In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; while in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Unheard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead! Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset's glow,
Loved, and were loved; and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch—be yours to hold it high,
If ye break faith with us
We shall not sleep 'though poppies blow
In Flanders fields.
After detraining we were placed in billets, ours consisting of an old barn. The near-by farm was being run by the women of the place, all the men folks being away in the trenches. These people must have made a small fortune, as the boys bought eggs, butter, coffee, etc., in abundance.
Our experiences in making change for our purchases uniquely expressed the old saying, "money talks," because the dealers everywhere seemed to be thoroughly acquainted with the values of English currency, although they couldn't speak the language.
Here we stayed for a few days until our march to the trenches began. Nightly, as we lay, we could hear the boom of an occasional big gun, the rattle of rapid rifle fire, and now and again the peculiar metallic click and whir of machine guns.
It was in this place that the clock-tower incident occurred: Someone noticed the hands of the clock on the east end of the tower moving strangely; two men were sent up to investigate. They did not return and a search was made for them. They could not be located, but suspicious sounds were heard up in the tower. The officers decided it was a case for the guns. One shell brought the tower tumbling down and with it came the bodies of two German spies and the men who had been sent to investigate. The spies had been using the hands of the clock for signaling purposes.
CHAPTER XII
MY BAPTISM OF FIRE
On the morning before we set out for the trenches we were inspected by Sir John French and other well-known leaders of the British Army.