Shoshone journal. [volume] (Shoshone, Idaho) 1884-1931, 1920-01-23
BELGIUM SKE TCHES
The Land of the
Living and Dead
By Katharine EaoIestOn Rsaerts-

& gray stuhbled chin on the handle d
8 his pick. Yearly he gazed across th
3 desolale land Of destruction His ben
q shoulders dropped beneath the blu
& smock
Z Sometimes It iusf seems impossible
q Marthe." He turned to the woman IL
s The doorway You can't grow gar
den ia these wei shNllh holes Some OF
8 us tried to turn more ground today
but every time we swung a pick. up
came skull or piece Of a shoe, OF
{ something II doesn't seem right"
Marines knotted fingers twisted at
her apron. No: but IT'S an we have.
Jan. We can't waste all West Elan
ders, and-wel after all. it's home"
Yes yes be sighed; we've come
back to the same place, but it isn't
home any more. Look at those bare
trees They lift their broken arms TO
the sky and beg for pity. but theyn
never live And those skulls-they
haunt me. What is the use? Always
a struggle. The dead cannot live
again. and we live on land of
DEATH" He kicked off his wooden sa-
bots and followed his wife through the
doorway into the one room that served
for parlor, bedroom and Kitchen.
Marthe bent over the sheet-iron stove
and stirred the soup in a battered ket-
tie. Il secured up that empty shell
you found yesterday. 1t will do for
coffee-pot. Try TO get another. To
use the same one for everything is |
hard." She sighed. 81 do wish we had |
just few of the old kitchen things.
But suppose some German woman is
using my copper kettles and spoons
now. Marthe welded the homemade
wooden ladle with vicious splash.
Jan laughed bitterly. as he settled
down by the table. Judging by what
they took from Belgium, picture Ger
many as land paved with copper ket-
ties, carpeted with mattresses and fes-
TONED with brass dOor-knobs. Oh.
what's the use, Marthe? What's the
use of trying to live like this? An old
abri for house, because there's moth
ing with which to build. We make
our coffee in the shell of spent obus.
Our furniture, everything is makeshift.
Lies nothing but a makeshift.
why do we cling to it? And the chill
dren that people are trying to raise
out herel They see only desolation
their toys are broken guns and rusty
bayonets. What kind of men and
women will they be? And still we go
on working here because we've no
where else to go. and we think we
have to live" His gray head sank in
his hands,
Marthe placed the pot of soup on
the table and gave him a wooden
spoon. THAT'S what Louisa was say
ing this evening. That's the way ev-
erybody feels when the dark comes
on"
Slowly the night mist crept over
No Mans Land and shrouded the
stark, gray trees. One by one shapes
began TO rise and wander over the pit
ted ground They gathered into groups
and the murmur of their voices was
like wind across the fields
Said one: 81 thought it hard to die
out here but when sec these people
working, straiuiug to make their
homes ! think il must be harder still
"aly family has returned" another
spoke - lived here once. II seems
so long ago. But when came back
lere 10 Gglr. my house was AN de-
woyed. my people gone And then
fell there in my own front yard
hat shell hole. see it, where the pop
lies grow? My little girl came there
% pick some flowers this afternoon
kissed her hand; She laughed. and +
bought a poppy tickled her" lie (
lniled. IF they could know"
at must he nearly time" another
aid. THE lights are out. The peo-
lie are asleep"
\ bugle whispered somewhere in the 4
lark. The shapes fell into ranks the
hoStly army marched. Before the
omes the spirits took their posts and
Waited for the zero hour to come.
rom far they saw the menace creep
ng up-vaguely, until the moon broke
through the mist and showed 1t grim
nd hideous-the army of Despair and
aithless Doubt, that sought to drive
he people from the land.
The Siege was hard. but through the
ing, blue night the shapes stood firm
Ill, just before the dawn, the hour OF
ill strength came. Then with a rush
he living spirits fought. and put the
rmies of Despair and Doubt to flight.
The old man stood before the door
the abri and watched the morning
I'm from rose to gold. 'Marthe." he
led. Il, was foolish last night. II
ust have been that was tired. What
utter gift can we have than the land
here our sons have fought? What an
SEPARATION for our homes. There's no
eh thing as despair, Marthe was
song, very wrong last night. Today
see only hope in the sky"
And the living spirits of No Mans