THE BIVOUAC BOTANIST.

The lover of nature on active service has many opportunities of making acquaintance with the natural history of his surroundings during his sojourn abroad. Resting in billets in the country, the ten minutes’ halt by the wayside, marching to and from the trenches; all these allow chances of nature study, even to the most casual observer. The trench itself is likewise full of interest in this respect, both to the botanist and the geologist, to the astronomer and the butterfly collector. Each science (if a delightful pastime be dignified with such a name) has its particular devotees, but it is of the former, botany, we wish chiefly to speak. The particular part of France—the valley of the S.—bears a striking resemblance to the chalk Downs of Kent. White roads winding over undulating country, woods and cornfields, farmhouses and orchards. In general, the features are very much alike; it is only in detail there is a difference. The walnut trees along the country roads far outnumber the average in any Kent district; the vine growing over the door of the French peasant’s cottage, the fruit of the picturesque fig-tree ripening in the sun, all these present a more foreign aspect to British eyes, than the nature of the country might first suggest.

In August the country looks its best, the golden cornfields bending ripe to the harvest, the red and blue of poppies and corn-flowers blending with the yellow grain. Away from the road stands a curious old-fashioned grange of crumbling red brick, the interstices of which are rank with weeds and stone crop. Round the old deserted grange, the darting swallows soar and sing, the only sign of life on this sultry, languid August afternoon. From the grape vine trailing along the old archway hand clusters of grapes not yet ripe. The kitchen garden lies neglected and overgrown with weeds; the cause is not far to seek—the men are all at the war—the non-combatants fled back some miles inland away from the German shells. The swallows chirp gaily as they fly in and out of the eaves of the old grange.

Let us wander out into the fields.

A mile ahead the heat glitters into almost a mirage above the first line of trenches, chalk ramparts brilliantly white in the sun—running obliquely to the left of the grange the high road can be

BC Archives, MS-1901 Box 1 File 5 / RUSSELL, Alma M., 1873 - 1964. Victoria; librarian. / Letters and associated items from Private Jack A. Gunn, 1915 - 1916.