A SOLDIER’S LETTER.

Hokitika Guardian, 18 January 1917, Page 4

A SOLDIER’S LETTER.

Prom Private Tony Wells to his mother, Mrs John Wells, Woodstock? on sth November, 1916: Just a few lines to keep my hand in. I’m writing this in a lil ole dug-out with an iron roof. Not a bad “ pozzie.” I’ve bean in worse. The weather is pretty cold at present, although I don’t feel it much. ’Struth, these leather jackets are jußt the thing 1o k-ep it out, and fancy me wearing gam-boois «g»in. I folk qui.fl at home when I put them oa first. I’ve worn no'hiug else for a fortnight. Pour of us are out attached to a battalion to look after their supply of water, testing and so forth. A bosker job. Sometimes a bnliei whizzes by, or a ebell bursts pretty close, but they’re nothiug to speak of= This part of the front is pretty quiet—not a patch on th 3 last place. Getting ready for the winter I ’apects. It looks very much like I’L have Christinas dinner away from home again. No chicken or pig this time. The pig better look ouc when Ido drop along. Dick reckons he’s going to pop all the hens, I bet he's having a good imn :a ** Blighty.” Jiai could oulp get as far as a convalescent camp. Ha never did have ratio!) luck anyhow; l think both ot them ough: <0 jant about see Christmas in rhe Old Dart. I was there Last one and it ‘‘did ms.” Well thii ii’e will do mo elso. I was never in such good trim before. Pat as one thing. I’vs got to ribs now and aa for the colds and baok well they've vamoosed aver Bines 1 left New Zealand,

No more sluicing for ihis child. If I can’t gat a living easier than that I’ll be a darned “ Weary Wilke” and travel on the bike old Ike Brown’s holding for me.

This here’s the beat job 1 ever struck. I couldn’t eara five bob a day and tucker so easy down home. And theD, look at the sights were seeing. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Of course it doesn’t take muoh to satisfy me. How’s Mrs Gordon and family still “shunning the rop.”? Tell Dad I’m writing this letter from hia birthplace a darned rotten hole it is at present. Heaps of rain—mud up to your boot tops (aot gum-boots), France is a grand place in summer, hardly any rain. Every scrap of ground is laid off like a draught board, no fences

between the plots. They mast be more honest than the New Zealanders, One thing that makes me sick here is to see the way the “spuds ” grow' Chucked in anyhow and no blight to hc.rt ’em. It’s no wonder things grow heie. There’s no bottom to the soil. If there ia its more than ten feet deep. But altogether I’m glad dad got away from here. Never thought I’d be back so near bis first appearance in this world of woe. Hem !! Hops they’ll let me out of it sood. Did, the ole red cow get any lamer ? I’m “ broke ’’ as usual. Thirty

francs is to good <o me for a fortnight especially with my thirst. It’s a blessing pay day is again. Things are going along good-oh. Haven’t stopped anything yet. The

war’s hanging cut some, isn’t sbo ? I reckon it will taka another week or two yet. We don’t get half the excitement here as we hud in the last place. No roaming around lost with a patient on the stretcher, liable to put your heed in front of one of our own guns and anything like that. Darned risky tjaat was. I saw one of onr chaps get the side of hi 3 face burnt through running up against one in the dark. Knocked him k:ckii>?. 1 tvino-e

we’ll work «l:mg that, way again cun of these times. I hope it’s fine weather when wa do got there. It’s a terror—stretcher bearing in the mud. One trip is worse thaa a hard day’s work. I rather liked it, though; I was in such good “niok.” I didn’t care a bit after Jim and Dick gob out of it. Yon know it’s peculiar when yon’ve got a brother with you. You’re all the time looking out to see he doesn’t come to any harm I waa with Jim and didn’t have time to think before I could see he was all bat when I beard Dick was hurt prtetty badly I started to shake right off. Excitement, I ’apects. I’m glad they’re both away although I miss them—especially Jim. He waa al-

ways a joke. I haven’t seen Jack for two weeks but I suppose he’s all right. They couldn't kill him with an axe.

1 suppose the Bsnnetta are getting along all right. Give my love to Mrs Bennoif, senior. I don’t think I thanked her for that pa col yet. You can no that. Tell Sarah I’ii write <o her when lam proficient. Does sho gat word from Jim, If Mr and Mrs Prank Cbestermau are still alive remember me to them, will you. Also to the Mains and Forsy the. Tell them the socks and scarf were hosker. I’m rather late at thanking, but bsttter late than never.

Hoping you won’t get year rag out reading this.

I remain, Yours Affectionately, Bil (What O.)