The Somme is a land of ruins and graves. These graves are everywhere by the Amiens-St. Quentin road, by the road from St. Quentin to Cambrai and the road from Eitenham to Bray. Not alone by the roadside are the brave resting, they sleep in folds of the earth, on little hillocks, in the shade of broken spinneys, by the banks of canals and on the verge of disbanded trenches. Over one heap of earth can be seen a bayonet topped with a helmet or cap, over another a rifle with its barrel stuck in the ground. Crosses stand to unknown soldiers, British, French or German, crosses with names stand singly or in clusters, telling of the men who have given up their life in the great war. None of these are secure from the leprosy of time; the wind, weather and rain turn them black or green, blotting out all record or detail. The grass and weeds grow up around them, covering them and hiding them from the eyes of men. The French graves have their red rosettes, the British graves their black lettering, and amongst these latter many Australians are buried far away from the land that gave them birth.
In the churchyard of Peronne are several crosses telling of British soldiers buried there. The inscriptions on the crosses are written in German and all are couched in a similar manner:
"Here rests in God, Private —— of the —— Regiment."
"The only kindly thing I've ever seen done by the Germans," said an Australian officer who was with us as we looked at the graves.
A Soldier's Prayer
Givenchy village lies a wreck, Givenchy church is bare—
No more the peasant maidens come to say their vespers there;
The altar rails are wrenched apart; with rubble littered o'er,
The sacred sanctuary lamp lies smashed upon the floor—