h. We passed back through the district over
which we had advanced, and saw everywhere gruesome traces of the
fighting. When we came to Albert, however, we found it was still in
the possession of the enemy. The Americans were holding the line, and
an American sentry stopped us at a barrier in the road and said that
no motorcycles were allowed to go any further in that direction. (p. 289)
It was strange to hear the American accent again, and I told the lad
that we were Canadians. "Well", he said, with a drawl, "that's good
enough for me." We shook hands and had a short talk about the peaceful
continent that lay across the ocean. There was nothing for us to do
then but to return.

On the following Sunday, the Germans having evacuated Albert a day and
a half before, I once more paid a visit to the old town. I left my
side-car on the outskirts of the place and was taken by Mr. Bean, the
Australian War Correspondent, into his car. He was going up to take
some photographs. The day was intensely hot, and the dust of the now
ruined town was literally ankle-deep and so finely powdered that it
splattered when one walked as though it had been water. I saw the
ruins of the school-house which our ambulances had used, and noticed
that the image of the Virgin had been knocked down from the tower of
the Cathedral. I passed the house where our Headquarters had been. The
building was still standing but the front wall had gone, leaving the
interior exposed. I made my way up the Bapaume road to Tara Hill, and
there to my great delight I found the little cemetery still intact.
Shells had fallen in it and some of the crosses had been broken, but
the place had been wonderfully preserved. A battery on one side of it
had just ceased firing and was to advance on the following day. While
I was putting up some of the crosses that had fallen, Mr. Bean came up
in his car and kindly took a photograph of my son's grave. He also
took a photograph of the large Australian cross which stands at one
corner of the cemetery. Tara Hill had been for six months between the
German front and reserve lines, and I never expected that any trace of
the cemetery would have been found. I shall probably never see the
place again, but it stands out in my memory now as clear and distinct
as though once more I stood above the dusty road and saw before me the
rows of little crosses, and behind them the waste land battered by war
and burnt beneath the hot August sun. Over t