Anzacs At The Front

Horowhenua Chronicle, 24 July 1916, Page 3

Anzacs At The Front

OFF' TO THE FIRING LINE. NEW -ZEIALAN-M/RS MARCH OUT. (Malcolm Ross.) ■Mouths of training and action in varied lands 'and. climes have familiarised us with the details of active service—with the tragedy and comedy of war, [or, insofar as the Anzacs are concerned, we have our moments of gaiety as well as sadness. Tragedy has come hot-foot over the ilex-cov-ered ; ridges and marched stealthily across the hot desert sand to meet us face to face in trench and dug-out* And in interludes in the fighting and in the fighting itself comedy has walked with us hand in hand. And so it is here, and will be to the end. In these days of stress and strain it is difficult for the war correspondent to descend from the general to the particular. but in these and following articles 1 shall endeavour to give some description of the sights and sounds met witli in our sector.

A GIGANTIC STKCGGLE. The enterprise in which we liad engaged in the past were vast enough in 'all conscience, yet the mind reels before the new and gigantic manifestations with which we ore confronted. From day to day one iooks at tlio brief communique posted at headquarters and notes that some aircraft has been brought down or that some bit of trench has been lost or taken. It V a bald announcement. Imagination must fill in the details. It is a bald announcement in a period of comparative inactivity. It seems all so dreadifuliy bald and prosaic, and there is an irritating sameness about it alj. Yet we who are on the spot know that day and night all along the line men are being killed and wounded, audi the best biftins of the opposing nations are working and scheming and plotting to end it all as quickly as possible. The war seems to have settled down to a narrow strip of territory stretching for hundreds, nay thousands of miles across the the land. Behind that line

the world goee on. with its work—feverishly in the centres where gums and ammunition are being made, but with the same old quiet rami simplicity where the grass is growing and uie corn is daily coming nearer to the eai under the alternating influence of ram and summer sunshine. In the marrow battle zone men aje at grips with all ihe diabolical appliances of modern warfare, arid now machines that we must not describe are being pressed into the service of man-killing. On our small sector comparative calm reign 6, though Death takes his daily toll. On the Italian frontier, as I write, there is a vast ajid deadly struggle going on. At Verdun the enemy, with what almost seems the madness of despair, is hurling battalions, brigades and divisions in ia vain attempt at victory. The clash of arms here is on a truly gigantic ecaV, and tho carnage too dreadful to contemplate. I3ut Verdun is a long way off, and the sounds of ite most intense cannonade do not even faintly reach our ears THE BRIGADES MARCH OUT. Jfor a time the Anzacs were scattered over a large area. The Australians were the lirst to go into the trenches, and it was not ioug Deiore they hat: received their new baptism of lire wit:: German high explosive. Then our brigades began to march out. liven mm brigade, with all its impedimenta makes a great showing on tlie road. On a beautiful summer aay two of tlie brigades came tramping aiong the liaid paved roads, through country lands anti towns and villages. For hours 1 watched them passing—sturdy sons from the Southern land—and for ia time marched with them, chatting to oiu friends and acquaintances. They were in high spirits, eager to get ini • the trenches and pit then' vaioui against that of the Boeche. With waggons and motor lorries and machinegun section and ambulances, with trav--1 eliing kitchen— chimneys smoking and* (pots steaming--with their bands playI ing, with snatches of songs, and, at intervals, a tune whistled, they came along a road with apple trees in gay blossom. The blare of the trumpets and the roil of the drum gave an air of the old-time wars to the scene. It was all so very different from what we were used to at Galiipoli. They swung over a bridge and the men and horses and waggons were duplicated in the placid waters of the straight canal. From the beautiful grounds of an ancient chateau that existed when we fought other wars here —and centuries before—the Baronne, shrewd, capable and witty, watched them pass. The villagers at the doors of their steeptiled red and brown cottages gazed iat the new soldiers with interest and curiosity. They were something different from what they had seen. Yet many British feet had tramped along here since the war began. The peasants —French and Flemish—mostly old men, and women and children, leaned on their hoes in the field and watched them pass with swinging stride. At the bridge a military policeman, with nodding grey emu plumes in his picturesque slouch hat, sitting his horse with the airy grace of tho stockman smiled down at them. To him the men in passing made cheery, chaffing remark*. ''iiallo Australia, liow goee it?" one man called. "Bonsor," remarked the horseman. "What ho, Emu! How's the kangaroo?" querie .1 another. "Still jumping," replied the laconic horseman. But of all the enquiries the most pertinent was from the tired, dry pilgrim, who wanted to know how far it was to the estaminet? For it was a hot diay and that particular soldier was thinking more of beer than battle. For five hours the rumble of wheels and the irawp oif mart Ling men sjundel in the village. The mr: carried their r'B . and packs, and the du>i g,'<en of the new steel helmets strapped at their backs, made a new note of colour in the drab khakhi column. We ■watched the long column bend round the village, and a mile across the green fields, where the road wound through tall elms and beeches, we saw the duH khaki ribbon streaming along the forest road.. Near by the axes of the pioneer Maoris were ringing on the hard wood of that beautiful forest. But it was a hot day and the marching over over the hard "pave" of the roads of Northern France told on the feet of the men. A few days later one of the brigades marched back to billets and another brigade came on to take their place. On the whole march only one mail fell out from the brigade. "There's nothing like the old lot,'' said one of them proudly to me ths next day. Theirs certainly was a fine performance. They had a sprinkling of old Anzacs amongst them.