boulestin was a writer and critic who popularised french cuisine in great britain and the us
laboureur was an engraver who brought new acclaim to the art, drawing directly on the metal with a burin.
already confirmed anglophiles when they served as translator in british flanders in 1914, together
they created a body of work (a memoir, an artist book and two series of prints) depicting their life behind the lines in a vivid series of episodic vignettes.
interestingly, no-one seems to have previously identified the text in "sentimental aspects" with the glosses accompanying the pictures of "in british flanders", which is why this is their first joint publication.
"Encounter
A shy sun, half hidden behind light clouds, was trying to gild the trees in the small square. At regular intervals, a large piece not far away made the dining room door and the slightly disjointed windows shake; on the sideboard, bottles that were too close together tinkled at every strike. A stronger vibration cracked a tile which fell with a clatter to the pavement.
Turning to me, he said, "What a lovely light today," and we continued the conversation as if we had known each other for a long time.
Then, after lunch, a long walk along the inevitable canal - hospital narrowboats, barges, soldiers angling, cinematic sentries - through some memories of London life and the oases of contemporary English literature. At times, his dreamy Celt eyes lit up with an exalted flame.
At the crossroads where our paths separated, so many shells fell that we had to stop and, sheltered behind a straw bale, observe the results of the firing. He tells me again: "I hate wasting energy. "
Since there was a slightly longer interval every four rounds, it was only a matter of calculating our movements. It turned into a sport. One more round and we'll be off... It looked like the start of a race. The horses understood this very well.
But something unexpected happened, something that made us stop and instinctively turn towards each other on our respective roads.
I know what he thought: this is no game, it was worth it... His laughter reached me in the silence which had suddenly become palpable: the cannonade had ceased, without reason, as it had begun.
In the small restaurant, three days later, I waited for him in vain. There you go, it's all in the day's work… I don't even know your name, my friend, and I may never see you again."
buy a copy here at lulu in british flanders (lulu.com)
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