THE TWO TIDES.

Levin Daily Chronicle, 29 September 1917, Page 4

THE TWO TIDES.

SOLDIERS ON LEAVE IN LONDON, j

Y.M.C.A. VERSUS THE STREET i PEST. I

PERNICIOUS DRUGGING HABIT.

(By '' Triangle "). )" Two nights ago a member of the 11 New Zealand Field Artillery, youthful, broad, and handsome, was carried into the Y.M.C.A. Kiosk on Trafalgar Squavc suffering acutely from the ef- 1 feets of a malicious practice that has ' becc:ue all too common since overseas 1 soldi xs with well-lined pockets commenced coming to London. He had been drugged. This sort of thing < usually happens in one of the low-class 1 hotels that abound near the principal J highways. A soldier erteis with one or more companions, has "just one,' then another, and possibly a third, j The harpies: —both male and femaleare watching their chance, and while liis attention is diverted the contents of a small packet are poured into his "■lass. Although he becomes sufficientfy fuddled for his pockets to be gone through, he does not actually collapse until the hawks have had time to fly. The New Zealander in question had j walked some distance down Charing Cross before the slow-working poison j caused him to fall heavily to the pavement. A Y.M.C.A. offical quickly had a metor ambulance in attendance and very soon the hospital staff were making the customary pronouncement, i "Doped again," said the doctor. | "Why, we had a bad Now Zealand I case here the night before last." This is the kind of thing that is causing the New Zealand Y.M.C.A. and its kindred associations to redouble its efforts in protecting the men on leave in London. SUNSHINE AND SHADE. Apart from the largo Y.M.C.A. Huts all over London, there are smaller structures which serve as places of inquiry. Here the soldiers come to ask their way, write the London letter homo, or rest while watching the ceaseless flow of the traffic outside. Each little bureau could provide many stories of mirth and tragedy, of the laughter that follows wholesome pastimes and the silonee that occasionally broods over a fellow in distress. Looking in one evening last week at the Kiosk in Trafalgar Square, the writer viewed a homely scene such as would delight the hearts of many New Zealand mothers. In an ante room sat a lady who is well known in our North Island, and seated round her sipping coffee were a dozen or moro soldiers who had como 14,000 miles to fight for King v.nd country. Gathered together promiscuously, this happy party chatted about Maoriland and mutual friends until the long twilight ended. In striking contrast had been the scene outside. As on any other _ evening, dozens of soldiers were lounging about the fountain —now waterless and unpicturesque—and it was not the inspiring figure at the head of the Nelson Column that claimed their attention. The brazen street flappers saw to that. Perched on the encircling stone wall beside the soldiers, with dangling feet and unwomanly actions, they defied both police and public. None bothered except tie Y.M.C.A. workers, who moved about inviting tho men to partake of supper or visit one of their many establishments where music, song and story are to be enjoyed without chargc. The Delilahs of London have a bitter grudge against the Y.M.C.A., because it so persistently stands between them and many fine young Samsons who might otherwise bo shorn. But in the years to be many a man will breathe a word of thankfulness for the timely warning. SALVAGING HUMAN LIVES. Quite recently a New Zealand boy, slightly under the influences of drink, was induced to leave the company of a questionable female character he was ; embracing in the open space of Trafalgar Square. The story he told to the Y.M.C.A. secretary is particularly sad. \ Coming from France on leave a few months ago he fell in with a drinking crew in London and paid the penalty , of lengthy isolation. After liberation he was again in London on his way back to France, and almost against his will had once more got into bad com- ' pany. Questioned about his home life, I he said he had a good Christian mother of whom he had been proud, and for her sake he had in the earlier stages played the game. A quiet talk, ; a friendly supper, and e walk to his ' sleeping quarters did much to set the | chords of memory vibrating. The lad realised how close he had again approached the precipice, and before leaving for France on the morrow gave promise of a sincere endeavour to "rise on stepping stones of his dead ' self to higher things." This is but one illustration of the salvage in i Riman lives that is constantly taking place in the midst of London's whirl ■ and bustle. Here a soldier has sometimes put up just as stiff a fight as in , the front line trenches. One night x»t long since, a New Zea- , lander rushed! into the Trafalgar Square Kiosk with an indignant protest against the actions of a female who had followed him to the very doorway from an East End hotel. He had got into a motor 'bus and she had followed. He jumped out at tho next stop and darted down an underground stairway, but on taking a seat in tho train found the apparition still at his side. It was only tho shelter of tho Y.M.C.A. that gave him freedom from a harpie who had observed him drinking and had therefore concluded that lie was fit game for the wolves. This New Zealander comes of a family of five soldier sons, of whom three have "gone west," leaving two still fighting in France. Men of this mottle are worth saving. a——a SORE THROATS . -ICNDID HOME-MADE GARGLE. Sore throats, quinsy, tickling ooughs wlicoping cough, hoarseness, and other throat troubles are relieved at oiu'c by the following easily-prepared remedy:— Mix water and sweetening with a bottle of Hean's Essence. Keeip in a Inrge bottle, and use freely whenever required.. As a gargle for inflamed, relaxed and other sore throats it stands a champion. Relief is immediate. It will also be found invaluable for bronchitis, asthma, and influenza. Even whooping cough is Promptly relieved by the famous mixture. It contains no poison of any kind, and may be given freely to both children and grown-ups. There is also a clear money-saving of at least 10s for your pocket.

I auues iiwa. 0 | LAUDER ON VIMY RIDGE. | CONCERT IN A SHELL-HOLE. < (By Harry Lauder.) You talk of air raids! Phew! You should try the British front —not for air raids, but for shock. When the artillery deepens from an echo to a boom, and from a boom to the split and havoc of ten thousand thunderbolts, even the soldier who has got used to rifle-fire and bomb explosions in the training camp must feel shaken. As for me, I wasi too surprised to be frightened —speaking generally. On one occasion, it is true but I beg you to lespect the tremors of a midule-aged civilian. I had landed somewhere in France.

Yet I did not feci I was really in the midst o" things until I stood on Vimy Ridge, so lately, and so gloriously won. Ou the way, however, I had many and cruel evidences of tho touch of war. Yor pile of stones was a village; here once ran a village street, with pretty little whitewashed cottages and climbing flowers. Now a broken gun-car-riage stuck up forlornly among the wild summer growth that strove to cover this wreckage of human happiness.

WHERE OUR HEROES DIED. Wild growth rioting, racing over all those scarred battlefiiclds, and climbing to the very summit, "the Pimple," of the torn and blackened ridge. Somewhere on the ridge is an observation post, and from there I hud tho privilege of spying over the German positions far away in the valley below. In the air, well behind the enemy's lines, a number of British 'planes wore flying—as calmly as though it were a field-day at Hendon aerodrome. Then I climbed down to where a battery nestled close in the hillside and spat vicious pellets into the far sea of green. I went below, was introduced to the battery officer, and he gave me a charming little lunch in his handy little dug-out underground. As a sort of liqeur I was asked to try my luck at gunnery—with an eigh-teen-pounder. I climbed to the scat, and, duly instructed, I pressed the button. Noise! It seemed as if I had suddenly taken a deep header into the ocean, and the water was stunning my ears. When I had come up to the surface again I asked the gunner if he thought I'd had any luck. "Yes," he replied, "I think j r ou got a cocoanut, adding more soberly, "Mr Lauder, I hope you got two for your one." If I should tell you of all the concerts I gave—after my first two they were all in the open—l should mako this article far too long. I mind me once in a village street. We met a body of troops fresh out of the firing line—choked with dust, grimed with dust and sweat, dog-tired as wo in Britain never are. But when I stopped my car, had out my piano on the grill at the back, and started singing, they joined in the choruses as though they had just been out for a wee saunter along the countryside. Soon soldiers sprang up in thousands out of nowhere, and the ruined village street was possessed with the spirit of joyous song. SONG AMONG THE RUINS. I mind me once I gave a concert just before midnight outside an old chateau. In the flare of the acetylene lamps I saw an endless sea of upturned merry faces. Away beyond the guns boomed, boomed, boomed. The night wind blew freshly upon me, and in tho upper darkness the night birds batted past. There in the flare and the dark that mighty host sang "Roaming in the Gloaming" with an earnest gladness that shook me beyond measure. I doubt ; not that the hearts of many of them i were far away in British lanes, and that in their ears were tenderer voices ! than the challenge of big guns. I mind, too, a concert I gave in the ' market place —, just at the great door ; of the old cathedral, where a statue " of the Virgin holds out an infant Jest us. There thousands fresh from battle r clustered round me, and the Christi child seemed to hover over the joyous warriors in benediction. , But my experiences of yesterday I 1 may talk about at some length. I am i at present in retreat, well behind the ■ lines. Yesterday we passed a gang of > German prisoners working—leisurely, ' it seemed to me. I stopped to talk to 3 a lad wearing a sergeant's stripes. I 1 singled him out because, while the rest ' looked happy and contented, he looked 5 savage and stern. ! YOUNG GERMAN'S LAMENT. > "Why arc you fighting?" I asked f him. '' and what do you hope to gain ?'' He saluted, and replied, in excellent 1 English, "We are fighting, sir, for the [ freedom of the seas, and we hope to gain it." "Are you contcntcd to be a prison--1 er?" I asked. "No! "he replied, and his eyes blazed, his face grew hard, . and his lips opened to show his teeth. "I hate it. I want to be fighting." Very plainly he would have loved to stick a bayonet through my chest. Well at least the lad had pluck, and he was the only German prisoner I ever heard of who "was sorry to be out of the war.