Moonlight nights in towns along the war
front are dreaded, for it invariably means a Boche raid. Clear
moonlight nights with a full moon are fine for lovers in a country that
is at peace, but it may mean death for lovers in a country that is at
war. But moonlight nights are beautiful even in war countries, with
dim old cathedrals looming in the background, and the white villages of
France, a huge chateau here and there against the hillside or crowning
its summit; and the white roads and white fields of France swinging by.
One forgets there is war then, until he hears the unmistakable beat of
the Hun plane overhead and sees the flash of one, two, three, four,
five, six, ten, twelve, fifteen bombs break in a single field a few
hundred yards away, and the driver remarks: "I knew we'd have a raid
tonight. It's a great night for the Boche!"
STARLIGHT AT FRONT
Then there is the starlight on No Man's Land, for the starlight is a
part of the lights o' war just as are the moonlight and the star-shells
and the little flash-lights and the range-finders and the bursting
shells and bombs. But there are other more significant lights o' war.
There is the "Light that Lies in the Soldiers' Eyes," of which my
friend Lynn Harold Hough has written so beautifully and
understandingly. Only over here it is a different light.
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