6 JULY 1944, Page 11

EPITAPH ON A RUSSIAN SOLDIER

FIVE days we held the enemy hard pressed, And on the fifth we marched towards the West.

On that fifth day beneath a blast from hell, His face towards the West, my comrade fell.

Swiftly running, as he was wont to go, He fell, and there he lay upon the snow With arms outspread so widely that it seemed To embrace that whole dear countryside he deemed.

Ready to die in battle, he would refuse, Even in death the well-loved earth to lose. • His mother's days will now be full of pain, Victory will not bring back her son again.

But let that mother think her son will rest Happy, for he died facing towards the West.