"YES—THEY ARE PIGS.”

Hokitika Guardian, 26 November 1917, Page 4

"YES—THEY ARE PIGS.”

FRENCHMAN’S RUINED HOME.

COFFINS RANSACKED BY GERMANS.

The territory recovered from the Germans is at best a ghastly sight, but there are some who have to bear an added burden of misery in viewing the ruins. They are the •French men and women who come “ home ” to the battle area after the Bodies have been driven away.

A pathetic return of this kind occurred at Tliiepval a few days ago, says a correspondent of the “ New York Tribune." The nobleman who owned the chateau, which stood right on the plateau of Thiepval and overlooked the river Aticre, obtained permission from the authorities to visit his home. He was warned not to expect to see anything of the beautiful house, because Tliiepval had been under heavy bombardment for many months. After losing friends and relatives in the war, he felt that lie could stand the shock of seeing his home in ruins.

What happened to him has happened to many thousands of others. They had been prepared by descriptions and by pictures to expect utter desolation, but when they saw the horror of reality they found it far worse than they had imagined. The Marquis of Tliiepval came up the familiar road from Albert through the ruins of villages, each one of which used to be a familiar landmark. As he neared the village he began to scan the horizon for the turrets and chimneys of his chateau, but they were not to be seen. He looked more closely for walls and windows, but there was no sign. Finally, as he left his motor and began to climb over the shell holes and craters on the hill, he prayed that the foundation stones at least might he left. NOT A SINGI.E STONE I,RUT. Suddenly his guide stopped and said “ Here.” The broken-hearted man looked about him. "Here” he repeated, duily. “ Here ? The chateau, here ?” The guide nodded his head —yes. The Marquis looked about him. It was more than destruction. Elsewhere in France towns have been battered sc that no stones are left together, but here no single stone remains. Walls, doors, chim • neys, everything which was once the chateau, had been battered into one huge ugly heap of dust. In the heap lay stocks of German rifles, clips of cartridges, bits of equipment. But of human habitation there was not a vestige.

The old man was stupefied. “It is here, the chateau ? ” he asked again. “ But, no. It cannot be. How do you know it is here ? ” he asked, looking around at all the hillside. It seemed impossible to distinguish one spot from another.

“ T will show you how we know,” said the guide, and led the way down a slight descent. As they descended the marquis caught sight of a huge piece of wrought iron. He caught liis breath. “It is the grill from the chateau gate,” he said, and stopped 10 finger it sadly. “ Yes, lam convinced now.”

Presently the guide, a military police officer, stopped by what seemed to be the entrance of a dug-out. “ Perhaps yon would rather not go in,” he said. “It is the burial vault—and the Hun has been here.” The old man drew himself up and said firmly . “I can hear to see anything now.” v They went in Lying near the entrance of the vault was a comparatively new coffin, made of the vault’s oak doors, torn from fheir hinges. In it, still partially uncovered, lay a German corpse, and against the coffin leaned the coffin slab, with the name carefully cut in the wood. The words in German were still faintly decipherable :

Here lies the body of The Count von flerbnand, of the Regiment. Killed at Thiepval, , 1010. “ They did not have time to finish,” said the guide. “We got them out rather suddenly at the end. But they had time for t'us He pointed to the coffins which stood around the walls. The marquis looked, and saw that everyone of the old coffins had been broken into and robbed. While the Germans were carefully preparing a grave for one of their own men the}' were just as carefully ravaging the ancient graves of their enemies. “ A double advantage.” said the marquis. “Yes—they are pigs. Let us go.”