Confidence and Efficiency of the British Army.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 5, Issue 201, 18 August 1916, Page 2 (Supplement)

Confidence and Efficiency of the British Army.

It is not an easy matter to write. from tho front. You know that there are several courteous but inexorable gentlemen who may have a word in the matter, and their presence "'imparts but small ease to the style." But above all you have the twin censors ol your own conscience and common sense, which assure that, il all other, readers fail von, you will certainly find a most attentive "one in the neighbourhood ol Haupt-Quartier. An instructive story is still told of how a certain well-mean-ing ravel lor recorded his satisfac-t.on with thy appearance of the big guns at tho retiring and peaceful village of Jamais, and how three days later, by an interesting coincidence, the village of Jamais passed suddenly off the map and dematerialiswl into brickdnst anu splinters. "i have been with soldiers on the warpath before, but never have I had a day so crammed with experiences and impressions as yesterday. Seme of them at least 1 can faintly convey to the reader, and if they ever reach the eye of that gentleman at tho Haupt-Quar-ti.cr they will give him little joy. For tlio crownng impression of all is the enormous, imperturbable confidence ot the Army and its extraordinary efficiency in organisation, administration, material, and personnel. I met in one day a sample of many types, an army commander, a corps commander, two divisional commanders, staff officers ot many grades, and, above all, 1 met repeatedly the two very great men whom Britain'has produced, the private soldier and tho regimental officer. Everywhere and on every face one read tho same spin't of cheerful bravery. Even the half-mad cranks who>e absurd consciences prevent them from barring the way to the devil seemed to me tohc turning into men under the prevailing influence. I saw a batch of them, neurotic and largely l>e-spoctac!ed, but working with a will by the roadside. Thev will volunteer for the trenches •yet. * * * Tf there are pessimists among in thev are. not to be found among the men who are doing tho work. There is no foolish bravado, no under-rating of a dour opponent, but there is a quick, ajert. confident attention to the job in hand which is an inspiration to the observer. These brave lads are guarding Britain in the present. See to it that Britain guards them in the future! We have a had record in this matter. It must be changed. They are the .wards of the nation, both officers and men. Socialism has never had an attraction for me, but I should be a Socialist to-morrow if I thought that to ease a tax on wealth these men should iorer suffer for the time or health that they gave to the public crruso. "Got out of the car. Don't lot it stay here. It may be hit." The.** words from a staff officer give yon the first idea that things are gong to happen. Up to then you might have been driving through the Black Country in the Walsall district with the population of Aldershot let loose upon its dn'gv roads. "Put on th's shrapnel helmet.' That hat of yours would infuriate the Boche"—this was an unkind allusion to the only kind of uniform which I have a rght to wear. "Take this gas helmet. You won't need it, but it is a standing order. Now come on!" We cross a meadow and enter a trench. Here and there it conies to the surface again where Chore is dead ground. At one such point an oiu church stands with an unoxploded shell sticking out of the wall. A century hence folk will journey to see that shell Then on again through an endless cutting. It is slippery clay below. I have no nails in my boots, an iron pot on my head and the sun above me. I will remember that waik. Ten telephone wires run down the side. Here and there large thistles and other plants grow from the clay walls, so immobile has been our line. Occasionally there are patches of untidiness. "Shells," says the officer laconically. There is a. racket of guns before, and behind, espeeallv behind, but danger seems remote with all those Bairnlather groups of cheerful Tommies at work around us. 1 pass one group of grimy, tattered boys. A glance at their shoulders shows me that they are of a public school battalion. "I thought you fellows were all officers now," I remarked. ''No, st, wo like it Hotter so." "Well it will Ik> a great memory for you. We are all in your, debt."' They salute, and we squeeze past them. They had the fresh, brown faces of boy cricketers. But their comrades wei.o men of a different type, with hard, strong rugged featres, and the eves of men who had seen strange sbdits. These are veterans, men of Mons, and titer young pals of the public schools have something to live up to.

l'l> to this t'me wo have only had tw > clay walls to look at. But now our interminable and tropical walk is lightened by the sight of a British aeroplane sailnig overhead. Numerous shrapnel hursts aro al! round jt. but she floats on serenely, a thing of delicate beauty against' the blue background. Now another passes—and yet another. All morning we saw them circling and swooping, and never a sign of a Boehe. They tell mo it is nearly always so—that we hold the air. and that the Uoclio intruder, save at early morning, is u rare bird. A visit to the line would reassure Mr. Pemberton Billing -We have never met a British aeroplane which was not ready to tight,' said a captured German aviator the other day. There is a fine, stern courtesy between the airmen on either side, each dropping notes into the other s aerodromes to tell the fate of missing officers. Had the w..o!e war been fought bv the Germans as their airmen have conducted it (I do not speak, of course, of the. Zeppelin murderers) a peace would eventually have been more easily arranged. As it is, if every] frontier could be settled, it would be a hard thing to stop unci all that is associated with tho words Cavell, Zeppelin, Wittenlverg, Lusitania, and Louvain had been brought to the bar of the world's Justice.

Ami now we are theiv —in what is purely t! 1.0 most wonderful spot in the world, tho front firing trench, the outer breakwater which lioltls hack the German tide. How strange that tlrs monstrous oscillation of giant forces, setting till from to west, should lind its equilibrium here across this particular meadow of Flanders. "How far?" I ask. "One hundred rind eighty yards." says m>' guide. "Pop!"' remarks a third person in front. "A sniper," says my guide. "Take a look through the periscope." I did so. There ; s some Misty wir.i l>efore me, then a field sloping slight wards, with knee-deep grass, then rusty vxw again, .and a red line of broken earth. There is not a sign of movement, but sharp eyes a r.c always

A VISIT TO THE WESTERN FRONT.

BY SIR A. COXAX DOYLE

watching us, even as these crouching soldiers around mo are watching them. There are dead Germans in the grass before us. You need not see them to know that they are there. A wounded soldier sits in a corner nursing his leg. Here and there men pop out like rabbits from dug-outs ami mine-shafts. Others sit on the firestep or lean smoking against the clay wall. Who would dream, to look at their bold, careless faces, that this lis a front line and that at any moment it is possible that 1 grey wave may submerge them? \\ ith all their careless bearing 1 notice that every man has his gas helmet and Ins rifle within ca>v reach. A mile of front trenches and then wo are, on our way back down that weary walk. There is a pause at Corps Headquarters, and after it we ;uv taken to a medal presentation jn a market square. Generals jiunro, Haking, and London, famous fighting sold : ers all three, are the Bru sli representatives. An elderly French General stands 00-

sido them. British infantry keep the ground. In front are about fifty Frenchmen in civil dress of every grade of life, workmen and gentlemen, in a double rank. They are all so wounded that they are back in civil life, but today they are to have sonie> solace, for their wounds. They lean heavily on sticks, their bodies are twisted and maimed, but their faces are sh'ning with pride and joy. The French General draws his sword and addresses them. One catches words like "honnour" and "patrie." They lean forward on their crutches, hanging on every syllable which comes hiss'ng and rasping from under that white moustache. Then the medals are pinned on. One poor lad is terribly wounded and needs two sticks. A J-tile girl runs out with some flowers. He leans forward and tries to kiss her, but the crutches slip and he nearly falls upon her. It was a pitiful but beautiful little scene. Now the British candidates march up one by one with their medals, hale, hearty men, brown and fit. There*'» a smart young officer of Scottish Rifles ; and then a selection of Worcester?, Welsh Fusilers, and Scots Fusiliers, with the funny little Highlander, a tiny figure with a soup-bowl helmet, a grinning boy's face beneath it, and a bedraggled uniform. "Many acts of great bravery,'' such was the record for which ho was decorated. Even the French wounded smile at his quaint appearance, as they did at another Briton who bad acquired the chewing-gum habit, and came up for his modal as if lie had been called suddenly in the middle of his dinner, which he was st : ll endeavouring to bolt. Then came the end, with the National Anthem. The Bnt : sh regimen formed fours and went past. To me that was the most impressive sight of any. They were the Queen's West Surreys, n veteran regiment of the great Ypres battle. What grand fellows! As th? order cams "Eyes right," and all those fierce, dark faces flashed round upon us, I felt the might of the Britis lrnfantry. the, intense individuality which is not compat'ble with the highest discipline. Much they had endured, but a groat spirit shone'from their faces. I confess that as T looked at those brave English lads, and thought of what we owe to them and to their like who have passed on. I felt more emotional than befits .1. Briton in foreign parts.

Now the ceremony was ended, and oiuo again w,° set out tor the front. It was to an artillery observation postthat we were bound, and once again my description must be hounded by discretion. Suffice it that in an hour i found myself, together with a razorkeen young artillery observer ana an excellent old sportsman of a Russian prince, jammed into a very small space, and staring out through a slit at th Gorman line. In front of us lay a vast pla'-n, .scarred and slashed, with bare places at intervals, such as you see irhetu gravel pits break a green common. Not a sign of life or movement save some, wheeling crows. And yer, down there, with'n a mile or so, is the population of a city. Far away a single train is puffing at the back of the German lines. We ar,e bore on a definite errand. Away to the right, nearly three miles off, is a small red house, dun to the eye but clear in the glasses, which is suspected as a German post. It is to go up this afternoon. The gun is some distance away, but I hear the telophons directions. " 'Mother will soon do her in," remarks the gunnecheerfully. il Mother" is the name ot the gun." Give her five six three four, he cries through the 'phone. "Mother" utters a horrible bellow from somewhere on our right. An enormous spout i t smoke rises ten seconds later from near the houss. "A little short." says our gunner. "Two and a half minutes left,'' idds a still small voice, when represents another observer at a clifforent angle. ''Raise her seven five." says our boy encouragingly. " Mother roars more" angrily than ever. How wll that do?" she seems to say. " One and a half right,' : says our invisible gossip. I wonder how the folk in the house are feeling as the shells come ever nearer. "Gun laid, si','' says the telephono. "Fire!" I im looking- through my glass. A flash of fire on the hou.-e. a huge P-''ar of dust and smoke—tlcn t settles and an unbroken Jlield r. there, the Germs. »i post has gone up " It's a dear little gun," says the officer boy. "And her shells arc reliable,' remarked a senior behind us. "They vary with different calibres, but •Mother' never goes wrong." Th? German lino was very quiet, "Pourquoi lis no repoudent pas?" asked the Russian prince. "Yes, they aro quiet to-day. ' answered the senior. "]sut we get 't hi the neck sometimes.'' We are all led off to be introduced to "Mother," who sit-., squat and black, am'.d twenty of her grimy children who wait upon and feed her. She is an important person : s '' Mother"—and her importance grows. It gets clearer with every month that it is she. and only she, who can lead us to the Rhino. She can and she will if the factories of Britain can boat those of the Hun. See to it. von working men and women of Britinn. Work now. if you rest for ever after, for the fate of Europe, and of all that is dear to us is in your hands. For "Mother'' is a dainty eater, and needs good fond and plenty. She is fond of straniro lodgings, too, in which she prefers safety to dignity. But that is ;i dangerous subject.

One moiv experience of this wonderful day— the most crowded with :mpivssoiis of my whole life. At night we take a car and dive north, and ever north, imt ; l at a late hour we halt and climb a Ivll in the darkness. Below is :i. wonderful sight. Down on the flats. : n a lingo semi-circle, lights are rising and falling. They ar.3 verv brilliant, going up for a few secondn and then living down. Sometimes a dozen are in the air at one time. There are tho dull

thuds of explosions and an occasional rat-tat-tat. I have seen nothing like it, hut the nearest comparison would lio an enormous ten-mile railway station in full swing at night, with signals winking lamps waving, engines hiss:ng, and carriages humping. It is a terrible place down there, a place which will live as long as military history is written, for it is tlie Ypres salient. What a salient it is, too! A huge curv.?, as outlined by the lights, needing only a I'ttlc more to be an encirclement. Something caught the rope as :t dosed, and that something was the British soldiers. But it is a perilous place still by day and by night. Never shall T forget the impression of ceaseless, malignant activity which was horn ; n upon me by the white, winking lights, the red sudden glares, and the horrible thudding noises in that place of death beneath me. —"Daily Chronicle.