A STORY OF WARFARE.

Hokitika Guardian, 26 January 1918, Page 1

A STORY OF WARFARE.

HOLDING THE HARD WON LINES. (Written for the Guardian - by T. E. Y. Sedclon.) (Concluded.) For some days we drilled in the fields about our billet and had much “interior economy” to put to right our missing equipment. To"sew up separated parts of garments, to make 11s look soldiers again. Once we were fitted and rested, off we went again up through Ypres, through the familiar shattered hamlets, and passed the camps, bivouacs, up to the old German trenches. We were to be in Reserve, only. That ol course, might mean an easy time where one’s only duty was to sit tight, or it might mean that one had to be tins}' and go right into the thick of it again.

-During our absence from the s]iot, it had rained—rained heavily.. The, whole place was changed. The.shell holes were full of water, and the mule tracks were just streams of mud, and our bivouacs were sloppy and uninviting. Transport was rendered almost impos-. sible and the guns could only with the greatest difficulty be shifted. They had to be man-handled, for in that sea of mud, engines were' useless. •

The day of the second attack arrived and we listened to the thunder of the guns. Saw the aeroplanes flying overhead; heard the retaliation, and with our own experiences so recent, we freshly remembered tlieni, and pictured what was going on with our 2nd and 3rd Brigades. The fortune of war was against them. No-troops could succeed in the task they attempted. For us the artillery had made careful preparation, but for the second attack, pill-boxes were still intact and wire uugut. ‘ Our fellows with glorious. heroism struggled for the impossible. Although they did advance, they did not go as far as they wanted. It was, not-to be. For the rest of our lives there will ring tales of heroism, of courage and dauntlessness under terrible ' conditions. The pity of it that it was not crowned by success instead of by shells and showers of machine gun bullets, wire obstruction, mud and morasses, and a relentless bombardment. • ’

Our Brigade went in after the attack had ceased to hold the line. At first, we took up a position on some heights, and in the dark we relieved our men who had been through the turmoil. It seemed that we had made a mistake, for there was but the semblance of trenches and shelter. Again, our men set to work with a will and dug deep, and made themselves as secure as possible. Work was only possible at night, for by day the enemy observation was keen and searching, and it behoved us to Fie still. My Sergeant and I had the luck to have a portion of the trench wide enough for 11s both to stretch ourselves at the same time. The men, clever now at making trenches and digging comfortable resting places, were fairly at ease during the day If only the Hun had not at inconvenient moments and most unexpectedly kept up a searching fire about our hiding places, we would have been happy. However, lie never left us long without some evidence of his search and his hate. In the trenches during the day we lay talking every subject under the sun, propounding big strategical schemes which a Kitchener would blush to speak about, or settling terms to secure the peace of the world for evermore. The hours passed wonderfully. Tired of talking, tired of looking forward to the times when we opened tins of bully beef and jam (varied by a raw Spanish onion), we thought of some other form of amusement.

“ Give us a song, you bombers,” and the bombers, the cheeriest of a cheery partv, called upon their songster. Now, the bombers were famous for their Rood spirits, and also for their wonderful knack oi making themselves comfortable under anv conditions. 1 hey were very proud that their portion of the touch had a well disguised roof, and under it they sat with all the pride that a prince takes in his wellbuilt chateau. With a fine sonorous voice the songster warbled about Kathleen and swore, or sang he would take her to where the fields were fresh an 1 green (a sentiment in-that yellow mud and slush that was unpopularlv received. Then he pleased us with the joyous lilt of a wait/, about “ I’d Love to be in Dreamland With a Girl Like Aon, 5 and that being well received lie got on to poor old" “ White Wings.” He jus}; got to the part “they never grow weary,” when crash, whizz bang, dirt and debris everywhere. The singer and audience were wriggling amongst the ruins of their home. Language never heard of in songs rang out and the rest of the treiich burst into fits of laughter.

During the night the work of improving the trenches .went on. and ration parties, under cover of dark ness, came up with some steaming hot soup. Visits were exchanged, and then when “ daylight did appear,” back to our rabbit warrens we went. J ust before dawn a “Weekly Press” arrived for me. Oh thanks, old Quartermaster, for that,” and thanks to the dear lady in Christchurch who never forgets to send it. Well, with hungry eyes the boys saw me tear the cover off, and saw me hurriedly glance through the illustrations. The illustrations were passed along and were viewed with illuminating remarks Then of course the “Referee”

portion got a thorough scanning, and anxiously the boys awaited it to find what were the acceptances for some - back country meeting, or how the horses were'training on ior the New Zealand Cup.

We read that Press from cover to cover, .from green page to green page, but'it was left for a Sergeant from Temuka, whose very name suggested wives and women, to draw out the real humour of our Conservative paper. This Sergeant read the “ Ladies’ Page” and tears just trickled down oUr cheeks as he read with all seriousness and with the proper emphasis and gestures the fateful news of “ Miss Smith s peregrinations from Opituake to New Plymouth and back again,- as told by the Opunake lady correspondent. The wild goings on in Hawera, as related by Anenome, and the dance where Miss Brown went in taffetas (“What that,” asked the Sergeant) all filled in a morning, and helped us to forget our trials.

That night we nidved up to the front,shell holes: ’ This place was for all the world like Wakarewarewa, near Rotorua, with all its holes of bubbly looking mud. This was to be our refuge for 24 hours. The wind, the dirty filthy water, the ground we stood on oozing foul liquid, the bleakness, the cheerlessness of it all, and the heaving earth over many a heap not yet smouldering. The forbidding slopes were ahead where lay our New Zealand dead; also the still defiant pill-boxes, snipers’ posts on the ridges ahead, and Passchendaele 011 the sky-line. One can see-it all and seeing it again wakds memories of the miseries of it all.

Overhead flew the enemy planes which hovered like vultures and then swooped down upon us, spraying the earth and spitting on the mud about, us with their spiteful bursts of bullets. What do but look Up and smile as'they flew harmlessly away, and left one harmless too. Then at" dusk there was an encounter in the air and we watched the squadrons manoeuvre, dive and duck, bank and climb for position, and each retire across his respective lines content to keep within his own zone. With the dusk and the, dark came the rain, soft drizzling, but drenching rain. One stood up and even risked a plunge in the countless pools, but one had to take some form of exercise.

Away back one heard the voice of some runner calling out for his Company. On that battlefield the voice calling loudly and being unanswered, sounds'uncanny and eerie. It was a voice in a wilderness —a wilderness of mud and 1 slush, mined farms und territory torn and gushed—an utter waste.

When the time came for oar relief to take over, we had no regrets at leaving that sad spot, but we were sorry .for. those who took over from us. The bombardments hurled at ns were singularly ineffective, but the gas shells (worked havoc. As we laughed in onr trenches ,a few nights before, little we realized that some of ns were then inhaling the deadly gas, the’weapon J that worked so silently and stealthily and with such sinister effects.' First-the mustard gas shells came over', "We knew them for we had had experience .of them at Ploegsteert, and we realized that but lor the painful effect of continued sneezing, they were harmless;’ but the other shells were mixed up with the mustard ones. We were thrown off onr guard as it were. The effects soon showed, for fellows bot;an to cough, others showed big water blisters on their faces and bodies, and other’s eyes were sore and the lids were.swollen. My .little batman (the other was wounded on October 4th) was very bad, his lungs being affected. We were fortunate in getting all the men away, and from hospital they write cheerfully, having all made wonderful recoveries

When we left the front shell holes we came,back to a reserve area, and there we stayed for some days among the mud and shell holes. We slept j alongside the walls of. a. pill-box, and by day watched the endless stream of horses and mules and men.’ botne | soldiers came out smiling and some wounded, those going up laden with tools. A regular living stream it. was, but so interesting, that one could watch it all day. • The third day we moved out of the. Reserve area to a place near Ypres where the glad tidings reached ns that we were going to have the luxury of a bath. Don’t smile '3-011 who can have a bath .for the mere trouble of turning on the water, but picture us unshaven, unwashed, unchanged and unkempt for twelve (lays. We felt we wanted that tub ! Our whiskers were wiry and wonderful, and were you there you would not have recognised us at all. It was a very hard and trying cinie, but those of us who were lucky enough to go through it have formed friendships for life with those who | shared the hardships, shared the j rough soldier’s fare, and like a band of brothers they worked for one another and for the Battalion,, and nbtehed a performance full of credit in the Great Adventure.