first, and the artillery barrage of the British
soon dispersed the attack.

Owing to the insufficiency of the number of surviving stretcher bearers,
the evacuation of the wounded was exceedingly difficult. These were
collected in a dugout at Bank Farm, where they lay for a long time after
having received some slight attention. Two wounded Germans whom the
stretcher bearers had been unable to clear were handed over to the
relieving unit. The Battalion Aid Post was at Plum Farm, where the Medical
Officer and his staff worked to the limit of their powers in attending and
evacuating wounded.

Major E.G. Hoare, who was in command of the Battalion during the
operation, wrote a poem which describes the conditions of the Ypres
battle, and it is here given in full:--

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.

31ST JULY, 1917.

Down in the valley the Steenbeek flows,
A brook you may cross with an easy stride,
In death's own valley between the rows
Of stunted willows on either side.
You may cross in the sunshine without a care,
With a brow that is fanned by the summer's breath.
Though you cross with a laugh, yet pause with a prayer,
For this is the Vale of the Shadow of Death.

Down in the valley was rain and rain,
Endless rain from a dismal sky,
But the valley was Liberty's land again,
And the crest-line smoked like a Sinai.
Rain that beat on the tangled mass
Of weeds and pickets and broken wire,
And astride the stream was a brown morass,
In the valley of water and mud and fire.

Down in the valley the barrage fell,
Fountains of water and steel and smoke,
Scream of demons and blast of hell,
The flash that blinds and the fumes that choke.
The mud and the wire have chained the feet,
You are up to the knees in swamp and slime,
There's a laugh when the crossing is once complete,
But a setting of teeth for the second time.

Down in the valley the shambles lay
With the sordid horrors of hate revealed,
Tattered khaki and shattered grey
And the splintered wrecks of a battlefield.
Thank God for the end that is sure and swift,
For the fate that comes with a leap and bound,
But what if God leaves you alone to drift
To the lingering death in the pestilent ground?

Up on the slope was a line hard pressed
By bullets and shells and relentless strain,
An enemy massi