At the War

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXII, Issue 27, 28 December 1916, Page 3

At the War

V.—CHANCING FRIENDS. (By C.S.K.) The shifting along of people in the ward, which I spoke oi' recently, has begun. Quite hall' oi' the people who came in with me %re under orders to move, the majority of tliem to Hiornphurch and others to an auxiliary hospital, which I presume to bo somewhore close to here. GETTING UNDRESSED. i

When one is wounded, radical measures are taken to get the patient tindressed. In my case, the first step was to cut: through the braces of my equipment, so that when the belt was un-{ clone tlie whole lot fell off. On discarding my tin hat, I was ready for the ! stretcher, and at the first dressing station the only undressing done was sc cut tlirough my trousers and underpants so that the wound could he seen. At; the second station J. discarded my J two hand-bombs, which are not truly articles of clothing, but which must lie "worn" just as constantly as the equipment or the gas helmet. At jbhe casualty clearing station no more undressing was done until the morning, when a pair of sharp scissors were got ( to work, and every garment came off in small pieces. Putties were not unwound—one cut up the shin let them fall off. Hipping right up the outside seams of the trousers expedited their removal. Hipping, up one seam or the sleeves of the coat and continuing the cut through to the neck got it oil easier. And so on, and so on. I can-1 not remember all the separate cuts/ but I know .we ; i;e, a |: great ,many,A and my clojJ^s r)l niust'have ir mjide an.;, interesting epjjv/bifc shc j operation' was over, J; HSl' WqT ° the only articles intact. j COLD SWIMMING.

France is no place lor the swimmer from New Zealand, at least so far as places we have visited are concerned. AH the water -I was ever in'was very .cold—barely bearable—although h was mid-summer at the time.', in one town I was in there is a nice swimming bath, the Ecole Municipal too Natation, and .the first lime I had a swim there one plunge •sufficed. On occasion I stayed [M 'a t»W, time, though the water. \vas-,f«rij fro'm' being comfortable. A>..Jnotbei' plawe the stream was fairly. and clean as crystal but "cold aiF §m" ; 'CTw? swims liere). At yet another Village I had two swims in the canal—one on parade and one not. ■ This was m tlie canal, where the chill was taken' off the water, but still one could n&ftosiflpjin too long. At the rest beford U*HU>«* up to the firhsMiftP W&kl Bjapther swim in a deep, swift .streanj, *3&is4

little of which was sufficient. HORROR OF DESOLATION. I wrote recently of the effect produced on mo by the desolation which obtains in the valley loading; to "somewhere in Franrc," e»tc, and as the lady writer of a book f have just read chooses to speak of the subject, 1 shall quote her words—it will help to fill up anyway. The lady says: "Tlie horror of destruction, the bitterness of roofless homes, of weed grown hearthy and broken stairways, 01 dusty bedchambers, of statues flung down and bramble-grown moats made ' him shudder. What horror is like the horror of desolation! Life is in itself) so beautiful, that no sign is black , enough, no misery deep enough, utter-J ly to destroy the joy of it. The end j of life is the one hideous thing; 'the j falling into decay of the fair things it j made for itself the one thing unbeai- | able." Around one important town one saw numberless public and private .buildings knocked about by gun-fire and the uninhabited portions of the town were truly dreary and depressing in their desolateness; but this desolateness failed entirely to impress me with its horror. It was wastatui work, antytfhe streets were croepiiy j empty, iiut there was no element of. horriduess, dreadful or awfulness. J These elements were all suggested by the scene on a certain road.. If taere had been no war the road would not j have presented a "smiling" scene—merely a drab landscape of stubble fields, a dull-coiored wood, and a dusty road winding through. A common, uninspiring scene it would have been. But die desperate savagery pi sue manner in whjch the earth was torn up by the shells and scarved with cliev th& disnnrk#ghfe and jki. w] th.shpt amf'shell, _ and tpig, i|} j H discriminate throwing about of bijpken ..to form a striking cameo epitomising the dreadiulmsv and awfulness of the desolation inevitably : following in war's train. Happily, when one is .working out the nation's destiny.in military operations, the desolateness, ,etc, do not bother one— the -dispasHflonate passer-by the full benefit of his contempla.tion, ' ;•; j THE "COFFEE" HOUSE:

-'••'•Syftitn % 4ahded in a ratlicr not a bio toitt 11 I thought'' I would "find the places set apart' for 'the sale of I'eryienteil liquors called auherges <>v cabarets; but in fruit 1 they wore all called estaminets. The dictionary discloses that an estaniinet is a jbffeehouse, though all* 1 evnr%aw uiade a speciality of-Wet -and -ntttiiny else. On jl~fiw the &t6VwVf u faM L*e»&'flM :! " an auberge. In o#ta#Jp<*ici»^

| of the sign was: "A la Reunion des I Ouvrieies, Kstainioet, Tenn par |sm 1 Smith." "Debit de Boissous, Bin Smith, Dobitant," At Ailiy-sin-Ham- 1 ' •me you realjy could not swear to there being any beer-houses. The sign would read" "Cafe do Smith, Epioerie, VSercerie, Cliarcuterie, Cbasy.es, Yeiements Tobois, Yins, Spintoux, IV.eiv." And on entering one saw evidence oi little stock except the last item on the list. FLYING LIGHT. Mark Twain telis us of an ancestor of his who started a sea journey wjth his belongings wrapp.nl in a hantiker--1 chief, but came off the boat with two I large trunks full of gear. Similarly, though not necessarily by the same i means implied m the case of Mark's ■ ancestor, the soldier in the field ! gradually acquires a lot of gear. Worii- ' ing the trenches from billets the geai Jis easily looked after—when one goes into the trenches half the gear fills the i valise (left at the billet) and the othei j half goes out t 0 the trenches in a I sandbag. When I left a certain resii ing place I carried away with me a ! sandbag of gear in addition to my ! regular gear, and a hard job it was, | too. At the next port, so to speak, | an edict put a stop to the carrying of j sandbags or other extraneous gear. j Naturally,.one.went into the trentnas j with little, and acquiring a bent Jig, even that little was discarded there. I And now my luggage is contained in a ' nation-bag— about the size of a 51b oatmeal bag—which is by no means full. The bag contains ;t tooth-brush, a number of field-post-cards, a penknife, a watch which does not go, and a piece of string. A REVOLUTION TOUCH.

Going through France I had alwayb in mind the fact that the people 1 met was tile people who had taken part in and undergone the sufferings of the Great Revolution, hut, of course, generally, there was nothing to indicate that they were "those kinu of .people-" ()l,e to,u ' !l > howovo, > brought those far-off days to mind—the home guards in the hackblocks. A great many points are guarded by sentries, and the men who do the work are, elderly and (apparently) some who have been invalided from the front. At some points these men wore dressed in a whole uniform, :>ui in some the sentries turned out in a fantastic, medley of clothing. 1 saw one with an artillery cap, im infantry long coat and his workaday pants. one does not expect a reasonable Government lo go to great expense in keeping its home guards uniformly dressed. They were all uniform in the prime essential-alertness on duty. But the modly of dress strongly suggested .the revolution days, when a cockade or a scarf was often the only piece of "uniform" worn,