ANZAC INTERLUDES.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 16149, 1 March 1918, Page 4

ANZAC INTERLUDES.

TOMMY SMAILES'S TOUCH

' • FIN AN Cl ALLY EMBA R ASSED

PRO TEM."

(By Harley Matthews in "Sydney Sun.")

His name may be camoulflaged as Tommy Smailes. but 1 think that '"Anzac Smailes" will be his trading title still, all legislative prohibition against the base use of that sacred name notwitiistar.ding.

Bnt I must not go into details about him. for tear you recognise his grin over the gate one of these mornings, and, becoming abashed with the fame of him. give him your jast half-crown. Bettor to know him as - 'a long, thin, nuggety bloke, the camouflage that old Bill Watson would baffle tne ser-geant-major with when he was looking lor a inatv ot Bid's to warn for guard.

"W'hats ne like, sergeaaMnajor —a long, tnin, nuggety bloke?" lomuiy lias a speciality. It is that of being "financially enioarrassed pro torn, and of linding swift reflet iiom that condition. His ••touch'' was the surest in two armies, British and Australian. It was the Avar that discovered his talent for him. He left Australia with the lirst. lot. Ho used to be merely proud of that distinction, but as time went on he i-aine to think that it was deserving of recompense as well of honour. Onfortunateiy the field cashier didn't think so, too. He tnought the matter out, and at last had his working formula ready-. He tried it first on a new reinforcement sergeant. •'Sergeant/' he said: "how much have you got —coppers and all:''' 'J'he sergeant rashly told him. "It's like this," Tommy explained. "I'm Anzac Smailcs, No. 006, original battalion. While you were back in Australia 1 was fighting for you. Five l'ranos and I'll call it quits. I'm financially embarrassed—pro tem. Bighto! Tali!" He tried it on the officers next; it worked even with the Colonel. At last he was wounded, evacuated to the base, and the battalion had a respite. Tho officers gradually got to showing themselves out of their dugouts again. He camo back ono morning. Tho Colonel had almost grown his old strong self again. His despcrato resolve lasted long enough to say: '"Smailcs, I won't have you here making my men's lives a misery. Back you go to where yotl came from. And stop there!" But Tommy knew a good pitch. In the end lie had to be bought off before he would go back to a base job they had found for him. He must have touched their hearts there, too, for he was up in the line again afterwards, just in time for a big stunt.

Tommy was scon talking earnestly to a Fritz prisoner, -when a shell landed .between them. The German went to wherever dead Fritzcs go. Tommy went U) England. At the hospital they must have been j<lad to get rid of him. That or his own desire to be out and doing had him on furlough in marvellously short time. One look around London, and he kne-.v Leicester Square and Piccadilly were not the places for him; no, nor "Waterloo road. .His haunt was Belgiaro Square. No Military Police there; the wealth and pride of the. Empire strolled about it unsuspecting. Who would not help the poor Anzac?— and who had been at the landing too. The great adventure! Ho .saw an officer approaching—young, but'.very spruce—a captain, as he came nearer. Tommy got ready for a smart salute; he ivas always regimentally punctilious ■when. his special business was to be done. Up went tho right 1 hand. The officer as punctiliously returned it. "Excuse me, sir," Tommy said. The officer paused. "It's like this," Tommy went on, encouraged. "Pro torn. I'm financially embarrassed." "What do you want?" the captain asked sharply. "Half a.note from you, sir/' Tommy told him. •

"But you can't speak to me in the slreet like this,' 1 he said. "'Why there arc two detectives watching me." "Well, they wouldn't mind you speaking to me, sir," Tommy replied. "But yon can't —do you know who I am?"—tho young captain got boyishly flustered. Tommy showed no sign of recognition. ''I'm the Prince of Wales."

That meant little to Tommy except ho knew that for success now, deference might be nccessary. ''Your Highness," he said in his best manner —ho may use it on you ono of these days—''there's only a couple of letters different in our .names. I'm Tommy Smailes —Anzac Smailes—No. 006— original battalion." Tlie Prince, after all, was only an officer. "What do you want?" he said, hurriedly. Before he could tell how his hand" had passed it, Tommy had it—the half-note.

Going down Westminster way a fat, elderly general reclined on the back cushions of a War Office automobile. He was enjoying the tang of the air from the river and—these were the days before the Food ConJ<roller —the prospects of a luncheon. So pleasant were both dreams and reality that he was scarcely irritated when the traffic blocked his progress for a while. Ah! Off the car moved again. It was a pleasant world, after all; the war must be won and generals must eat. "Excuse me, sir," came to him from far away—almost the waiter's way of speaking after the fourth course. "It's like this, sir. Pro tem, I'm financially embarrassed." The general came" back to Westminster—one of those d——d Australians was on the footboard of his car. He couldn't speak at first. Instead he went purple in the face.

"I'm on furlough, sir—l haven't -my money for a bed to-night. Could you oblige with the loan of ss, sir, pro tem?"

The general found voice at last. "Disgraceful! Outrageous! Where's a policeman? I'll report you. What's your name?" "Tommy Smailes—Anzac Smailes — No. battalion. When right through Gallipoli and France. Broke now, sir." Think of the incongruity of it—a mighty general haggling with one of those d— —d Australian privates hanging on to the footboard of his (.the general's) car. He went purple again. "Disgraceful!'' he managed to splutter. '

"Well, make it half-a-crown, sir," Tommy said. "Righto! Tah!" Still the luncheon must have gone off pleasantly, after all. Two weeks later Tommy was in a convalescent camp. This day Tommy was lined up with the rest on parade. It was a bit cold standing out here waiting for the "big head" who was to inspect .them.. Still last night i:e nad obtained tick from the canteen manager—nobody had ever done that T ° re - that was no reason wiiv iommy couldn't do it again. At last '<H k D £ ,e: "The general salute." comes!" splendour ° f J oUo * ed talked Jhe .Y looked serious, and to restrain tlf 0 r - nye ® y with one anot^er i i.vT Sd tb & r 7 a t !; d »» very fat. the general was TsL^T 6 the , ranks ~ denly he started. jrj, °\ ® Uf '" to an officer. "Tell lrncd r .°' JD<] from the right—to fall out"'?" - °' S It was Tommy. u . nient went Tip from tI )P rl* , was this? ho £ J* Mcdall- D.C.M. perhaps V , l,s t ry 1 °\ And this

fellow who Had supplied them with I free drinks lately was a hero. Tommy came to attention. "Aren't | you the man—now, don't tell me t you're not. I have a great memory for faces—didn't you borrow 2s t'd front me a few weeks ago?" | Tommy grinned acknowledgment, j "Aren't you ashamed of yourself ? v ' Tommy grinned again, "No, sir," tie J said. 1 "Well, get back to your ranks I c-, fore you get another out of me," and j the general waved him off. But there is one man whom 1 believe, ho never touched—our padrj, , Colonel Mackenzie, "Old 'lighting Mac,"" whom Tommy will shortly be able to wclcomo home. There was never any tale needed to/, touch his heart. And, anyway, no mere tale would have influenced him. I believe that Tommy felt that, too. ; Who can ilprget Mac's steps to; Heaven —steps that he built, of bafse , ear.th up Barb-wire Gully? It used : to be almost as much an agony to come down there as when we had to go climbing up, laden with cans of water, ammunition—everything. Then Mac started building his steps. Ho had to steal a shovel—a halloweii theft, indeed. The blisters on his' hands had not burst before we hau ' worn his steps away. He set to again, facing them this time with; stones. Hundreds of scrambling feet! displaced them and trod them into the j earth. That pathway became a roll- i ing cascade of stones and dust. jt a ■ shook his head over our curses, but iie | watched in pity. He built tile steps j again; bits of stolen planking, brush-. wood bound with wire kept them jn- j tact this time. Perhaps they sjc! there still. Only the trickle from i winter rains comes down them or the dust of summer goes swirling up them and into the silent maze or trenches; at their head. '

"Going up Old Mac's stairs to Heaven," we used to say. He would watch us climbing up—not cursing tc> much now—the old hands grim and gaunt, treading stolidly and deliberately. the newer men grinning, a little afraid, trying to look unconcerned. He would wave his hand as we passed, and laugh if any laughed to him. "It's a stiff track, this of yours," someone would call. "Ay, boys," and there was never any more preaching than that. Just before sunrise he would be waiting at their foot, book in hand. The quiet, blanket-covered forms would come down, touching the edges of his steps here and there as they were carried. The holes were already dug. You could hear his voice in the morning quiet if you and your comrade listened. The bearers stood by. head bared. By-and-by he closed his book and they moved away, quickening &.s they went. Two more had gone up Mac's stairs to Heaven.