"A BIT OF A GROUSE"

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 3178, 31 August 1917, Page 6

"A BIT OF A GROUSE"

THERE ABE WAYS YOU CAS HELP, j Sir,—The following letter may be of some interest at the present time, when so much is being done to show the people of Now Zealand how they can help to win llio war:— Dear Torn,—l am sick of tho whole blooming game to-night, and I can't WD to about it to my best girl, Because 1 am always cheerful' to her, enjoying tho picnic, ns it were, all tho time. Try how I will, however, 1 can't put it out of my mind, to I am going to see if I can write it out of my mind—and you're the victim. The best pal 1 ever had got the bullet to-day, and I could only istaud by and watch him go- Hs fell, bowled over by a shell, and twisted and writhed about, and then lay still, and I had to turn away and go about my business, and leave him lying' there. But all the time my mind was going back to a yarn wo had had tho night before. He had drawn a blank when, the mail camo in, and nursed alt those who weren't in tho ranks, because, aS he said, they had relegated us to our own particular hell, and liked to look over the rim and ask us how we were getting on, and why we didn't finish the job and get to Berlin. After a short silence, he said, "There's one thing ecrtain —none of us chaps will ever go to hell—it won't be hot enough, and they'll just have to let us tnrough.exempted." Then he broke out about tho people at home again: "What the deuce aro they doing? giving up their time maybci, and enjoying t'lo job, but as for goin" without anything that money will buy—well, 1 don't think!" You see, his Dest girl hadn't written, and he had to curse. There was only one other thing to do. "Let's get to sleep and forget them," he said. The night was very cold, and though I rolled myself tightly in iny blankets, my linib3 ac'hed, and I couldn't sleep. All at once I felt a 6urreptitiou3 movement close to me, and I realised that my pal, thinking I had tumbled otf for a 'few minutes, was putting one of his blankets over me._ My first thought was one of indignant refusal, and then an instinct told me that She sacrifice meant more to him than the cold, and I lay awake till I knew he slept before I returned it. And I ask myself, and you, too: Tom, what do they know of sacrifice, many of these people? Why (lon't they help us out? We are doing our bit, though we curse some, too. I suppose there are ways ■ in which everyone can help—anything that will let us finish the" job • and come home—and for?et! Thanks for being snch a good listener—a bit of a grouse does' relieve the strain. Good-night, old chap—Dick. Tiiere are jvays in which one can help. If people would contribute to the Liberty Loan. I supposa that would , be sometliing. No matter if the amount that you can 6crape together be ever so small, you will experienco the personnl joy of_ sacrifice when you carry home your little scrap of paper. . Don't believe your few shillings and tho timo taken in making the necessary, inquiries are not worth while: they are—and in a short while it will be too late!—l am, "ONE WHO HAS CONTRIBUTED.