Then followed an affecting tribute to the dead, enhanced by a reminder that in every year of its active service the Division lost in battle casualties alone not less than a hundred per cent. of its full strength. Some of its most conspicuous members were mentioned by name. Next came a most appreciative reference to the loyal co-operation and complete harmony which had always existed between “our splendid Infantry” and other arms of the Division. “I do not believe,” said the speaker with simple truth, “that there was any Division in the whole Army in which this spirit of fellowship and good comradeship burned more brightly or achieved greater results.”
The General’s speech ended in a note of justifiable pride—pride that our Division, though the Ninth in the Old Army, should have been the First in the New. “First of the new Divisions raised for the War, First of these Divisions to come to France, almost the First in the respect won from a hard-fighting enemy, First to cross over on to German soil when victory had been achieved, the Ninth Scottish Division will, I am convinced, remain for all time First in the affections of those who had the real honour of serving in it. Ours was indeed a royal fellowship, not only of death but of service.”
General Furse concluded with a few graceful sentences of thanks and appreciation, delivered in their own language, to the French delegates grouped at the foot of the cairn. As his voice died away the whole company stood to the salute, while the French military band played “God Save the King,” followed by “The Marseillaise.” Thereafter the French officials delivered short, clear, and most appropriate speeches.
Then came the most moving episode of the afternoon. The kilted pipers resumed their station on either side of the stone pathway and began to play “The Flowers of the Forest.” Up this avenue of wailing pipes marched the wreath-bearers, two by two, in slow time; first, Lord Sempill, the first member of the Division to set foot in France in 1915, representing the Eighth Black Watch, accompanied by Cameron of Lochiel, representing the Fifth Camerons; then representatives of all other units. The wreaths were hung high upon the cairn, upon stone projections occurring at regular intervals round its circumference, until the entire cairn was ringed with green laurel and fluttering ribbons. A last great wreath, the gift of women to whom the Ninth Division had meant something more than most, was laid at the foot of the cairn beneath the inscription. Lastly came the votive offerings of the French delegations—bright spring flowers in most cases—until the whole base of the cairn was a mass of colour. The last wreath was laid by some very small French girls.
Then the French band played the National Anthem again, and the formal ceremony was at an end. The Ninth Divisional pipers stepped on to the road and broke into “The Barren Rocks of Aden”—the march which had played the Division into Brussels in the course of its victorious advance into Germany—and the French troops fell into column of route and marched away down the hill; but hundreds of onlookers remained to make a closer inspection of the cairn and the wreaths, and in particular of a row of rough-hewn blocks of stone, each inscribed with the name and crest of a Divisional unit, set in line on the ground facing the edge of the road, to mark the boundary of this our little corner of Scotland, until the end of time.
Two predominant impressions remain. Firstly, the completeness of the arrangements. There had been little or no rehearsal of the ceremony, but everything passed off without hitch or hesitation. For this our thanks are due to those responsible, especially General Furse, Colonel Kennedy, and Captain Darling. Secondly, the very representative and very united bearing of our party. Men were there from all ranks, all units, and each country and Dominion concerned. General Furse reminded us in his speech that the cairn had been dedicated not only to the memory of the dead, but to the service of the Division as a whole. That was undoubtedly the right and just view to take: yet for us who stood there on that sunny April afternoon and watched the flags flutter down from the face of the inscription, the ceremony had but one significance—the rendering of the final tribute to those who were taken by those who were left. And it was a pleasant thought that a worthy company should have gathered upon the Point du Jour from all parts of the Empire for that end.
By kind permission of] [“The Daily Mirror.”