* * *

A Y.M.C.A. hut is a poor substitute for home, but our aim is to make
every Y.M.C.A. as much like home as it is possible for it to be. It is
surprising how much can be done by pictures, decorations and flowers, to
give the home touch. A canary singing over the counter; a cat on the
hearth; a bunch of primroses or forget-me-nots; a smile or a word of
welcome; a woman's voice; a piano--family prayers at the close of the
day--these are some of the things that count, and are numbered amongst
the greatest assets of the Red Triangle.

* * * * *

It is strange how often scenes and sounds of war and peace are
intermingled. It is a common sight to see men and women going
unconcernedly about their work, and children playing in towns that are
habitually shelled or bombed. Stranger still is it to note the habits of
the wild birds, constructing their nest amid scenes of war and in
localities subject to constant bombardment. The Y.M.C.A. hut in
Ploegsteert Wood was destroyed during a three hours' bombardment in May
1916, but whenever there came a few seconds' pause in the booming of the
guns, the nightingales sang as unconcernedly as in the piping times of
peace. We once heard, near Hersin, a sort of duet between a cuckoo and a
big gun; the bird punctuating with its call the thunder of the guns,
and, as stated elsewhere, whilst the barrage was in full swing the
thrushes on Kemmel, only a few hundred yards behind the guns, sang as
sweetly and merrily as in the lanes and gardens of England. In the
course of a brief visit to the American front in France we called at a
little Y.M.C.A. shanty, badly strafed, within a mile or so of the enemy.
Through the open window from which all glass had long since vanished, a
swallow entered, and, perching on a wire stretched across the room,
carolled joyously its simple little song--a message truly of peace and
eternal hope!

* * * * *

The 'Walthamstow' hut at Remy had to be temporarily abandoned during the
German offensive. The leader in charge transferred operations to a
dug-out across the way, which adjoined a clearing station. The
inevitable caterer's boiler enabled him to keep up a constant supply of
hot tea and coffee for the wounded. An Australian terribly mutilated was
brought in. A happy smile, a few cheery words, and a cup of steaming
hot cocoa made the Australian feel he had met a friend--and speaking
slo