ON THE BRINK OF THE GRAVE.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 5, Issue 173, 12 May 1916, Page 3 (Supplement)

ON THE BRINK OF THE GRAVE.

(In another of bis fascinating studies of the life of our soidiein at the front, contributed to "Lloyd's Weekly News," "The Navvy Poet" describes more of the ! scones which make up the soldier's j working day. Incidentally he tells a gruesome story of how he escaped being buried alive by a work- J ing party who, finding him asleep, concluded that he was dead.)

The hour was noon, the big guns were booming up by Hill 70, and light shrapnel raked the streets of Loos. 1 had taken over one of the houses in the village, a ruined workshop, and was using it as a dressing station in Loos. I had plenty of work there, and there were many wounded in the cellar, waiting until they could be carried down to the dressing station at the rear. The street outside, pitted with shell holes, showed a sullen face to 'the leaden sky. The dead lay in the gutters, on the pavement, and at the doorsteps; victory was ours, and we were now consolidating our position, strengthening the trench which we had taken from the Germans that morning. Two soldiers on guard stood at- the door. I had concluded all work to hand and was smoking a cigarette "What's up with that fool'" said a voice at the door, and 1 turned to the man who spoke. " Who?'' i inquired.

" Come and see," said the man at the door. I looked up the street and saw one of oar boys standing in the roadway, the smoko of a concussion shell coiling around his body. It was Bill Teake. He looked round, noticed us, and 1 could se-e a smile flower broadly across his face.

He made a stop towards us, halted, and said something that sounded like 'Took! Yook!" Tnen he took another step forward and shot out his hand as if playing bowls. "He's going mad,'' I muttered. " Bill, what are you doing?" I cried to him. " Yook ! Yook ! Yook !" he answered, in a coaxing voice. "A bullet will give yon 'Yook! Yook!' directly," I cried. "Get under cover and don't be a fool." ''Yook ! Yook!" Then a shell took a neighbouring chimney and a truckful of bricks assorted themselves on the roadway in Bill's vicinity. Out of the smother of dust aad lime a fowl, a long-necked

black lien, fluttered into the air and flew towards our shelter. It alighted on the road and wobbled its head from one side to another in a cursor;, inspection of its position. We saw 'Leake come racing down the road. " Don't frighten it away 1" lie yelled. "Don't shout. 1 want that 'en. It's my own 'en. I discovered it. Yook. Yook! Yook!" He sobered his pace and approached the hen with cautious steps. The iowi was now standing '.in one leg, the other leg drawn up under its wing, its head in a listening position, and its attitude betokened extreme dejection. "Not a word now," said Bill, fixing one eye on me and the oilier on the hen. ""J must get my feelers on tins 'ere tackier. 'Twas up there sitting atop of a dead .Jock when 1 sees it. . Yook! Yook! Yook!" He threw a crumb to the fowl. Ihc. ben picked it up, swallowed it. and hopped off for a little distance. Then it drew one leg up under its wing and assumed a look of philosophic calm.

••Clever hen '." 1 said. •'•'—— ungrateful fraud:" (aid Bdl, angrilv, "I've given it 'art' of my Hon rations. IF it wasn t that 1 might miss it I'd fling a bully lieef tin at it." •■Where's vour rifle?" 1 inquired. - Left it iii the trench." Bdl replied.

"I just conic out tcr look for sooveneers. This is the only soovener I seen. Took! Took! I'll soovencer ycr, yer swine! Don't ycr understand yer own langflage?"' The hen made a noise like a chucklinn frog. • r V s. yer may I'ck ! Cck !''cried Bill. apo-troph.s ng the fowl, "I'll soon stop ver 'l'ck! I'sk !' yer one-legged Von Kluck! Where's a rifle to spared' I handed lorn a spare r lie which belonged to a man who had been shot out-side the door that morning. " Loaded r" asked KM " Loaded,' - 1 lied. The Cockney lay down on the roadway, stretched his rifle out in front ol him, took steady aim, and. pulled tlm trigger. A slight ci : ck was the only re-pon-e. "That's a dirty trick," lie growled, as we roared with laughter. "A bloomin' Allvmong wouldn't do a think like that."'

So savin-, ho pulled tlio l.olt back, jerked a cartridge from the magazine, pushed a round into ilie hroech. and fired. Tlie fowl fluttered in agony for ;; mom nt. then fell in a lioan on the roadway. I! ; ll handed the rifle hark to " I'll cook thai 'on to-night," he sai I, with studied slowness. "It'll make a fine feed. En well cooked can't 7».- heaten, an I'm if you'll L r ct one hone to pick !"' " Rill!" T protested. "Oivin' me a hip.' as wasn't loaded an' savin' it was," ho muttered Millen-

"'I haven't eaten a morsel of hen siiuo vou pinehed von one at Ma7.;nprhp," T said. "You rememher that 0 'Twas a smart niece of work." A clow of pride sufficed hi* face. "Well, if tide's uny to spare to-night I'll let von know." said mvmate. "N'ow I'm off. I'll tell vou when the feed is ready. Vou ran 'ave 'arf of .-. 'en for supper." Then h.-> sliil off and vanished over th« rim of the trench 1 iko a streak of greased lightning. Tn the

evening, at about 8 o'clock, when an attack was feared, and when the men stood to arms in the trenches. Bill lit a little fire at the base oi a traverse, and proceeded to cook the h'en. As he bent over his work someone coming along the trenches stumbled aginst him and nearly threw Bill into the fire.

" Who the beastly 'ell is that, shoving about!'" spluttered the Cockney, rubbing the smoke from his eyes and not looking round. "It's the beastly Colonel of the London Irish," a voice replied, and Bill shot up to attention and saluted his commanding officer. "I'm sorry, sir,' 1 he said, "It's all right," said the officer. "If I was in your place I might have said worse things." Bill often speaks of this incident, and always concludes by saying, " E's a fine bloke, 'c is. our CO. I'd do anvthing for 'im after that night." The first building in Loos on the road was a barn in a wonderful state of preservation, the second was a dressing station, whore I attended to wounded for five days with little sleep during that time, except one night, on September 27. when I dropped down exhausted at the dressing station of and was dead to t.ie world for e ; ght hours.

O.i Michaelmas Eve tilings were quiet, the big guns were silent, and the only sign of war was in the star shells playing over Hill 70, and the rifles pinging up by Bois Hugo, and occa=:onal clouds of shrapnel incense which the guns offered to the god they could not break, the Tower Bridge of Loos.

Tli-o hnr.r was midnight and I felt sleepy. The wounded in our se -tor bad lieen taken in, the ponce of tlio desert was nvor the love! land and its burden of uuburied dead. I put on my overcoat, one tliat 1 had just found in a pack on t!:o roadway, and went into the bam. The door of the building imng on one hinge. I polled at- off, placed it on the floor, and lay on it. With due caution I lit a cigarette, and the smoke reeked whitoly upwards to the skeleton roof, which the shell fire had stripped of nearly all its vies. My body was full of contentment. The moon struggled through n r'ft in the clouds, and a shower of pale light streamed through the chequered framework overhead. The tiles that had weathered a leaden storm ''sowed dark

. against the sky; strange shadows play'ed on the floor, and in the subdued ! moonlight strange, unexpected contrasts were evoked. In the corners, where the shadows took on definite forms, there was room for the imagination to revel in. The night of ruin- ■ ation, with its soft moonlight and deli- ! cato shad.ng, had a wonderful fascin- ! ation of its own. The enemy machine- ' gun, fumbling for an opening, chirrup;ed a lullaby as it-, bullets pattered : against the wall. 1 was under the spell jof it all. "How good, how very good, it is to he alive!" 1 said. My last re- ( membrance before dozing off was of I the clatter of picks and shovels on i ; road outside. The sanitary squad was j at work burying the dead. I fell asleep. 1 awoke to lind somebody tugging at i my elbow and to hear a voice which 1 j recognised as W ; t> saving, ''lt's on. ' ly old Pat." "What's wrong!-" f mumbled, rais- , ing myself on my elbow 'and looking 1 round. The sanitary squad was looking j at me; behind them the Twin Towers ' stood dark aga : ns.t the moonlight. Gird.. i crs, ties, and beams seemed to have [ been outlined with a pen dipped in ii!- ; vor. 1 was out in the open. ! "This isn't half a go," said one of j the men. a mate of mine, who belonged ! to the squad. "We thought you were I a dead 'un. Wi dug a deep grave, put i two in. and there was Ixolll lor an- ! other. Then 1. seal there was a bloke lying on a door i.i that house, and I in w ( i goes and carries you out, door I and all. You're just on the brink of your grave now." I A NARROW ESCAPE. 1 pcope doter the side and down a , dark ho'e, with a bundle ot khaki and ;; white taee at the bottom. "1 refuse to bo buried," f muttered and took up my bed and walked. As j 1 lay down again in the building which i 1 had hit 1 could hear my friends i laughing. It was a delightful joke. In i a minute 1 was sound asleep. 1 awoke with a start, to a hell-riot of I ctcaking timbers and tiles falling all I around me. j got to my feet and j eiauehed against the wall, shuddering, , almost paralysed wall fear. A tenso I second dragged by. The ti'es ceased to ! fall, and 1 looked up at the place where | the roof had been, but the roof was gone; a shell had struck the centre i beam, and had raised the whole coni struct ion as a lid k raised from a teaI pot. a.id Hung the whole tiling over injLo the street. 1 rushed out into the i trench in undignified haste, glad of mv i m.rai ulous escape from death, and ! stumbled over Oil Teake is I fell in- ■ to it. 1 "What's wrong with vor. mate?" ho j asked. j 1 drew a deep breath and was silent for a moment. I was trying to regain my composure. " Bill," I replied, " this is the I'Vast of St. Michael and All Angels . ['vo led such an exemplary life that St. Michael and All Angels want mo to visit them. They caused the sanitary squad to dig my grave tonight and when I refused to bo buried they sent a sheli along to strafe me. I escaped. I refuse to bo virtuous from 1 now until the en dof my days." I Bill, uncorking a bottle. / Bill, uncorkng a bottle. £ "Thank you, Bill," I said, and drank.