"...The slopes of the Mort Homme are covered with a forest of firs, planted in the 1930's when all other attempts at cultivation had failed. The wind whistles through the trees and the birds sing, and that is all. It is the nearest thing to a desert in Europe. Nobody seems ever to visit it. The ghosts abound; it is one of the eeriest places in this world..."
(From: 'The Price of Glory', by Alistair Horne)