But France, unlike England, has
the enemy within her boundaries, on her soil. Her every resource is
taxed. And the need is still great.
The story of the town of D----, in Brittany, is very typical of what
the war has brought into many isolated communities.
D---- is a little town of two thousand inhabitants, with a
thirteenth-century church, with mediaeval houses with quaint stone
porticoes and outside staircases. There is one street, shaped like a
sickle, with a handle that is the station road.
War was declared and the men of D---- went away. The women and
children brought in the harvest, and waited for news. What little came
was discouraging.
One day in August one of the rare trains stopped at the station, and
an inspector got off and walked up the sickle-handle to the
schoolhouse. He looked about and made the comment that it would hold
eighty beds. Whereupon he went away, and D---- waited for news and
gathered the harvest.
On the fifth of September, 1914, the terrific battle of the Marne
commenced. The French strategic retreat was at an end, and with her
allies France resumed the offensive. What happened in the little
village of D----?
And remember that D---- is only one of hundreds of tiny interior
towns. D---- has never heard of the Red Cross, but D---- venerated, in
its thirteenth-century church, the Cross of Christ.
Pages:
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397