.

036) THE SOMME IN SUMMER-TIME (AUGUST 1917) Never shall I forget my first sight of the Somme in summer-time.

I had left it mud, nothing but water, shell-holes and mud--the most gloomy, dreary abomination of desolation the mind could imagine; and now, in the summer of 1917, no words could express the beauty of it.

The dreary, dismal mud was baked white and pure--dazzling white.

White daisies, red poppies and a blue flower, great masses of them, stretched for miles and miles.