A Battlefield of a Year Ago 
I have just travelled up the line again for the second time. I am 
not so very far away from the spot where I was last time, but the 
change that has happened since I left the line towards the end of last 
year has impressed me very much. I have crossed the old battlefield 
of a year ago — the ground that we were fighting for so hard — and it is 
unrecognisable from what it was as I saw it last. Nature has exerted 
her very utmost to cover up all the terrible havoc that has been done, 
and it is now a most beautiful garden. It is absolutely covered with 
flowers as far as the eye can reach, and the effect is most pleasing. 
The banks of the old trenches are covered with white Dog Daisies, 
and the vivid red of great patches of Poppies has a splendid effect. 
There are thousands of beautiful mauve Sweet Scabious, and pink 
and mauve double Poppies. The loveliest flower to be seen, however, 
is the Cornflower. It is such a rich, intense blue; there are whole 
fields of it, and the sight is most glorious. There are some tall yellow 
flowers, very much like Mustard, and the reddish brown seed of the 
Dock plant add to the effect. Here and there are large pools of 
water, caused by the shell holes. The trees, too, that were blown to 
bits have thrown out shoots to cover up the ugly stumps. The un- 
level nature of the ground adds a great deal to the beauty of the scene; 
truly a most lovely wild garden. Last year it was a horrible inferno; 
this year a veritable paradise. It proves what the Great Gardener 
can do. — 23004 Private A. Speck, British Expeditionary Force. 
Already the fields of Flanders have begun to bloom again. Their 
martyrdom is over. They strew with flowers the pathway of their 
deliverers. They make offering, too, at the graves of their deliverers. 
But, alas, in America our adventures are just beginning. Our fields 
are filled with flowers this year, next they may be a shot-torn wilder- 
ness. Not literally, perhaps, shall we see devastated farms and 
towns and forests, but we must win grim battles before our battlefields 
rejoice again. 
The Wounded Garden 
A hedge, meticulously trimmed, shuts in this ordered garden, a 
garden so exact that it seems carved from the unbroken fields that 
surround it. Carved, then jewel-set with flowers. The vegetable 
rows are primly straight and the fruit trees are trained with obstinate 
and skillful severity. The man who works here is a master of his 
trade. He is standing, thoughtful, before a clump of tulips whose tall 
stems are crowned with great oval flowers of bold pattern and clear 
