I would the flowers were worthier, but such as I have, I give; and they are taken out of my heart. "Where my caravan has rested Flowers I leave you on the grass; All the flowers of love and memory; You will find them when you pass." THOMAS TIPLADY. BRITISH EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, FRANCE. *CONTENTS* CHAP. I. The Swan at Ypres II. The Roadmakers III. The Glamour of the Front IV. A White Handkerchief V. The Songs Our Soldiers Sing VI. Easter Sunday VII. "Now the Day is Over" VIII. Sons of the Motherland IX. The Terror by Night X. "Eton Boys Never Duck!" XI. "Missing" XII. "It Must be Sunday" XIII. Our Tommies Never Fail Us XIV. The Cross at Neuve Chapelle XV. The Children of Our Dead XVI. A Funeral under Fire XVII. A Soldier’s Calvary XVIII. The Hospital Train XIX. After Winter, Spring *I* *THE SWAN AT YPRES* For three years the storm center of the British battle front has been at Ypres. Every day and night it has been the standing target of thousands of guns. Yet, amid all the havoc and thunder of the artillery, the graceful white form of a swan had been seen gliding over the water of the moat. It never lacked food, and was always welcome to a share of Tommy’s rations. In the Battle of Messines--I had the story first-hand from a lieutenant of artillery whose battery was hidden close by, and who was an eye-witness of the incident--a shell burst near the swan, and it was mortally wounded. For three long years it had spread its white wings as gallantly as the white sails of Drake’s flagship when he sailed out of Plymouth Sound to pluck the beard of the Spaniard. But now its adventurous voyaging was over. Another beautiful and innocent thing had been destroyed by the war and had passed beyond recall. There was no dying swan-song heard on the waters, but all who saw its passing felt that the war had taken on a deeper shade of tragedy.