Item 01: Henry Weston Pryce diary, May 1916-ca. 1918 - Page 132
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[Page 132]
(3) The Flanders Night
Again we take road & the moon is full. The trees are gone. Only a blackened stump shows here & there. A crater of few heaps of rubble mark the village, where the church stood is now a great mine crater. All the earth is pitted and scarred and dead, save for men who move swiftly and warily, and guns that crunch wherever the eye seeks - their fan shaped flames spewing across the mud, momemtarily revealing each moment straining sweating shapes like demons of the pit. Along the road we stumble on nameless things - that the guns have slain yet will not leave in peace. There are no bells. They were melted down & fed to the guns long ago. There is not even a blade of grass. Only the guns and we who are their slaves & will soon be their prey. HWP