Birds on the Western Front 
Hushed is the shriek of hurtling shells, and hark ! 
Somewhere within that bit of deep blue sky, 
Grand in his loneliness, his ecstasy, 
His lyric wild and free, carols a LARK. 
But, if only to show the variability of the 
human temperament, I record the following 
story of another British Tommy and a LARK : 
After a day of terrific fighting, when the 
bombardment ceased, there lay on the battle- 
field some scores of our dead and wounded. 
Of a sudden a LARK darted into the sky, 
pouring forth his joyous lay. ‘‘ What the 
‘ell is ’e singing about ?”’ irritably asked a 
prostrate Tommy (London Maul, 28.viii.15). 
SWIFTS were quite fearless of the guns, and 
their screams were strangely appropriate 
when accompanied by the moan of a shell 
(Country Life, 7.x.16, p.399). They shrieked 
overhead, while 15,000 feet above our shrapnel 
was bursting round an enemy aeroplane 
(Daily Mail, 9.v.17). 
The call of the CUCKOO, so reminiscent of 
the promise of spring, was eagerly awaited 
by our fighting men, and on the Somme its 
familiar note was heard whenever the almost 
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