TRENCH HUMOUR.

Hokitika Guardian, 28 February 1917, Page 4

TRENCH HUMOUR.

Seeing the Funny Side. “How ia it,” I inquired of a Canadian with whom I forgathered in rest bil.'ets (writes “Pioneer,” in an English exchange), “ that tho Anglo-Saxon soldier?, British and Uolonial alike, are able to display such extraordinarily high spirits, and preserve auch an unfailing sense of humour in the face of tho awfnl privations and, dangers of the war P” His answer wasKjjJiaraoteristic and illuminating, “It doesn’t follow because there’s war on,” he replied, “ that the cl <sh of hostilities has the stra.iga-tnld on human nature. It’s natural for us to see the funny side of things. We were born so, and that’s all the>e is to it. The more tragic oar surrounding 3, an’ the more directly they aSaot us personally, the more wa cultivate our sense of humour bb a weipon of defence against adverse circumstances. . “ The engrcssin’ habit of squintin’ fifty-seven different varieties of fatal termination at the savage an* relentless Hun is only an added wing—-an annexe, if you get ma—of the selfcontained outfit of original emotions —of which a sense of humour is by no means the least —handed out to us by a long line of backslidin’ anosstorr. “The fact of a guy bein’ first in war an' a leader of forlorn hopes—and the beginning of this war was one large Forlorn Hopß which became gradually leas forlorn as time advanced, until it’s the Sure Thing it is to-day—doesn’t mean he’s got rid of his old stock of inherited instincts ! “No, siree ! In war a man’s just th 6 same as he was before plus an acquired agility in dodgin’ buckshot an’ a passion for throwin’ bombs.” Which, I consider, is an admirable summing-up of the situation A very tall, thin Eoglish boy reported to a Canadian battalion in Flanders. His colonel was bald and elderly, but adored by bis men. After a few day's exoerience of his new command the sub, approached the O.C. and asked permission to ventilate a grievance, “I wish yon would use your influence, sir, to restrain my'platoon from reffrring to me as “Legs,” he said. “Sure ! my lad, sure !” replied the colonel; solemnly, “if you’d use yours to stop iny own damn battalion callin’ me a bald-headed old !” When my own battalion first “went over" we were put into the trenches with other regiments for four days to “try us out.” The second afternoon we were, in, the Boche shelled ua hard for two boars, which waa rather a severe ordeal for troops who had only just left England. When the Bholling ceased I walked down the trench to see how the men had stood the test, A diminntivo boy from Manchester was just crawling out of a dog out. “ Well, Morton,” I said, as cheerily as I Could, “ wbat do you think of u P ”

He looked up at me with an inexpressibly humorous twinkle in hia eye®.

“ My Gawd, sir,” he exclaimed, “ do you know I don’J think it’s safe.”

Whether the Germans knew there were raw men in the trenches I cannot eay, but certainly the shelling was particularly heavy for that four days. When we got bat& to',battalion headquarters we swapped yarns as to experiences, as, tbe regiment being distributed over so many different trenches, the officers had seen very little of eaoh other during tbe tour of duty.

Two of them were discussing a mutual friend who had not succeeded in persuading the powers that be to gend him over with reinforcements* and was kicking his heels in England.

“ I met him in Folkestone just before we left,” said one, “ and he’d have given all he had to get here.” From the depths of a toll of blankets in a corner came tbe voice of one

who had been shelled unmercifully in his particular bit of trench all that day, “ Your friend could have had my place d—cheap this afternoon ! he said. Once when we were in rest billets I went to dine at another mess, was very liie when I started baok to billets, and the mghj was eo dark I lo3t my way. Suddenly a figure loomed up through the darkness and I was just able to distinguish the khaki of a British private. '“I baited and inquired the way back to— For an appreciable moment he stood iu front of men, slightly swaying on bis heels as a young sapling in a breeze. “ Lumme* guv’ner, you drunk, too, was all he said. The following incident took place in the early psriod of the war, when we were |lamentably short of guns and ammunition — A certain regiment had been under almost unceasing shell-fire for five days, and were just about " fed-up.” The second, third, and fourth days they asked permission to go over to the German trenches and try and get a bit of their own back.” Consent waa withheld until the night of the fifth day, when Instructions were given to raid a portion of the German line at a given hour. At the appointed moment the men went over the parapet with a rush .which nothing could stop. They gained the trench without heavy casualties. The particular party with whom wa are concerned was led by an enormous sergeant, armed with a heavy calibre revolver. They cleared out one bay very quickly and went on with the next. Just round the traverse they were met by a very fat German private, desperately anxious to surrender, but unable to express his desire in the correct formula. With hands held high above his head, he advanced to the big sergeant. “Kamarad ! Kamarad !” he shouted in the aocepted whine of Teuton entreaty. “See! I ’ave my hands ! I ’ave my hands !” “Yon don’c want no’ands” said the sergeant happily. “What you want is a pair of wings! ’