The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1918-10-24
The Battlefield
(By George Lizotte)

grimaging all along the roads and II
the fields where the warmest blood o.
France was spilled for her glory ant
securing her lasting peace for the
generations to come, and while
France, free of the barbarians, Is
kneeling on the tombs of those who
fought and died on the battlefield oil
the Marine, the world is slowly but
surely absorbing the historic import
ance Of this great victory. let us look
around on this battlefield of yester
day still all upset and smoking.
| Following an instinct which Is the
universal conscience, Man approaches
with awe great battlefields where the
past has forged the present, but how
can one define the emotions the place
inspires;;F where, behind our vIctori-
Gus army Death stalked only yester-
day and it's silhoutte is still visible
with the shrieking Of shrapnel, the
laundering of cannons still on the
! horizon, one may still hear the roll.
Ing of the war trucks on the roads !,
then silence absorbs you, the few
| leaves still hanging on the broken
stumps of trees and the doleful cry
of stray lark does not disturb this
silence that dominates all.
The ruins of towns and deserted
villages still smoking; tumbled down
walls with here and there a chimney
that looks like arms stretched out In
despair, abandoned arms. shell holes
and the bodies still lying all along
the roads and fields where death had
surprised them in their comhative
activities. With them it is silence
forever.
What poet can describe a battlefield
still warm with the fray; he would
have to be a student of life and death,
also of d religious turn of mind, be-
cause the first impulse at the sight
Of it is to kneel to the Creator; for
these martyrs who died for the free
dom of the world were the soldiers Of
God.
Land of beautiful France; familiar
the Disc and of the Somme; areas,
the Disc and of the Somme; Areas,
formerly so gay; hamlets ornated by
centuries that spoke to the passer-bS
the language of beauty; Roye Nesle.
Noyon, Ham, which are now but de-
| formed piles as reminders that the
bestfal Hun has been here. But the
place has been purified by the pass
age of the poilus rolling back the pol
luting hordes; how dear you are to
| our hearts, noble soldiers! Most of
you are gone. but you will ever be
in our memory-your ashes enoble
the name of France.
Let us salute these dead along the
road. Here are three apparently killed
by one shell, one has his head hang
ing over the ditch, his arms crossed.
his forehead making hole in the
muddy bottom; another all twisted
and in crouching position, holding
his gun as IL ready to fire; the third
ON his back as if sleeping. Nearby
are several old soldiers, mostly Grip
pies, whose faces denote neither emo
ton nor indifference. One of them
has several wooden crosses, another
several sheets of paper, followed by
an armless veteran with basket OF
empty bottles tied on his back They
search the dead soldiers clothes for
papers or letters identifying them
One of these has a leather bracelet
tied around his wrist, small ninia-
ture of young woman and curly
headed child nesting in her arms il
ensconced in it. They copy the in
formation thus acquired, place the
whole into the bottles as sOcn rs
they were buried, then stick the
wooden cross and the bottles side by
side on the graves.
Some day the passers-by will sec
monuments covered with flowers and
will take off his hat in respect tC
those who died for France Noble dead
who are now lying all along the
roads and in the fields, you are glori
fed for you have sustained the des
TIMES of Freedom.