From an Outpost

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Honour may be sadly written What might have been! Leslie Coulson's work had only just begun. He had more than ordinary gifts a poetic nature combined with luminous sanity and a fine intellect. He would certainly have achieved literary distinction. As it is, apart from his admirable journalistic work, buried in the files, he has left a few brilliant short stories, a few uncompleted plays, and this slender sheaf of verse. That is all. It is to be regretted that he did not oftener exercise his poetic faculty. But as the Manchester Guardian wrote Of him when news came Of his death, His life was his noblest poem to all who knew and loved him. If I should fall, he said in one Of his last letters, do not grieve for me. I Shall be one with the wind and the sun and the flowers. He will also be one in the great host of our young dead whose glory is imperishable - the young who will never grow Old.