A BELGIAN BOY.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXVII, Issue 43, 16 September 1918, Page 7

A BELGIAN BOY.

(By a Gunner'). He was always waiting for us when we returned to the billet. In summer-time it was a late hour, lor we must not bring the gun.s back until it is almost dark. He would, stand by the farm, knowing the road by which we would come. Then, he would return to a place in the field where he kept his toys, and pack them away as we had packed away the lorries. They were wonderful toys these wartime playthings; they were perfect imitations of our guns. The material was rough—such as he could gather in lit..' fields, but the models were delicately carved. All was carefully camouflaged, and sometimes a ''heavy" or a field gun would appear on the scene. T examined them all in turn, and tried to overcome this little Belgian's shyness. Everything he saw in that wonderful world wherein he lived ho would reproduce. The Archie-guns would elevate to a proper angle— the field-guns had their limbers complete. The camouflage would have deek-ced the keenest observer. And they were all the work of his hand. He was not more than ten. The eldest brother was away, fighting in the Belgian army. Another brother only a little' older, worked ill the fields. This boy stayed at home and made his models. He had all too much time. Schools Had ceased to exist i" these parts. That in which he should have learnt was ill ruins, and served as :> gun-position, when we went very far forward. Sometimes I wotdd play with him. I would he the Bosche, and little stones or clods of earth would drop perilously near his guns. Sometimes thp shelling became so severe that he had to withdraw them a little. And once a bomb dropped straight on his newest howitzer. It must, however, have been a "dud," for the howitzer apparently survived. I have often wondered how far ho will suffer for his want of schooling. It is a sad pity in his case, for he must have had the touch of genius in Ids brain. Also .1 wonder where he and his kindly family are now. The last" I saw of him was on the eve of our withdrawal—a pathetic little figure walking with his mother and sisters beside the cart which carried all their worldly goods. They were bound—Heaven knows where, except for safety. And it is well that they left. An hour later a shell landed in the midst of their home, and tht walls which had sheltered them so long came crumpling to the ground. 1 wonder if he took his little guns with him in the cart.