FRANCE AND THE WAR.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 5, Issue 185, 23 June 1916, Page 1 (Supplement)

FRANCE AND THE WAR.

VERDUN AS A TONIC. "Verdun has done us good. We needed just such a cut from the German whip to keep us quite "fit." Y\e had been tempted to forget how much life the monster still had in him. Now we know that though he is slowly bleeding to death he. will still take, a lot of killing." These and similar remarks have been made to me (writes a special correspondent of "The Times" at the front) not once or twice, but a dozen times, by soldiers and civilians in various parts of France. In Paris and at the front, in Lyons and in the Franehe-Comte. the same feeling was expressed. To say that the French are grateful for this reminder would he to exaggerate; but they are thankful that the warning has come in time and that the splendid heroism of their troops has riiore than justified a confidence which was ceasing to be seasoned with the saving salt of anxiety. How is it possible, it may be asked, that a country with ten Departments still invaded, with every able-bodied man mobilised in one capacity or another, with every industry more or less crippled, should "get used" to the war? The chief reason must be sought in the heroic temper of the whole French people—women and men alike —who have set their hands to this business of crushing Prussian militarism, and are quietly determined to carry it through, be the work short or long. They pray that it may he short, but they are resolved to finish it; and they rely upon us •eln them to finish it r.ud to take henceforth our full share of the toil. BENEATH THE SURFACE. It is a trite saying, but profoundly true that only by going to the war can one understand the war. Casual visitors to France may notice little amise except the presence of wounded and crippled soldiers In the streets, and the mourning that seems to have become a feminine national uniform. But look for a moment beneath the surface and you become aware of an immeasurable tragedy. We sat one night at supper in the chief hotel of a once wealthy town in the Champagne district. "How long were, the Hermans hero in 1914?" asked one member of our party. No one knew exactly, *o we referred the question to the head wait er, an elderly man of demure appear a nee. "I do not know," he said. An ex pression of surprise escaped the first questioner, ■and the waiter added gravely: "I have only been here two months. lam from Lille. My wife was killed by the Germans. Where my children are I do not know. I have lost everything I had in the world." We asked no more questions that night. Next morning we returned, caked in mud. to an hotel in another town after a hard day In the trenches. We had seen something of the impregnable barrier that blocks ttiu Hun road to Paris. A famous general awaited us at dinner, and we were i anxious to be relatively tidy. A brisk j chambermaid volunteered her help, ' and worked with so good a will as j to cam our gratitude. "These gentlemen come from the I front?" she said. "Yes." we answered; "we have been in the direction of- —--" ".My home was there," she returned quietly. "It was shelled and burned by the Germans. My brothers wore in the Army: two are dead. What : has become; of my sisters I do not ! know. But these gentlemen's over- 1 j coats will need brushing again in the I morning; they are very muddy.' There was no at'r nipt to arouse j our sympathy, no Indication that the | trr.i'ody of her life was exceptional. ; 'i seemed useless to offer cor.dolen- ]<::>?. One could only reflect, 'Tins | indeed is war." For a who!" da\ c fall, o'ev.nnl sia-.i : offifr-r served im as guide. lie seeni- ■ nd to have no thought ! oyond maki Ing the military situa ion plain to us. j Few adjectives and no superlatives ever crept into his conversation. Only once. In front of fl e ruined cathedral of Rheims, did he show emoliou.

"Ah! Les brutes! Les brutes! Fall-ait-il-etre cochon pour faire cela! I have seen It twenty times, but every time it angers me more."

A chance remark from another otficer led me to inquire Into this officer's history. He seemed too spick and span, too smart and self-contain-ed to have had much to do with the practical side of war. He had never spoken of himself. When I asked what his experiences had been he said quietly:

"Oh, I have been very lucky. At the battle of I was left foi dead. A German bill':' caught me i:i the cnest I'ifl A-e/i» iut near tho rackbone. Vy men. tanking 1 wa? done for, too!, my papas and pocket-book and reuort •. 1 me killed. That was the llrst stroke c" luck. Had tie-" Hied to carry me (ft 1 shoul i !vve been suffocated. How lonij afteiwards f do not know, 1 came to myself in a German military hespita l The surgeon was .a decent fellow, jfe let me enclose three lines to my wife in a letter to his wife. She sent the message on through Switzerland. My wife got It by the same post a? the official announcement of my death, though as; my message was dated ten days later than the officii announcement, she concluded I muit have survived. After some weeKs in hospital, before I was quite cured I escaped. Some Belgian peasants gave me clothes. For a time I pulled beetroot in a field. Then I became a porter. Finally I found work in a shop. T was arrested again and agait. but wan never forced to undress. That was another stroke of luck. Otherwise, my wound would have betra; ed me. f pretended to he a Belgian whose house had been destroyed, and who was looking for his wife. At st. when near the Dutch frontier, r was again arrested and taken before a German colonel, who bears a name well known in diplomacy. > p ter examining me, he said: "You are French!" "Quite true, colonel," I answered. "Then what are you doing here?" "The French military doctors rejected me," I replied. "For what reason?"

"Short sight." "Do you wear glasses?" I produced a pah" which I had bought against such an emergency as this. The colonel examined them, and said:

"These are very weak, a man is not. rejected for so small a defect." "Oh," I answered, "twenty years ago I was much more short-sighted than now."

"Impossible," replied the colonel; "otherwise fifty per cent, of the reeruits in the North of France would have to be rejected. You are a spy." "No, colonel," I said, "I had a pull with my Deputy, and with a political "null" one can do anything in France."

"Get away with you. you are a cow. aid!" said the colonel angrily, and I was free once more. "Xext day I crossed the Dutch frontier and found my way back to France. See how lucky I was. It's wonderful with what 'cheek' one can lie when one's life is at stake!" This officer is now one of the most brilliant members of General 's staff. He is young, hardly 40. The most striking fact about French staff officers to-day is their youth and energy. There is no room for "dugouts" and valetudinarians. Even the generals are remarkable for their youthfulness and vigour. As for the men, despite, or because of. their abstemious habits and their ."0 months of campaigning in the open air. they look as though each of them could fell an ox with his lis*, and eat it afterwards. Broad-should-

°red. rosy-faced, stalwirt, and vigorous, they carry themselves with an air of moral superiority that becomes "he more striking when one has seen and examined German prisoners. But one leaves the front with a pang at the thought that the wretched, de-generate-looking beings whom the Germans now put into their first l ; ne can with artillery and machine-guns, take a heavy toll of life from these splendid Frenchmen: and the feeling becomes irresistible that any man, !:o he private citizen or Minister, with • •■ er to hasten, even by a day. the

••ircossful end of this necessary hut awful carnaje, and who does not bend i'is every thought and effort to that end. is unworthy of his birthright as a civilised being.