HEARING THE SOMME BATTLE IN ENGLAND.

Press, Volume LII, Issue 15756, 24 November 1916, Page 5

HEARING THE SOMME BATTLE IN ENGLAND.

A KENTISH PICTURE,

. J (By a Soldier's Wife.} ; 1 It was rather strange, the manner in which wo found the war in England. For a few days wc had endeavoured to escape from London, with its constant reminders of the Great War; with its hurrying crowds, its many uniformed war-workers, its never absent khaki, khaki, everywhere. Because of our very anxiety. and keenness for every scrap of tor news we longed to disappear and forget for a few short days; to snatch a few hours of quietude and recuperation from the summer. The little seaside village to which we fcame was such a one as one instantly conjures up at the word "English.'' It was typical, and might have existed jnst to make one forget the horrors of war. Sheltered bays, rolling downs gradually melting through autumn mists into the grey, lazily rolling sea; high cliffs, green to the very edges, where they fell eheerly away in their white chaJkiness —the first recognised landmarks of home to returning wanderers : trees, birds, flowers: it was "England, dear England." War seemed a thousand miles away —nay, it seemed an impossibility. It could not be, with that soft, grey-blue sky, that intense stillness, that atmosphere of peace. But we were not to forget, and I think it came to more than one of us as we sat gazing across that narrow channel that separated us from the war, why should we, doing our little, "bit" in safety—the most we could do, truly, but such a sheltered and comfortable little bit compared with what was being done on the other side—why should we try to escape from- thoughts and sights of the war ? What right had we to forgetfulness. even for an hour, when the best of our manhood was enduring day and night without cessation the horrors and strain of such an inferno as could not be gnessed at save bv those who had come through it? We were not to forget. As if in rebuke, we experienced a week of war happening.*) such as Had not occurred to us in London. Only a feeble imitation, it is truo, jusfc the small, distant echoes of the mighty battle raging, but enough to make one think and realise. From the first day of our arrival we lived to an orchestral [ accompaniment—the distant boom, | boom, and shuddering sound of the guns in France. At first some of us did not realise what it meant, and only when one of our company who had just returned from the front said, "It is the battle of tho Somme" did we understand. Then we thought. If wo could hear the terrific bombardment here, fifty miles away, what could the reality be? What the feelings of those enduring incessantly tho noise and anguish of that hell? Then tho soft stillness of a' summer afternoon was broken by raucous-voiced sirens hooting out their warnings, followed quickly by the news of a seaplane raid close by. The next night, as we were thinking .of bed—for one retires

) | early in these little east coast villages, j wliero never a beam of light escapes ! from closely curtained windows, and not .a single lnmp lights the country roads—wc heard the thin distant wail, never forgotten by those who have once heard it, of an approaching Zeppelin. It continued for some minutes, coming nearer and nearer, its heavy drcne plowing louder, passing over an J away inland. Then we watched many aeroplanes ascend. The next morning we read of the raid on London suburbs and the destruction of two of the monstere. The heaviest bombardment we heard 1 was on the day after the Zeppelin raid. ' For many hours the guns never ceased. i Thud, thud, thud; boom, boom, boom. In all degrees of intensity tho sounds came over the water, not one at a time, but many, tho explosions seeming to tumble over each otfier, rendered heavy , and woolly by the distance. We were sad and elated in turn. We felt we were near to the war. Were they our guns, or were they the Germans', or both? Each explosion, we knew, dealt death to many of our brave men. But we knew that for each blow we received we were at least returning tenfold. Wo were winning at last, and more than ever with tho right spirit behind—tho knowledge of personal wrongs to avenge. We tried to visualise the sceno. So much has recently been written, so many pictures published. that it is less shadowv to the imagination than in the earlier days. But how feeble the imagination to the actuality. Only continuously tho guns seemed to boom the refrain, "Tho Battle of the Sommc. The Battlo 'of the Somme." Towards afternoon the guns ceased, or through some atmospheric condition were not heard. Once more peace reigued in that garden- The dying leaves whirled very softly and slowly to the ground; pigeons cooed; birds called insistently to their mates or settled down in their nests with much fussy twitering. For an hour or so we wandered in an enchanted land. Tho intense stillness of that Indian summer evening almost hurt. Great banks of lavender, heliotrope, sweetbriar, stocks, and all the late summer flowers of an oldworld garden seemed to give out with almost overwhelming ' sweetness the concentrated perfume of the day. And then suddenly upon tho quietude broke once more the familiar sound, louder and heavier than before; and slowly with awe cam© to our lips—"Tho Battle of the Somme." To me the happenings of that week had seemed symbolic. For into it had broken on© of those bitter-sweet "short ! leaves," that period of rush and hurried "good-byes," of never stopping to think, but smiling, smiling all the way. The end came as a heavily loaded "soldiers' train" drew out of one of London's great termini, and a. CTeat hoarse "Hurrah" went up from hundreds of throats, handkerchiefs waved, and many more sons and husbands went to take their places in the battle line. As we returned alone and quiet, these happenings fell into their order and seemed to summarise England at war. The scouting of the seaplanes,Hhe Zeppelin invasion, the departure of those troops, and through all the muttering accompaniment of the guns, culminating in that last bombardment.