The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1918-03-31

, Facing her. on the Union station plat.
FORM stood the sturdy sou she was bid
ding farewell a son who was leaving
| with his regiment, to return. she knew
not when, IL ever. Blue Of eye, with
curly blond hair. nearly six feet in height
and more-a mere boy, he could only
gaze beseechingly Mt her.
The youth could not talk He tried
but his voice choked up and the words
he attempted to utter ended in half sobs
Finally he clasped the little mother
close to him and held her tightly. He
kissed her time and again, hiding his
face In her neck that she could not see
her soldier boy crying. Then he tore
himself away, turned and ran to his train
Just as the final "All aboard signalled
departure time. 1t was then that the
brave little mother broke completely
down and staggered toward the street to
go back to the empty home.
1t was the spirit of patriotism--the
love Of ones country that is greater
slmost-than any other love. At least,
it is the love that comes first.
| wouldn't you sell the clothes off of
your back to send that splendid brave
young soldier flag" so that his be-
loved mother might know her boy was
not entirely forgotten ''over there?"
Hundreds and hundreds of boys Just
like this one of the story have gone
from homes here in our city, boys We
love and feel near and dear to, and
there are hundreds and hundreds of va
cant chairs in hundreds and hundreds of
homes today in this city; in some, two,
three, four, a half dozen vacant chairs;
won't you send some of these brave boys
a smoke?
You can send them several If you go
to the "Camouflage Carnival tomorrow
evening.
Here's a little verse or two which shows
how our soldier boys appreciate smoke.
The name of it is:
"FAGs"
When the cold is making Ice cream
OF the marrow of your bones;
When you're shaking like jelly
And your feet are dead as stones;
When your clothes and boots and blan-
ket.
And your rifle and your kit
Are soaked from hi to breakfast
And the dugout where you sit
Is leaking like a basket.
The water lies in filthy pools.
six inches deep or more;
Tho you're feeling cold and miserable
| And all the world is wet,
You'll always get through somehow
| If you've got a cigarette.
When Fritz is starting something,
And his guns are on the bust,
And the parapet goes up in chunks
! And settles down in dust;
When a whizzy old Withholding
| Comes webbing through the air
And lands upon the dugout
| And the dougout isn't there;
| And the air is full of dust and smoke,
| And scraps of shell and noise,
| You begin to think of golden crowns
| And other heavenly joys
When your nerves are all atremble,
| And your brain is all-afret
| Why you'd feel darn sight better
/ If you'd puff a cigarette.
| This little poem was written by boy
| in the trenches and consequently it is
| the soldiers idea of what a smoke means,
and after reading it if you don't redouble
| your efforts to help the tobacco fund,
than you are more unsympathetic than
think, and there's nothing, it seems to
me, that could possibly. touch you.
| AS a result of this frlghtful world war
| there are many byproducts on the mar
ket, one of which is new words to be
ladded TO the dictionary. One of them
/ is .'Camouflage,',
Evefybody's using it; everybodys do
ling it; everybody's saying it; everybody's
working it--so. when pretty Mrs. Louis
! Woodward Ball was looking about for