Page 73 - Bulletin 11 2007

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them as they came at us. I have much more news to write to
you about, but I have not the heart to, as it is too terrible. I
myself was buried three times.”

DELVILLE WOOD

In Delville Wood the larches grew
And poplar striplings slim,
The hazel-boughs made tracery
Against the skies’ blue rim;
And very fair the Summer mood
In far-off unknown Delville Wood.

In Delville Wood no poplars stand,
In Delville Wood no larches grow:
Nature, bewildered and aghast,
Lies mutilated, bleeding, low –
For blossomed sanctuary is left
Red wreckage, of all life bereft.

Yet in its ruin and despair
Has come to Delville Wood a fame,
Graven for evermore on hearts
That erstwhile had not heard its name,
Made deathless now by those who stood
And fought and died in Delville Wood.

O little wood in far-off France!
By what strange ways their feet were led,
Our sons, of differing tongue and race,
Who there upon your pathways red,
One in true-hearted fortitude,
Forged living links of brotherhood.

And in the deep wounds of Delville Wood
For ever on our Scroll shall flame,
With sacrificial light that fades
Old scars of by-gone grief and shame;
So for all time shall Delville Wood
Stand unto us as Holy Rood.

B. M. BROMLEY.
Kalk Bay