MESSINES, 1917.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 2137, 8 June 1920, Page 2

MESSINES, 1917.

(Contributed.) The Seventh of June. What memories it brings up! Mention Hyde Park Corner to any New Zealander who fought through the spring and summer of 1917, and it’s a thousand to one that it brings up more memories of Plug Street Wood than over it will of London. When we first moved to Plugslreet Wood, spring was just coming, and the back of the wood was a picture of France at its best. A thousand yards away was the front line where Bairnsfalher had done his first pictures, and which still rivalled the Ypres Salient for mud and hale. But at the foot of Regent Street, in spite of a steadily growing cemetery, the beauties of nature struck the predominating note. Imagine a beautiful wood which a! first, glance scarcely showed the ravages of war. Whitt a restful comparison after the stricken houses and villages in the immediate vicinity.. But what a change was to follow! In three short months,witv luuMoft its scars. The little cemeteries wore now full, and in places, alas! they had been torn by stray shells —shorts or overs intended for some other mark. The catacombs at Hyde Park Corner, which we had considered so safe, deluged by gas. Trees blown down across the duckwalks, shell holes in the roads. 'On all sides onr gumburking unceasingly at the enemy.

.And thnl: eventful .seventh of June —the springing of the mines which liars said, they heard hi England. The first 'surge forward. It was quite a relief after the horrors, of Oits Trench, and the wailing at the assembly points. Up the hill we went, meeting Huns, for the most part with their hands up. Here a V.C. was won, and dozens more earned. Here was .where the big mine went up. Once arrived at the objective, it was dig for your life. Down, down, six feet at least, and be careful that the sides don’t fall in on you. When the Germans get the range with the big guns, and the rest of the afternoon is hell. It is with a feeling of relief that one finally “gets one,” and finds it’s a light one —a walking wounded. Bad,, to the Aid Post, then back down Number Three Track, liberally studded with Y.M. hivvies, to the desiring station. Then after the wound is dressed you receive your ticket for England. Those were strenuous times, and one remembers on these days (be men who won’t come hack, and for a little while we wonder why so many of the host were taken. Let us give them our best wishes —then back to work again.