"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 146, 9 March 1918, Page 3

"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE"

"AN EVENING AT THE FRONT"

(By U.H.)

One of those pitch dark winter evenings when thore is a nip in the air that makos the silent, steady drizzle more detostable than ever. An evening when one's thoughts turn instinctively to a good lire, a comfy chair, an interesting book, and, it. may be, congenial company. An evening that would be bad enough in New Zealand, but that is anathema in France, when you add shell-pitted ground and roads kneedeep in gluey mud; ruined houses, and desolation everywhere; and on the top of all the incessant, booming of big guns. ~ iMiscrablo'enough, in all conscience. But what's that light over thore? And, surely, it can't be—yes, that's someone singing, and it sounds suspiciously like "Pack Up Your. Troubles in Your Old Kit-bag." _ . Sure enough, there is some enjoyment to be had in France, even on a night like this, for you find as you go towards the light that the black bulk .of a building arises, and on your closer approach you see through the darkness, just above the door, the faint outlino of the. letters . Y.M.C.A. There's a crowd of soldiers at the door, while each window has its quota of onlookers. You wonder why they don't go in and join the fellows who, in a rousing chorus, are advising all who hear them to "Smile! Smile! Smile!" But you find that you can't get in yourself, for the very good reason that the building is filled to overflowing with khaki-clad, iuudrcovered men, who seem, to be having a jolly time. . As tue evening progresses other songs are sifng; recitations are given; a'.couple of soldiers give a very creditable little sketch that provokes hearty laughter and much good-natoired "barrack".; Bairflsfather's "Sfiino," _ or nis twin-brother, shows how 'easy it is for a fellow to keep half a dozen billiard balls doing a dance in the air if lie only knows how (and, by the way, if that isn't Old Bill and his mate Alf. over by the. stove, you're a Dutchman). 'Then the lads seem to quieten down a bit, and many of them begin writing,, us.ing paper that is there for their use. The big sign "Write home" that is so prominent there over the platform may have something' to do'"frith this. Later on the hut begins to clear, and the men go off to their "bivvies" to get what sleep they can. And tomorrow they awake to go through furtiler preparation for fighting your battle and. mine—all the better for that big hut, for the singing, and.for the. letter home. , But w:hat of the fellows we'saw outside? • They stood out in the drizzle [ for a while, and then one by one they I giadually gave up hope of getting insicle, arid went off to lonely billet, dugout, tent, or —-. Sir, that employee of yours, whose iianie'is on your roll of honour—was he 111 that Y.M.C.A. hut?' Young lady, was your sweotheart there? Father or mother, was your son inside?. " ■' " | Our New Zealand boys don't frequent questionable places because they like such resorts. They much prefer the warmth, good-fellowship, and. homeliness of the Red Triangle nuts. ' But .what's a fellow to do on a cold, wet night if the Y.M. is crowded out? • _! That is the question you have to an- 1 swer, all ye who have friends at the front, and the best way to answer it is to give the Y.M.C.A. enough for their Red Triangle Day appeal to help them extend their good work among our ~boys, so .that none of them- may ever bt--"crowded out."