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Show By EDEN PHILLPOTTS To BELGIUM Champion of human honour, let us lave Your feet and bind your wounds on bended knee, Though coward hands have nailed you to the tree And shed your innocent blood and dug your grave, Rejoice and lice .' Your oriflalnme shall wave While man has power to perish and befree- A golden flame of holiest Liberty, Proud as the dawn and as the sunset brave. Belgium, where dzcelleth reverence for right Enthroned abot'e all ideals ,' where your fate And your supernal patience and your might Illost sacred grow in human estimate, You shine a star above this stormy night, Little no more, but infinitely great. CWPMW All five had been seriously wounded, and had come to us to recruit after . But though René and Achille being discharged from the hospital at E were lame they were in the best of spirits, as were Nestor Maria and Polydore himself, though still somewhat pallid and worn-looking. Only Jan never smiled and hardly spoke a word. He had no news of his old mother, last heard of at Ostend. Our guests had brought no luggage with them, except a packet of English picture post cards presented to Polydore in hospital, and one pipe among the five. They obeyed Polydore's directions implicitly, why, I know not. When they retired to their carefully tucked-up beds, he made them all creep into them from the top, without opening them at the side. This cannot have been quite easy for René and Achille with their " bad " legs, but they accomplished it nevertheless. After two days, Polydore courteously inquired how much longer they would have to drink our terrible English medicine with their breakfasts. This was the strong tea we had given them. Coffee was substituted for it, and smiles wreathed every face. Even Jan said a word or two in Flemish which sounded like approval. The only thing in our establishment which surprised even Polydore was the mowing machine on the lawn. That amazed them all, and they were never tired of watching it. They walked round the garden with us, at least Polydore did, while the others followed at his heels, while Polydore admired By MARY CHOLMONDELEY POLYDORE IN ENGLAND WHEN Polydore came to stay with us he did not come alone. He was accompanied by Nestor Maria and Rene and Achille and poor Jan who was not a soldier at all, but had been wounded while lending a hand in the trenches. _But somehow the others only formed a background to Polydore. Polydore invariably met the eye first, from the moment when a jaded Red Cross ofiicml handed h1m and his companions over to us at a roadside station. It was Polydore who advanced to meet us, the others making a little bunch behind h1m: Polydore, with his dusky complexion and round, grey impassrve,unwmk1ng eyes, amazed at nothing, at once constituted himself as spokesman of the party, interpreter and expert on matters of etiquette. Poss1bly he may have felt that this position was his due as he was the only one of the contingent in full Belgian uniform. Dark blue coat wide livht blue trousers, and peaked cap. Nestor Maria and Achille wore English sweaters with thelr blue trousers. Jan, of course, had no uniform only a weird English cheap suit rather too tight in the waist. None of theni except Polydore had a peaked cap. But all five were wound up in enormous woollen comforters. the roses d'Egypte and the gueules de lion * still flowering in the autumn beds. They were all politeness itself, but I think they might have become rather bored with English country life if it had not been for Private Dawkins of the West Lowshires. Dawkins was also just out of hospital and was re- cruiting at his mother's cottage in the village, and he walked up, erect and soldier-like in his khaki, to call on his allies. A difference of language presented no difficulties. Immediate and agreeable intercourse was estab- lished and presently Dawkins and Polydore set out together, of course followed by the others ; the English soldier looking very slim in his khaki puttees compared with the low, broad, sturdy, blue-trousered figures of his companions in arms. Dawkins took his comrades to call on every cottage in the village, and introduced them to the entire circle of his acquaintance, including his mother. Mrs. Dawkins, I found afterwards, was much impressed by Polydore's ignorance. " The pore critter," she told me, " actually thought the clothes-line was a telephone. But lor, mum, I soon made him understand. I brought out a kitchen rubber and a peg, and made him fasten it on the wire, just to teach him. He's sharp enough, is Polly Dor, and such a silly name for a man." As he grew to know us better, Polydore told us many tales of the fighting in Belgium, the others sitting round, and joining in like a chorus. With a perfectly impassive face he recounted how on one occasion when the dykes '* Mignonette and Snapdragon. 62 63 |