sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War 



EVACUATION OF DARDANELLES 



So quietly we left our trench 

 That night, yet this I know — 

 As we stole down to Sedd-el-Bahr 

 Our dead mates heard us go. 



As I came down the Boyan Nord 

 A dead hand touched my sleeve, 

 A dead hand from the parapet 

 Reached out and plucked my sleeve. 



"Oil, what is toward, O mate o' mine. 



That ye pass with muffled tread, 



And there comes no guard for the firing-trench. 



The trench won by your dead ? " 



The dawn was springing on the hills, 

 'Twas time to put to sea, 

 But all along the Boyan Nord, 

 A dead voice followed me. 



" Oh, little I thought," a voice did say, 

 " That ever a lad of Tyne 

 Would leave me lone in the cold trench side. 

 And him a mate of mine." 



We sailed away from Sedd-el-Bahr, 

 We are sailing home on leave. 

 But this I know — through all the years 

 Dead hands will pluck my sleeve. 



Mr. Heald lost his life later in France. 



I suppose the only judgment that interests the human mind 

 is a judgment of valuation ; logic plays little part in it. It is 

 the feeling of valuation that surrounds the V.C. with its 

 halo. 



At any rate, I know the dear Padre was very proud of his, 

 and was full of tenderness for the memory of the many who were 

 gone, who he said, in his modesty, deserved it so much more 

 than he did. 



Bravery of another kind, little known but none the less 

 splendid, I must recount ; namely, his work in the smallpox 

 camp, where he spent days and nights trying to cheer, amuse, 

 and comfort the sufferers. To those who do not know the 

 horrors of smallpox as it is known in the East this may not 

 sound very grand, but those who do will realise what this man 



