David Childs

The battle period from 8th August to 11th November came to be known by the Allies as the "Advance to Victory". This was a series of battles fought in Picardy and Artois during the last months of the war, when the Allied Forces successfully pushed the German Army eastwards as far as Mons over the Belgian border. On the 8th alone the allied advanced ten miles and captured 30,000 prisoners. Forward movement on this scale, by the allies, had not been achieved for many months. With the war at sea already won 5th August marked the last of 110 German air-raids on London.

We will Remember Them

Two northern French cemeteries commemorate Tisbury men lost in the great advance. The Vis-en-Artois Memorial, which commemorates 9,847 Allied officers and men who were killed in the period from 8th August 1918 to 11th November 1918, and have no known grave, lists Private Donald Burt, of the Royal Warwickshire Regiment among its number. The memorial comprises two 70 foot high pylons with the Stone of Remembrance in the centre section between them, and a wing on either side of the centre section containing the names of the fallen. A sculpted relief of St. George and the Dragon is located on the wall behind the Stone of Remembrance. The memorial was dedicated on 4th August 1930.
The British extension to the Bull-Grenay Cemetery in the Pas de Calais, holds the body of Private William Fletcher of the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. Aged only 19, he was killed on 28th August. His parents, Thomas and Elizabeth, lived along Tisbury Row.

THE AUGUST POEM (In a French Village)

Maurice Baring, the son of Lord Revelstoke, was the foreign correspondent of 'The Times' before joining the Intelligence Corps in 1914. His collected poems were published in 1925.

I hear the tinkling of a cattle bell,
In the broad stillness of the afternoon;
High in the cloudless haze the harvest moon
Is pallid as the phantom of a shell.

A girl is drawing water from a well,
I hear the clatter of her wooden shoon;
Two mothers to their sleeping babies croon,
And the hot village feels the drowsy spell.

Sleep, child, the Angel of Death his wings has spread;
His engines scour the land, the sea, the sky;
And all the weapons of Hell's armoury

Are ready for the blood that is their bread;
And many a thousand men to-night must die,
So many that they will not count the Dead

©  Tisbury History Society
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