking for a

quick funeral yet awhile," said Rust. Well, I left the boys and went

on to my new unit. Some time in the next day or so Harry Foster got

hit through the shoulder; and he went off looking as pleased as a dog

with two tails. My, how we envied him as he walked out smoking a

cigarette! But, poor chap, he died in London, and we never heard what

took him off.

Shortly after this we started off for the Somme, and before we went we

exchanged our Ross rifles for Lee-Enfields. We had a great time going

down, we rode in cattle cars part of the way and marched the rest.

Most of the roads we passed over were lined with apple trees, and gee!

they did look good. When we were getting near the lines we met a

division of Australians coming out from the Somme battlefield, and what

sights they were! They were covered with white chalk and most of them

had their trousers cut off at the knee. We asked them what it was like

and they said, "Oh, you won't want a rifle, all you need is a shovel to

dig yourself a hole"--cheerful, wasn't it?

Well, we went into reserves and for a couple of days we did nothing but

lounge around. We took a walk through Albert to see the statue of the

Madonna and the infant Jesus. It hung right over the road, and it is

marvellous how long it stayed there without being hit. The French

people used to say that when it fell the war would end, but it has been

down some time and the war is not over yet. They put us on fatigues

and working parties for a few days and then we were moved up to the

supports. We were told that we were going over the top early next

morning assisted by tanks. Now, tanks had not been used up to this

time and they were the surprise of the war. We hadn't heard one word

about them and we were crazy to know what they were like, so our

officer told us where we would find one, and away we went to see it.

When we got there it was covered with a tarpaulin, but the officer in

charge took the sheet off and let us have a good look: at it--and such

a queer-looking monster as it was! It looked like a cross between an

elephant (without his baggage) and a mud turtle. We bombarded the

officer with questions, but he wouldn't answer many of them; only he

said that nothing but a direct hit with a six-inch shell would

penetrate its hide; and it could go through any hole or walk right over

a house. It was some diabolical device all right, and we went back

chuckling over the surprise that the Germans would get next day. That

night we went in, marching in single file. It was pitch-dark and the

Germans were shelling furiously, though before we left all our massed

artillery had carried out what is known as half an hour's

counter-battery work, the idea being to put as many German guns out of

action as possible. Our gunners had most of the enemy positions

covered, as our aeroplanes had been spotting them.

Well, we went in on the night of the 14th of September, 1916, and as I

had been wounded in the knee the day before I was limping along with

the other boys when, _whiz-bang_! a big shell burst right near us. It

killed several of the boys that were just ahead. I hadn't been able to

bend my leg a few minutes before, but believe me, I ducked when I saw

that shell coming and I never thought about my knee. I was with the

Stokes gun crew and was detailed off as a runner. This meant that I

had to keep in touch with the various trench mortar crews, and report

how things were going, to Headquarters. Tommy, Bink, and our other

friends were with the battalion. Just before daybreak the Sergeant

came around and gave us a snort of rum. We were lying in the trench

that we had dug that night out in No Man's Land. It was called a

"jumping off" trench. In front of us lay the German trench, and we

were supposed to capture it and also a sugar refinery that was located

a little further back. Altogether our advance was to cover about a

thousand yards. Just at daybreak our barrage burst on the enemy

trenches, and over we went; we got the front-line trenches without much

opposition, but where the Fritzies did make a stand there was some

dirty work. We were losing quite a lot of men with artillery fire.

Rust was hit in the back with shrapnel, and as he half turned, a bullet

caught him, smashing his jaw. Flare-pistol Bill was waving his arm to

direct some of the boys when a bullet caught him in the head. But we

were too busy to notice by this time, and leaving the wounded to the

care of our stretcher bearers, we pushed on. We reached the second

German trench and proceeded to lay out the Huns. Fat was bayoneting

them as fast as he could, and "tee-hee-ing" all the time. Tommy had a

big Hun in one corner, and with his bayonet under his chin was trying

to make him put his hands up. At first Fritzie didn't understand, but

when at last it dawned on him his hands went up in a hurry, and he

cried "Kamerad!" in the approved fashion.

By this time all the Germans in sight had either been killed or taken

prisoners, and a whole bunch were being herded back to our lines. The

German guns were dropping heavies on the ground we had left, and as the

prisoners went back they were caught in their own shell fire and a lot

were killed.

From the start the tanks had been doing great work, walking over

machine guns and killing hundreds with their own machine gun fire. The

Germans were scared stiff and absolutely demoralized. One band, with

more courage than the rest, gathered round a tank and tried to bomb it

with hand grenades, but they met with no success, for the bombs either

bounded off or exploded harmlessly against the steel sides. Finding

their efforts useless they surrendered to the tank crew. While all

this was going on, I was busy carrying messages between the gun crews

and Headquarters. I was on the go all day and though the German shell

fire was heavy, my luck was with me, and I didn't get hit once. Bink

was dispatch runner for his company, and I passed him several times and

he told me about the boys, as he was with them more than I. The last

time I met him, he said, "Bob, Tommy's killed." "Tommy!" said I,

almost too stunned to speak. "Yes," said he, "I was passing along the

trench and had just jumped over a body when I thought the clothes

looked familiar and I turned the body over, and there was poor Tommy;

he had been shot through the chest by a sniper. I took charge of his

things, and I'll send them to his people when I get out again." After

Bink left me, I tried to realize that Tommy was gone, but I couldn't

believe that my chum and bedfellow was really dead. It seemed so hard

when he had only been back from hospital a few days. Well, I had no

time to sit down and think, things were getting too warm.

At six o'clock that evening General Byng decided to throw in the third

division, who had been held in reserve. I watched them as they came

over, and it was a great sight. The 42nd Highlanders were in the lead,

and they came in long lines with their bayonets fixed. The Germans

spotted them as soon as they came over the ridge and immediately turned

their guns on them, but they came on steadily in spite of their losses,

over the top of us, and into the Hun lines. They cleaned up what was

left of the Germans and established themselves firmly in Courcelette.

The French Canadians had been holding Courcelette all day, but had lost

heavily.

Well, that night we went back in reserve; we were all in, and we

staggered along till we got to the brick fields at Albert. There we

had our bivouacs and we turned in. Next morning I went over to see

Bink, and we felt pretty blue. Tommy, Flare-pistol Bill, Barbed-wire

Pete, and Lieutenant Oldershaw were all killed, and half a dozen

others, including Rust, were wounded. Poor old 10th Platoon, they were

going fast! Bink, Fat, McMurchie, Erne Rowe and I were the only ones

left of my old pals, and the ones who were gone were the ones I had

chummed with most. Bink and I had a lot of sad letters to write to the

boys' relatives that day.

Shortly after this we were taken back of the line a few miles and

reorganized, and in a few days we were back in the trenches again. The

battalion went in at Courcelette a night or two before me, and such a

place it was. The German artillery had made it a veritable hell-hole.

What was once a pretty town was now a pile of bricks with a sunken road

running through it, and leading down to a cemetery. When I went in

with a Stokes gun, the 28th held the graveyard; such a time as we had

getting in. We were shelled all the way, and the nearer we came to

Courcelette the hotter it got. Finally we reached that sunken road and

it was strewn with dead bodies, our lads and Germans. We started to

set up our gun in the bank beside the road, and how we did dig. The

shells were tearing up everything around us, and Tommy Lowe and I dug

like demons. Our crew had three casualties almost immediately, two

wounded and one killed. We got our gun set up, but as we were short of

ammunition we had to wait for a counter-attack before we were allowed

to fire. The 31st made an attack that morning, but got hung up on the

German wire entanglements and lost heavily. When daylight came things

were still hot. Sergeant Faulkner, who had just come back, after

recovering from his second wound, for his final one that morning.

"Carry on," he said; "I'm done." A little bunch of the 28th were

holding the cemetery and expecting a counter-attack any moment.

McMurchie was there in his glory. "Let the devils come," said he,

"I'll chase them back with me entrinchin' tool handle." The wounded

were lying around everywhere, and Tommy Lowe, Danny Dugan and I carried

them up that road to the dressing-station. All forenoon the German

snipers were on our track, and we had to hug the bank all the way up.

The shell fire had died down, though our artillery was still giving the

Germans a heavy shelling. When Tommy and I got tired we lay down in a

shell hole, but the sun was hot and the odour from the dead bodies was

so awful we had to move on.

That night the shelling was wicked, and we lost heavily. Our boys came

along with a few prisoners, and as they couldn't get through the shell

fire we allowed them to share our hole. They went out next morning,

and the Huns wanted to shake hands with us for being so kind to them,

but I gave one the toe of my boot and pointed the way out. Our

artillery had made things unbearable for the Germans by this time, and

they pulled out, leaving only a few snipers to harass us. McMurchie

crawled over with a bomb and brought two of the snipers back with him.

It was a funny sight to see them going up the road; those big six

footers walking ahead of little Mac; the latter was barely five feet;

but he marched proudly along, keeping his bayonet mighty close to them.

The same day our cavalry went over, but they ran into a nest of machine

guns and their little bunch was cut to pieces; it was dreadful to see

the poor frightened horses running in all directions.

That night we were relieved and we went to a place called Sauage

Valley. Here I said "Good-bye" to Bink; he was starting back to

Blighty to get his commission. I went down the road with him and

watched him till he was out of sight, and then I'm not ashamed to say

that I went off into a shell hole by myself and cried like a kid. He

was the last one of the old boys that had signed up with me, and now he

was gone. It's hard enough to lose friends at home, but in the Army a

fellow's pals are all that make life bearable. I never saw Bink

again--he joined the flying corps and came down in Flanders with five

bullets through his head. Well, after Binkie went, I didn't care a

hang what happened. We put in another twenty-four hours in the

trenches and then we started on our long march up north. We reached

our destination and went into the trenches at S----. We relieved the

English troops, and were there right up till Christmas. It was very

quiet except for a few big raids that we pulled off; but the mud was

awful. We waded through mud and water up past our waists going into

the front lines, and once there we had to keep pumping all the time.

Each day we would have a trench mortar scrap from two o'clock till

five, and we would blow each other's trenches to pieces. I was in the

trenches on Christmas day and I had two bottles of champagne that we

had managed to smuggle in. I was in charge of the Stokes gun crew at

that time, and I sent Tommy down to Headquarters for orders. As he

left I said, "Now, Tommy, if you bring me my leave check, I'll give you

five francs." After awhile Tommy came back and said, "Bob, hand out

those five francs, here's your leave check." I threw him the money,

and away I beat it along the trench as fast as my feet could carry me.

It would have taken a "whiz-bang" to catch up to me that day. It was

Xmas afternoon when I left the trenches, and the next day at 5 o'clock,

still muddy and carrying my pack and rifle, I stumbled off the train at

Victoria Station, and in twenty minutes I was at home, telling my old

dad the tale that I have told you.

Of those ten short wild days in London I won't speak, but it was like

getting to heaven after being in hell. They slipped by much too

quickly, and then the time came for me to go back. So one morning I

landed up at Victoria Station and caught what is known as "the train of

tears." The boys are always very silent going back--there is never any

cheering. After you have had eighteen months of hell, war is not the

grand romantic thing it seemed at first. The boys feel as if they were

on their way to a funeral, and the worst of it is, it may be their own.

But once in France, every one seems to brighten up again, and the game

goes on as before. Memories of home die away, and you become simply an

atom in the big war machine. It took me some time to get settled down

again, and they kept moving us in and out of the trenches. It was

terribly wet and cold, and we would sit for days all huddled around our

old charcoal brazier in a dugout forty feet under ground. Of course a

dugout at this depth was comparatively safe. Only once did Fritz blow

in the entrance with a trench mortar, and then we had to dig ourselves

out. After about two weeks longer the whole division went out on rest.

At least, they called it "rest," but our time was kept so filled up

with drilling, inspections, etc., that we got "fed up" and wished we

were back in the lines. We had about a month of this, and then we went

in and took over our new positions at the Labyrinth to the right of the

Ridge. The Labyrinth was a perfect maze of trenches, built by the

Germans, and taken from them by the French, at the time of the British

attack at Loos. The gun crew we relieved was carried out in sandbags,

having been blown to pieces by a premature shell--that is, a shell

exploding in the gun. This made us pretty nervous, and we didn't fire

any more till all our stock of ammunition had been inspected. After

our second trip in on this line, we went out and commenced our training

for the Battle of Vimy Ridge. We were taken back to a piece of country

that was much like the district we would have to fight on. It was all

blocked off with different-coloured tapes representing towns, trenches,

and various other landmarks, and for two weeks we had to go over this

ground, in the time and manner of a real attack. I, being a Stokes

gunner, had to go with my gun and crew, and we had four guns behind

each battalion. Our work was to set up our gun as quickly as possible

and drop bombs on any machine gun that happened to be holding up the

infantry. The infantry went over in waves--one wave would take a

trench and hold it till the next wave went over their heads, and the

next wave went over them again, and so on. After a couple of weeks of

this we went into the trenches at the spot from which our advance would

start; this was to make us familiar with the ground. We spent seven

days here, and during this time our guns were put into position in

pits, in No Man's Land. These pits were covered with wire netting

woven in and out with grass to hide us from the observation balloons.

Our artillery were keeping up a ceaseless bombardment of the enemy's

lines, destroying and obliterating the German trenches. At the same

time our long-distance guns were firing night and day on all roads,

towns, and ammunition dumps that lay near the enemy's lines, while our

aeroplanes were over the Germans all the time. But our aircraft was

having hard luck, for the Huns had just brought out a new lot of planes

and these were lighter and faster than ours. It was heart-breaking to

see our air men being shot down. I have seen six or seven of our

planes come down in one day. Up to this time our planes had reigned

supreme, and the hostile airmen scarcely dared to show themselves; and

even now the Hun's triumph was short-lived. Our Colonel insisted that

the newest planes be brought over, and when they came we had the

satisfaction of seeing the Huns cleaned up. Well, after a week in the

trenches we were taken out and given a real rest. We were allowed to

lie around pretty much all the time, while the boys in the trenches

kept the Germans on the jump. Every night they would go over and

destroy the enemy's dugouts and bring back a bunch of prisoners; from

these prisoners they got a lot of valuable information.

All this time the roads leading to our lines were packed night and day

with men, transports, guns, ammunition, limbers, and everything that is

needed for a big charge. Our eighteen-pound guns were in long lines,

wheel to wheel. Behind them were long lines of heavier guns and back

of these a line of long range naval guns. These last fired six- and

twelve-inch shells to a distance of fifteen miles at targets given them

by aeroplanes. The enemy artillery shelled our roads a little, but

whenever they started, our guns would redouble their efforts and the

ground was shaking with their roar day and night.

The evening before the big attack our artillery carried out

counter-battery work, destroying as many as possible of the enemy's

guns. Just at dusk we fell in line and began our march to the

trenches. We passed through St. Éloi (not the one in Belgium) and the

French people looked at us pityingly. They didn't think it possible

for us to capture Vimy Ridge, where the French troops had lost

thousands in a vain attempt the year before. Our artillery fire had

died down and the night was quiet when we marched into our assembly

trenches at Neuville St. Vaast. The Stokes gun that I was with and one

other were detailed to go over with the last wave of the 27th

Battalion. That meant that we would have to go the farthest.

Everything was quiet, and Tommy and I lay down in the trench and

covered ourselves with our water-proof sheets and went to sleep. We

slept till the officer came along with our rum. Then we watched the

front line, and our watches; all at once, with a roar, our artillery

burst forth. It is impossible to describe the sound, the earth shook

with it, and it was like a thousand thunderclaps, continually rolling,

and for miles along the enemy's trenches a sheet of flame was dropping

as our liquid-fire shells fell in a ceaseless rain. For awhile the

Germans shot their S.O.S. flares, but these soon died down.

The German artillery was slow in retaliation, and before they got

properly started our first brigade had taken the first line of

trenches, and our fifth brigade was over the top of them and pressing

forward. They followed our barrage as it advanced so many yards at a

time, destroying all opposition. Soon the 4th and 5th Brigades had

attained their objectives with few casualties and our officer told us

to get ready, so the "Iron Sixth" started to move. When the first

three battalions had gone, the 27th went over, and we jumped out,

shouldering our guns and advancing in file. We hadn't gone more than a

couple of hundred yards when gas shells began to come. On went our

masks, but hardly in time--we got a couple of whiffs. Two of the boys

had to go back to the dressing-station, but the rest of us had to go

on. We were feeling mighty sick but when we got to where the air was

clear, we took off our gas helmets and we felt a little better. We

soon forgot our ills in the excitement of the charge, as we went on

over what had been the German front line, but now was manned by our

men. The pioneers were already pushing forward a light railway, and

our aeroplanes were fighting overhead. By the way, the Royal Naval

triplanes had been sent over 'specially for this work, and they did

great execution among the enemy planes. We pressed on till we caught

up with our barrage. The German shell fire was very erratic, the guns

seemed to be firing anywhere; on our right and left stretched long

lines of smoke as the British advanced, but our flanks were not coming

up fast enough, and we had to wait; meanwhile our barrage played on a

wide belt of barbed wire that was just in front of us. Some of our men

got too close to the barrage and were hit by our own shells.

At last the barrage lifted, and the 27th and 28th went through the belt

of wire, cutting with the attachments on their rifles, any strands that

our artillery had failed to sever. A machine gun commenced firing at

us, so down our crew went into a shell hole and up went our gun and a

few rounds silenced that machine gun; then forward again with the 27th.

We struck a trench and worked our way down, for this was our objective.

On the way we came to a large dugout, and it was full of Germans. As

soon as we appeared at the entrance they started to holler, and one man

tried to get out the other entrance, so our Sergeant shot him. We took

the rest of them prisoners (about twenty altogether, officers and men)

and we lined them up and went through their pockets. We took away

their revolvers, badges, photos, and all sorts of things--in fact, we

stripped them of everything but their lives and a few clothes and sent

them back to our lines.

We set up our gun in the trench and waited for a counter-attack. While

we were waiting we regaled ourselves on the good things we had found in

the dugout; black bread, bottles of wine, and cigars. Tommy and I had

to stay out on the gun, and pretty soon the German heavies began to

shell the trench, and we had to dig ourselves in to protect us from the

shrapnel. To make things more comfortable, it commenced to rain and

all that night it poured. We were right on the crest of the Ridge and

a number of the boys were hit carrying messages back to Headquarters.

When morning came we found that our position overlooked miles of the

enemy's country. We could look down on green fields and little

villages, and close to the bottom of the hill lay the railway and the

little town of Tarbus.

The boys had turned the German guns around and were firing at the

retreating Huns. Some of the guns we had captured were in big concrete

emplacements with six feet of concrete and steel on top of them. They

were still hot from firing when our boys took them and our crews with

them. The Germans gave up very easily, and I don't wonder, for our

artillery fire had demoralized them. One of our men had a German belt,

and on the buckle were the words "Gott mit Uns" or "God with Us," but

they must have a different God from ours if they expect help from Him

after the deeds they have done.

That night, after Tommy and I had taken our turn on the gun, we went

down into the dugout and made some tea. Tommy lay down on the floor,

but the only space I could find was on a bench beside a dead German;

but I slept just as soundly as I would have in a feather bed. The next

day about noon our officer came and said, "Well, boys, we've got to go

over again, and a dirty job we are in for too." Then he told us that

at three o'clock we had to be down and have our guns set to fire on a

tower in Farbus where a number of snipers were located. We had to go

in advance of our outposts and stay there till our boys were ready to

attack. About two o'clock we started out--our gun crew and a party

carrying bags of ammunition. Little Robbie, a boy who had joined up

with me at Moose Jaw, turned to me and said, "Well, Bob, this is where

I get mine, and I hope I'll get it right through the bean--life's no

pleasure to me." "Aw, cheer up," said I; "you may get a nice Blighty."

"No," said he; "I belong to a bunch that get it good and hard when it

comes at all." Poor Robbie!--he had lost all of his chums at Hooge,

and he seemed to know that his time had come. He got separated from us

when we were going down the hill, and he went to one of our other guns.

They told him where we were, and he started to walk across the open and

he got shot right through the head. Meanwhile we had sneaked forward,

taking advantage of a little flurry of snow, and we got as close to

Farbus as we dared to go. We set up our guns and at the appointed time

opened fire. The 27th had started down behind us, but the Germans saw

them and opened up, and they must have had the place packed with

machine guns, for a stream of lead swept over our heads. The attacking

party were almost wiped out; our officer had crawled up ahead and was

signalling us the range and how many rounds to fire. Tommy and I were

lying flat and working the gun. The officer saw that the attack was a

failure, and he came back to us and said, "Well, boys, we got down

here--now the thing is to get back. We'll take our time and make use

of all the cover we can find." So, shouldering our gun, away we went,

the officer leading. We started to climb the Ridge, and we were just

coming through a churchyard when _rat-a-tat-tat_! a machine gun spoke

to us from the town we had left. The Corporal jumped and fell, and

when we reached him he said, "Boys, I've got it." We bound him up as

best we could, and Tommy went in search of a stretcher to carry him out

on. But while he was gone, we tried to get the Corporal to walk a

little way. He was shot through the groin, and he wouldn't move no

matter how we coaxed. So the Sergeant and I got rough, and said, "Now,

look here, you've got to walk; if you don't, we will go away and leave

you here to die." This brought him to his senses, and leaning on our

shoulders he went forward slowly till we found the road, and then the

going was easier up to the top of the Ridge. When we reached the top

the shelling was awful, so we put the Corporal on a concrete gun pit,

and when Tommy and the stretcher arrived we carried him back to Thelner.

That night we were relieved, and utterly exhausted we stumbled our way

back through the shell fire to Neuville St. Vaast. Once there, we got

some hot grub from our cooks and a big drink of rum, and we turned into

our dugouts, but now that the strain was over I couldn't sleep and I

shook like a leaf. Tommy was beside me and he said, "Quit your

shaking, you son of a gun; I do my shaking in the line, but you do

yours after we get out." Next day we went still farther back and we

were allowed a week's complete rest, and in the meantime our line was

advanced to Arleaux.

When we were returned to the lines we were told that it was over the

top again for us; the Canadians were going to make an attack on

Fresnoy. The town of Fresnoy was only a short distance from Arleaux,

which we now held, and about one mile from Vimy Ridge. The ridge it

was on made it important as an observation post, and through the town

ran a line of trenches known as the Oppy switch of the Hindenburg Line.

To the 1st Division was given the task of taking the town, while the

2nd Division attacked the trenches on the left.

We went in during the night when it was fairly quiet, and we took over

the gun positions, from a trench mortar crew. Just before daybreak our

barrage burst on the enemy and away we went and got in close to their

wire entanglements. As soon as the barrage lifted, through the wire we

went and into the trench, but instead of a wave of infantry being in

with us they got hung up on the wire and lost heavily; so half a dozen

of our crew were in the trench by ourselves. The Germans were only too

willing to be made prisoners at first, and threw away their rifles, but

when they saw that no one else was coming they got fresh and started to

bomb us. Our Corporal was shooting them as fast as he could with his

revolver and we dropped our gun and pelted them with their own bombs.

We managed to chase them back along the trench and the 1st Division

sent us help, so we blocked the trench and held over part of it. Our

boys on the left had also gotten in and cleared out a section of the

trench, so it was a sandwich with the Germans for our meat. We were

relieved that night, but only stayed out long enough to get a rest and

some food, and next night we were back again. The shelling was

dreadful when we were going in and we had to keep on the run all the

way up--and carrying guns, that was no joke. Every road we crossed had

a heavy barrage put on it and we had a lively time. We had almost

reached the front lines when one of our officers got hit in the face by

a piece of "whiz-bang." Well, finally we got in and we spent all the

next day sniping Germans as they tried to run across the open to get to

another trench. One Hun got lost and walked almost up to our section

of the trench before he found out his mistake; he tried to go back, but

a bullet chipped by him and he came in and gave himself up. Tommy and

I were on lookout when we were surprised to see a German crawl to the

edge of our trench. I was just going to fire, when Tommy said, "Wait a

minute," and he danced around and stuck his bayonet up under the

German's nose; up went the hands, and we hauled the wretch in. He was

wounded in the leg; we gave him a drink though water was very scarce,

we only had one bottle among three; then we gave him a kick and sent

him on his way rejoicing back to his lines.

The third night we were relieved--shelling had been heavy all day and

all the approaches to our lines were blotted out--the barrages had made

them impassable during the day. I was sent out to act as guide to the

relieving party, and I found them sitting down under a heavy barrage.

They had been shelled all the way from Vimy and were so "all in" that

they didn't care what happened. After much persuasion I got them to

come along, and finally we reached our line, and we went out leaving

them in possession of the trench. We were scarcely out of sight when

the Germans counter-attacked, and the crew we had just left were wiped

out. Three times the German penetrated parts of the line and three

times they were thrown back. Our casualty list was very heavy.

Fresnoy fell into their hands again in spite of the fierce resistance

our boys put up.

In the meantime we got through the barrage all right, though we lost

some of our men. A shell dropped just ahead and blew the man in front

of me to pieces; I got his body all over me and I was blood and dirt

from head to foot. But we kept on going till some one ran out of the

darkness shouting, "You cannot get past the railway, Fritzie has been

throwing over gas shells and the gas is thick in the valley, all our

artillery is gassed." We put on our masks, but we couldn't see through

them very well and we decided to hang out where we were till morning,

but Fritzie began sending us some high-explosive shrapnel and we

thought we would rather take our chance with the gas, so we stuck our

gas tubes in our mouths, grabbed our noses, and away we went. The

Germans were flinging heavy shells at our silent artillery, but we got

past all right and we stumbled on till we came to our camp at Neuville

St. Vaast. One or two had been gassed a little and had to go to a

dressing-station, but the rest of us had a good feed and we went right

to sleep--we sure were "all in." We only did one more trip into that

part of the line, and then it was very quiet, so to our great joy we

were taken out and given a month's rest.

The next time we went in was at Lens, and here we relieved some British

troops that had been having an awful time. They were holding a place

on the outskirts of Lens known as Cité Ste. Élisabeth, and they told us

some awful tales of what had been taking place. The British had

attacked Lens, but after being practically successful the attacking

party were not able to hold what they had gained. The Germans

surrounded the town, and those that were not killed were taken

prisoner. Now, Lens was merely a mass of ruined houses, but the Huns

had fortified every house and were firmly intrenched. The troops we

relieved were holding what had been German territory, and they had made

fortresses out of the houses that were still standing. They had lost

half their men, and it was marvellous what they had done and the way

they had held out.

The gun position that our two Stokes guns took over was in a big house,

or rather behind it. The basement of this house was propped up with

mine timbers and steel props; this was to sustain the eight feet of

concrete with reinforced steel that had been laid on the first floor.

It made a wonderful protection for our guns and also for ourselves.

The basement contained box spring-beds and real mirrors, and we felt

that we were very swell indeed. We kept most of our ammunition in the

house, where it was always dry, and the way we hammered old Fritz

wasn't slow. We fired from two to three hundred rounds daily and our

carrying parties cussed us for firing so much. When not on the guns we

spent our time in the basement telling yarns and playing cards. We had

a dandy officer; he had only just come out, but he was as keen as

mustard. He insisted on living with us, and when we were firing he was

right on the spot. Of course with our gun going so much of the time

Fritzie came back with everything he had, but he never could find out

where we really were. The greatest drawback to our new position was

the lack of water. Before the Germans retired they had filled all the

wells with barbed wire. The Germans tried to gas us out, and sometimes

they would pelt us with gas shells; all night long we had to sleep with

our gas masks on. On the whole, our position here was much better than

what we were used to, and we thoroughly enjoyed it, but after we had

been here for a few days we were taken out on rest and then sent to

another place.

This time we went in at Liever, and our positions here were hellish. I

don't know how we lived through it; we were there four days, and in

that time our guns were either blown up or buried at least twice a day.

One night Tommy and I were lying in a hole that we had dug right beside

our gun, and without letting us know, our fellows in the trenches sent

over a cloud of gas. The Germans always bombarded where gas was sent

over, and this was no exception to the rule. They started at once.

Tommy and I were lying in the most exposed part of the trench and Tommy

was snoring, when with a crash the shells began bursting over us. I

wakened Tommy, for one gets so that he sleeps through everything, and

we lay there wondering what would happen next. Suddenly, _bang_! a

shell hit the side of the hole we were in and filled the hole with

smoke and covered us with dirt. I said, "Come on, Tommy, let's go down

the trench a bit where it isn't so blamed hot." "Naw," says Tommy,

"it's a long chance on him hitting us again." The words were hardly

out of his mouth, when crash came another shell and it buried us in

dirt this time. We were just scrambling out and Tommy was ahead, when

_bang_! another shell landed right in front of us. Tommy went still

and I grabbed him. "Tommy, Tommy, have they got you, kid?" No answer,

and I shook him again; he squirmed and started to swear, and I knew

that he was all right. We scrambled out and were beating it down the

trench when an officer came out of a dugout and asked us what was the

matter. We told him and he said, "What size were the shells that came

over?" "Huh," said Tommy, "they was comin' too damned fast for me to

measure 'em." The officer grinned, and we went on. At the end of four

days we were relieved and sent back on rest.

After a few days they sent us back to Lens, and there was something

doing every minute there this time. Our artillery was steadily

bombarding the enemy's lines, and our boys were putting on raids almost

every night. When a raid was being made our guns would throw bombs on

either side of the sector attacked to prevent reinforcements coming up

from the sides, then our artillery would put up a barrage behind the

front line to keep back help from the supports, thus hemming them in on

three sides with shell fire while our infantry attacked from the front.

A great many prisoners were taken in this way, but our losses were very

light. Not long after this, on August the 18th, the 1st Division of

Canadians made their big attack on Hill 70. At the same time our boys

made an attack on the outskirts of Lens. The attack was a complete

success, though afterwards the Germans made five successive

counter-attacks and our losses were heavy. The slaughter in these

counter-attacks was awful. I was in the reserve trenches at the time

watching the prisoners and the wounded streaming past. Half of our

Stokes gun battery was in reserve, and the other half in the

firing-line. About noon the day after the first attack was made, word

came out that one of our crew had caught it and asking for help and

stretchers to carry out the wounded. So we made our way in through a

perfect inferno and we found the crew--an officer and six men--all

lying wounded in a dugout. We got busy and carried them out, and poor

beggars, they got some awful bumps as we stumbled along through the

darkness, over dead bodies and through shell holes. We had just passed

safely through the barrage when gas shells came over and we had to put

masks on the wounded as well as on ourselves. We got them all to the

dressing-station, but one of the boys died just after we got them in.

Poor Roy Taylor--he was marked for leave the next day.

The following night we went in again with our guns and our boys were

billed for another attack. The gun I had charge of was supporting the

29th Battalion, while behind us in the trenches lay the 28th. My

orders were to open fire at the same time that the artillery did, about

4 A.M., and my job was to blow out a blocked trench that led up to the

German lines. This was to enable our boys to advance without losing

many men. After doing this I was to keep on firing well in advance of

our troops till I reached the limit of my range, and then go up the

trench and place the gun in a spot that would cover a point from which

a counter-attack might be expected. These were my orders, and I was

given five men to help manage the gun. The Stokes gun will fire one

hundred twelve-pound shells in three minutes, if no time is lost with

misfires. It takes two men to work the gun and one to hand up

ammunition. I sent three men down the trench to be ready in case of

need and the other two helped me. Exactly on the dot the artillery and

our gun opened up, and for five minutes there was just the banging and

flashing of explosives all around. The Germans opened up their

artillery and attacked at the same minute that our boys went over--and

it was a real hell. Of course I couldn't see what was going on--around

us there was nothing but explosions and smoke. My three spare men were

hit, but so far we had escaped. Some Germans were behind us, having

worked their way around from the left, but we didn't know it. Finally

one of the boys said, "Just five more shells, Bobby," so I said, "All

right, we'll save them, come along, and we'll pick out a new place for

our gun." So, away we stumbled up the trench, half blinded by smoke

and the concussion of the exploding shells. As we went on in the

trench leading to the German lines I began to wonder what had

happened--dead Germans were lying in heaps--but we kept on, thinking

that our attacking party were away ahead, when all at once we ran into

a bunch of "square-heads." They were on the outside of the trench as

well as the inside, and then started the damnedest scrap I was ever in.

Two of the boys were armed with rifle and bayonet, and I had a

revolver. We shot those Fritzies just as fast as they stood up, and

then they lay down and threw hand grenades at us. How we killed all

those in the trench I don't know, things are hazy in my mind. Faces

came and went, and it's like a horrible dream. The old fellow beside

me gave a yell and dropped, hit in the back by a piece of one of the

exploding grenades. I was out of ammunition and I flung my revolver at

the nearest Fritzie, and thinks I, "It's all up now, and I don't care a

d---- anyway." I tried to drag the old man into a dugout and I got him

on the stairs, but he looked so bad that I laid him down and started

cutting away at his tunic to find the wound. The Germans that were

left started firing bombs at me, but they went over my head and down

the stairs bursting on a pile of wounded below. All at once, one hit

the roof of the dugout and dropped at my feet. It exploded and it was

just as if some one had thrown a bucket of boiling water all over my

legs. I put down my hand and my leg was full of holes and the blood

was literally streaming from it. The pain was awful and I couldn't

stand up any longer. I was half fainting, and I dropped into the

dugout on a pile of writhing bodies. But I still had sense enough to

know that if I stayed there the next bomb that came down those stairs

would land on my back, so I managed to scramble off, and then I crawled

along the dugout floor till I came to a table. It was black dark and I

had to feel my way along. I pulled myself up on the table and started

to bind up my leg, when along came one of our crew, Benson; he had

bayoneted the man who was throwing bombs, and had come into the dugout

by the other entrance. He helped me fix myself up and along came one

of our own stretcher bearers. We called to him and he told us that the

old 28th had come to our rescue and had chased the Germans out of the

trench. The stretcher bearer was working like a hero, sorting out the

wounded, binding them up and getting them ready to move. My old man

had managed to get downstairs and he was calling, "Bobbie, Bobbie, come

and help me." I told him that I couldn't go, for I was hit myself.

The stretcher bearer lit some candles and we had a look around; one

entrance of the dugout was blocked and the dead were lying everywhere.

Benson did his best to make me comfortable, but the bone was sticking

out through the side of my leg and it was mighty sore. After awhile an

officer of the 28th came down and said, "Sorry, boys, but we've got to

drop back; the Germans are attacking heavily, and we are not strong

enough to hold them here, we will have to leave you, but if you are

here we will come back for you tomorrow morning." We groaned. I tried

my best to get up the stairs, but after two or three attempts I had to

give up. Benson had to go to help the boys hold the Fritzies in the

next line of trenches. After awhile along came the Germans--the

stretcher bearer saw them as they passed the entrance. In the dugout

we all kept as still as we could. There were thirty of us, all badly

wounded, and caught like rats in a trap.

The Germans did not bother coming down, but they threw bombs in every

time they passed. These bombs killed a number of the boys and the

smoke and gas almost choked the rest of us. This continued all day and

all night. An Irishman with a leg and an arm broken was lying at my

side; and he just lay there grinding his teeth and cursing the Germans.

Just after daybreak we heard a lot of bombs bursting in the trench

above and we wondered what was happening. Soon we heard a footstep on

the stairs and some one shouted, "Who's down there!" and one of our

sergeants appeared with a bomb in his hand. "It's us!" we cried, and

perhaps we were not glad to see him! He said, "All right, boys, we'll

get some stretcher bearers up and have you taken out as soon as

possible." In about half an hour along came a carrying party; they

took the Irishman up just ahead of me, and I could hear him grinding

his teeth. Gee! but that fellow had grit. We had just gone a little

way down the trench when _bing_! one of the stretcher bearers got a

bullet through the top of his tin hat. It didn't touch, but it came

too close for comfort and they kept pretty low after that. As they

carried me along some one passed me on the run going out, and I called

"Hello, Benson." He turned around and, gee! he was glad to see me

alive. He grabbed one end of the stretcher and insisted on helping to

carry me out, so away we went to the advance dressing-station. I had

to wait my turn, for there was a long line of wounded. "Well, Bobbie,

what shall I do?" asked Benson. "Go back and report to Headquarters,"

I said. "And, by the way, Benson, what happened to our gun?" "Oh,"

said he, "a shell landed right on top of it and blew it to

smithereens." Not long after old Tucker came along and said, "Got a

Blighty, Bob?" "Yes," says I, "and I'll be lucky if I don't lose my

leg." By this time my leg was swollen up like a balloon, and I was

afraid of blood poisoning. When at last my turn came at this

dressing-station they just gave me an injection to prevent poisoning

and sent me on. After much jolting in a motor ambulance I arrived at a

big clearing-station and had my leg properly dressed. Then they put me

aboard a Red Cross train, and I was lying there feeling pretty tough

when a sweet voice said, "Would you like a cigarette?" I opened my

eyes, and there stood a Red Cross nurse. Say, she looked like an angel

to me. I guess the other boys felt the same, for their eyes followed

her wherever she went. Just before daylight we arrived at the little

town of Camiens, and we were tenderly carried off the train and put

into motor ambulances. The road was very rough, and at every jolt we

would all swear. Then, to our amazement, a lady's voice said, "I'm

sorry, boys, but the road is rough." I looked up and there, driving

the ambulance, was a young lady. Gee! we did feel ashamed. Finally we

arrived at our destination and were carried into a big base hospital.

It was an American hospital, and it sure seemed like heaven after what

we had been through. They soon fixed up my leg, and then I had nothing

to do but watch the nurses. They were the most efficient doctors and

nurses I ever saw; everything in the hospital moved like clockwork.

After a few days they set my leg and put it in splints and then I

waited for my ticket to Blighty; but my troubles were not quite over.

One day the German aeroplanes came over, and next night they came again

and bombed our hospital. Oh, it was awful--worse than the front lines.

They dropped six bombs, killed a doctor, wounded some nurses, and

killed and wounded many of the boys. I lay in bed hanging onto the

pillows and listened to the crash of the bombs, and the screams of the

wounded. I hope I will never hear the like again. One of the bombs

came through the tent I was in, but didn't explode. The minute the

Huns were gone the doctors and nurses were around looking after the

boys, soothing those who were shaken and attending the ones who were

injured. There was no excuse for the bombing of this hospital; it was

plainly marked with the Red Cross, and no one could mistake it for an

ammunition dump. A few days more, and I was shipped across to dear old

Blighty and three months of heaven. It was worth all I had gone

through to be treated as we all were over there. I was in several

hospitals, and it was the same in all--they were just as good to us as

our own people could have been. The X-ray showed fifty-six pieces of

tin in my leg. As the doctor remarked, "You are a regular mine, and I

think we will let you take your fifty pieces back to Canada; it would

destroy too many nerves to dig them out, and in time they will work up

to the surface."

So, here I am back in Canada, a civilian with fifty-six pieces of iron

in my leg to remind me that I spent Two Years in Hell.

Your chum,

BOB.

THE RED, RED ROAD TO HOOGE

You're on parade, go get your spade,

Fall in, the shovel and pick brigade,

There's a carry fatigue, for half a league,

And work to do with the spade.

Through the dust and ruins of Ypres town

The seventeen-inch still battering down,

Spewing death with its fiery breath,

On the red, red road to Hooge.

Who is the one whose time has come,

Who won't return when the work is done,

Who'll leave his bones on the blood-stained stones

Of the red, red road to Hooge?

To the sandbagged trenches and over the top,

Over the top if a packet you stop

On the red, red road to Hooge.

The burst and roar of the hand grenade

Welcome us to the "death parade,"

The bit of gloom and valley of doom,

The crater down at Hooge.

Full many a soldier from the Rhine

Must sleep tonight in a bed of lime--

'Tis a pitiless grave for brave and knave,

Is the crater down at Hooge.

Hark to the "stand-to" fusillade,

Sling your rifles, go get your spade,

And spade away ere the break of day,

Or a hole you'll fill at Hooge.

Call the roll, and another name

Is sent to swell the roll of fame,

So we carve a cross to mark a loss,

Of a chum who fell at Hooge.

Not a deed for a paper man to write,

No glorious charge in the dawning light,

The "Daily Mail" won't tell the tale

Of the night work out at Hooge.

But our General knows, and his praise we've won,

He's pleased with the work the Canadians have done,

In shot and shell at the mouth of hell,

On the red, red road to Hooge.

"THE IRON SIXTH"

(6th Brigade, 2nd Canadians, 27th, 28th, 29th, and 31st Battalions)

Canada's Golden Gateway sent forth her gallant sons,

Who proudly marched with smile and song to face the German guns;

Where'er their duty called them 'twas there they won their fame,

And on the Scroll of Honour is the "TWENTY-SEVENTH'S" name.

Yet farther west, and still her sons is Canada sending out:

The "TWENTY-EIGHTH" Battalion fights with never a fear or doubt;

From the head of Lake Superior and the Province of Golden Wheat

The boys are marching 'gainst the foe with never falt'ring feet.

B. C. has sent her quota, and the "TWENTY-NINTH" is there,

Broad-chested, stalwart manhood, just out to do and dare;

Vancouver's boys are marching with steady step and true,

Determined all to play the game and see the whole thing through.

A breath from Calgary's city, flung where the fight is worst--

Still more of Canada's manhood is the gallant "THIRTY-FIRST."

From prairieland and city they answered to the call,

And bravely shouldered rifle lest their Empire's honour fall.

From Winnipeg's Golden Gateway to Vancouver's rainy shore,

Come Canada's sons to keep the flag of Empire to the fore;

From Kemmil down to Ypres, go when and where you will,

The "IRON SIXTH" have paid their toll, and are bravely paying still.

Canada, O Canada! the Pride of all the West,

We'll fight for thee, we'll die for thee, so that our Homeland be

The Bounteous land, the glorious land,

Forever of the free.

WALTER T. H. GRIPPE.

28th (N.W.) Battalion,

June 12th, 1916.