TOMMY ATKINS ON THE CONTINENT.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXVI, Issue 1318, 31 October 1914, Page 4

TOMMY ATKINS ON THE CONTINENT.

HOW THE FINEST FIGHTING MAN OF EUROPE MAKES HISTORY.

The following is the conclusion of the article published in last issue giving various aspects of the life of “Tommy Atkins” on service. Tommy is described as a person of individuality and undoubted character, and haying a way ot doing things that is distinctly his own, proves interesting and, original in respect to his doings and sayings while on active service. ■ OXFORD AT THK FRONT, Three months ago he was lounging in a punt on the Cher, I have not the slightest doubt looking forward to resting from such arduous labours throughout the long vacation. Last nig at I met him on the boulevards, bronzed and very upright, a hardened warrior of the great retreat from Mens which is destined to date in the bislor ■ cl warfare for all time. Three montns ago be was reading —or ought to havebema reading—ancient history. Fo. s.m; weeks now be h-s been present at modern nialory in ihe making.

He was a despatch-rider, and had come ir : o Paris to get a new motor cycle, the of the campaign. The fi.:.- aaa worn down under him cn the rough roads of Belgium. The second had blown up under him at Compiegue. “It has been a great experience,” he said, “with plenty of danger and hard work.” He had his baptism of fire in Belgium, wbeu he was sent with a despatch to a detachment ot engineers who were charged with the blowing-up of a canal bridge. He had to pass through a buliet-swept zone, and could hear the singing above his head. Fortunately the “beggars were rotten shots,” and he got his message, himself, and his bicycle through. A FRENCH VIEW, A Frenchman who seems to have been attached to a Scottish regiment as interpreter since the beginning of hostilities, tells the following stories of his comradeship i» arms with the British. “Their courage,” he writes, “is admirable. These fellows go into action as if they were going to a picnic, with laughing eyes and, whenever possible, with a cigarette between their lips. Their courage is a mixture of imperturbability and tenacity. One must have seen ibis immovable calm, their heroic sang-lioid under a rain of bullets, to do it justice.”

At , where the Scottish regiment lay in trenches under a mixed rifle and shrapnel fire, a couple of privates suddenly noticed that the French interpreter was awkwardly placed at a spot where the trench was not wide enough to enable him to make proper use of his rifle. “The Frenchman isn’t comfortable,” said one, and both left the trench, spade in hand, knowing well that they were serving the enemy as targets, dug out the trench in front of their French comrade, and returned with unbroken calm to their own places and their rifles. TWO MAIN IDVAS. ‘•Our British allies have, as everyone knows,” the writer adds, “two main preoccupations, to be able to shave and to have tea. No danger deters them from their allegiance to the razor and the teapot. At , in the department of the Nord, I heard a British officer of high rank declare with delicious calm between two attacks on the town, ‘Gentlemen, it was nothing. Bet’s go and have tea.’ Meanwhile bis men took advantage of the brief respite to crowd round the pump, where, producing soap and strop, they proceeded to shave minutely and conscientiously, with little bits of broken glass serving as mirrors.”

THK NEW WAR-CRY. The writer was orofoundly amused by the new British wa.cry, “Are we down-hearted?’ and the resounding “N...” which follows it. After r volley has swoot the ranks there is always seme joke, .o shout the question, and all the rest roar cut in the midst of general laughter, “No !’’ The writer was associated with the British trou, s in Belgium, when,

he says, “God knows, the shock was terrible, and the defence, one to ten, admirable. I have seen a crack cavalry regiment almost annihilated in a desperate charge against the German artillery. I have seen the heroic Scots mown down. These are visions which will take long to fade. Yet the British have already forgotten those tragic days when they alone bore the weight of the German onslaught. When in my presence these British soldiers were told of the disasters to their best regiments, they never flinched. ‘Never mind- We’ll have the best of it one day,’ was the invariable answer, after a moment’s silence. HEROIC IRISHMEN. Irishmen fighting Britain’s battles in France to-day are proving themselves worthy of the finest traditions of their race. There have been many stories of their endurance and pluck, but two related by a trooper of the Irish Dragoons may be taken as typical ; “There was a man of ours,” says the trooper, “who carried a chum to a farmhouse under fire, and when the retreat came, got left behind. The German patrol called and found them. There were only the two, one wounded, against a dozen Uhlans. Behind a barrier of furniture they kept the Germans at bay, wounding or killing half of them. The Germans made off and brought a machine-gun to the house, and threatened to destroy it.

“The two soldiers were not unmindful of the kindness shown them by the owners of the farm, and rather than bring loss on them or the village, they made a rush out with some mad idea of taking the gun.

“Just over the threshold of the door they fell dead, their blood bespattering the walls of the house. , “People may call them pigheaded for not surrendering, but that sort ot wrongheadedness is worth a lot as inspiration to others, and if British soldiers had always worried about what the stay-at-homes would think of their deeds, some of the finest stories in the history of the Army could never have been told. A NOBLE LIE. A lady who lived in one of the villages to the nort-east of Paris until the approach of the Germans the other day, tells of an episode out of which an artist would construct a touching romance. The village lies not far from Chantilly racecourse, with the smoke of Paris visible on one hand and a countryside of parks and mansions on the other. One day four lost Tommies turned up and asked for shelter. They had been chased by Uhlans, and the. cure probably realised the risks he ran in taking them into bis little house.

Early in the morning, sure enough, a German patrol rode into the place, summoned the inhabitants, and demanded the surrender of the Englishmen. Everyone knew where they were, and turned to their spiritual guide.

Instinct save us from reason in such crises. The good cure lies boldly, in a loud voice, so that his flock should understand. He had not seen the Englishmen. No doubt they had gone on to Paris. The German soldiers rode on. What most struck the informant was the exceeding deliberation with which the Atkins four performed their toilet aud brushed their hair aud clothes before making their escape. The cure then left for a saler place. When they returned and found all the birds flown, the Uhlans took their revenge by burning his house down.

'I'HK MAGIC I’IIRASK CARDS.

I have been successful in sending back to their base two lost British Tommies who were left behind at St. Quentin (wrote the Daily Chronicle correspondent from Rouen on September 4th). While dining at a hotel I was surprised to see a British artilleryman and a private of tbe Bedfords walk solemnly up to the manager, take out a small card, and point silently to an inscription on it. The manager addressed them in voluble French, but they only shook their heads and said, “Parley pas.” A waiter was then instructed to give them a seat and fetch them food.

After I had made friends they told me a strange tale of adventure. Both had fought at Namur, and taken part in the gradual retirement from the French frontier, and were present at the battles ol Mons and St. Quentin. In the latter engagement the Bedfordshires suffered terrible losses, and my friend became parted from his comrades, his rifle and his equipment, in an unsuccessful effort to save a machine-

gun. In the course of his subsequent wanderings he met a gunner of the R.F. A , also lost. The two found that the British forces had retreated to Ham, and that they were in the midst of Germans. The gunner suddenly remembered that he .had a card on which was was written everyday phrases in English, with their French equivalents. Armed with this, they went to a farm, and on entering, pointed to the sentence, “I am lost.” The kindly housewife hid them in a loft, and gave them food and drink. HIDDEN UNDER STRAW. When the Germans had left the district the Tommies were placed in a cart under some straw, and driven away twenty miles further south. They were then set on the road and given directions by the driver, although, as they understood no French, they were not much wiser. Feeling hungry, they went to a wayside inn, and pointed to the three items on the card; “I am lost,” “ I am hungry,” and “ I am thirsty.” Again they received a substantial meal for nothing, and this time they were given a lift to a place they could not remember, where they were put in a train, after a free meal at the station hotel. They had to change twice before arriving at Rouen, but each time the magic card was an open sesame to hotels, cates, and first class railway carriages. They reached Rouen at dinnertime, and, following their usual custom, entered the most imposing hotel they could see, which proved to be the one where I was staying. I took them back to the station, and set them in a train for Le Havre.

Before leaving, the artilleryman said that when he received a peerage he was going to make his arms out of the words, “I am lost,” “ I am hungry,” “ I am thirsty,” surrounded by the French and British colours.