CHAPTER VII

ONE YOUNG MAN IN THE SALIENT

The city of Ypres, which Sydney Baxter had entered some few months previously, was now a heap of ruins.  The whole country was desolate:  the once picturesque roads lined by trees were now but a line of shell holes, with here and there leafless, branchless stumps, seared guardians of the thousand graves.  On June 7th, 1915, Sydney Baxter writes: 

“We have been having a very lively time, a second touch of real life-destroying warfare.  Many of the boys have been bowled over.  We have had a series of heavy bombardments—­shells everywhere, so that it was a matter of holding tight where we were.  However, I was again fortunate, and have proved to myself and to the Captain that I can hold my head whilst under heavy shell and rifle fire, although it’s impossible to keep one’s heart beating normal under such conditions.

“We are now entrenched for a day or two, but it is not over-lively.  A corporal who was a fellow bedman of George’s and mine at Crowborough has just been killed.  The poor chap died in agony.

“It is indeed comforting to know that so many are petitioning ‘Our Father’ to spare me, if it be His will, through all the dangers and hardships of this uproar, and the confidence that the friends have in my return is very helpful.  I have had the feeling that God will give me another chance of doing more work, but the thought of being killed has not the terror it had.  The idea of joining George perhaps gives this comfort, but of course I know that it does not rest with me—­unless of course by negligence.

     “Will you include, please, two fat candles as you sent
     before.”

June 16th, 1915.

     “MY DEAREST MOTHER,

“Just a short note in reply to yours received this morning.  I am still as per usual.  Depends on how much sleep I get as to how I feel.  As I was able last night to get to bed before 3 o’clock, and slept on to 10 o’clock this morning, I am A1.

“We got drenched the night before last—­every one soaked to the skin.  We came out of the trench, and as there were no huts or dug-outs ready for us, we had to stand out in the rain for over an hour when we arrived at our destination.  As the weather changed next day we managed to dry our things.  It was a funny sight to see chaps walking about in pants, and some with sandbags for trousers.

     “It is rumoured we are leaving here to go ——­, but being a
     rumour it won’t come true.  However, I shouldn’t mind a
     change.  We are all fed up with this spot.

                                        THE ALCOVE DUG-OUT,
                                        July 8th, 1915.