(British Authoress.)
Despite war correspondents and
war photographers, the whole dis
trict which for over four years was
watered with . the blood of brave
men, and wet with the tears of the
innocent victims of the war, torn
from their homes and flung into a
strange world, had remained a place
of mystery.
It may be that our Imaginations
are at fault. It may be, also, that
no man in whom war has become an
awful commonplace could paint into
his picture- the small details whlcn
make an image live in the eyes of the
others. He had become too accus
tomed to the war zone to notice
trifles which added together are so
great and so tragic But the poor
things help one to realize was as
something; going down to the roots of
life.
Despite, then, all one has read, the
war zone is a surprise In its mixture
of the homely and the tragio, the
sinister and the domestic, the de
vastated and the commonplace.
You think of a battlefield as some
thing remote and set apart: a terrible
waste of barbed wire, trenches, ruins,
graves and desolation. There are
many such. But they are not all
like this, though there are miles of
country which have been fought over
until one's very soul sickens at the
thought of such Gethscmanes.
