AN ERSTWHILE TAIHAPIAN.

Taihape Daily Times, Volume 8, Issue 29, 4 February 1916, Page 3

AN ERSTWHILE TAIHAPIAN.

MOURNS IN VERSE THE LOSS OF A COMRADE. The following verses have been' received by Mrs. Strudwick from Sergeant Alf. Krebs, who is now in hospital' at Birmingham. The author was at one time in the employ of the '‘The Taihapc Daily Times.”

THE SNIPER’S TOLL. Written in hospital, to the memory of a brave and daring comrade, who was shot by a Turkish sniper at Cape Holies, Gallipoli, on May Sth, 1915: — Oh, th e shrapnel claims its victims; They are counted by the score; The rifles and machine-guns claim their due; Deadly bombs and high explosives ’Count, alas, for many more, And bayonets end the lives of not a few. Yet their loss is taken calmly— They are laid within the soil—And their honoured names removed from off the roll, . But hot angir burns within us, And the racing blood will boil, When we think of those who paid the Sniper’s Toll.

A son of fair New Zeaalnd, ’Neath the five-starred Southern Cross, Was Dan a comrade true, who played the game. ” He lacked, perhaps, the finish Of -high education’s gloss, But warnin'!- heart ne’er beat in human frame. When a .volunteer was called for, Then first to answer "Here!” Was Dan, who proved a hero on patrol. His courage never failed him, And his eye and aim were clear; But now, alas, he’s paid the Sniper’s Toll. ’Twas a glorious summer morning When we started to advance ’Gainst the Turks entrenched eight hundred yards in front. On our right, with dashing valour, Fought the troops of sunny France, And on the left ‘‘Tom Atkins” bore the brunt. When the big guns got a-going I was fighting next to Dan, Who, laughing, bid me “Dig-in” like a mole. A smile of settled humour Wreathed his cheery face of tan— That day, alas, he paid the Sniper’s Toll. When’'the shrapnel burst among us And our men went down in pain, Or in death lay still and silt’nt, ghastly white, Dan, while scorning all the danger j Of the deadly leaden rain, j Took a fierce’ unholy joy in all the ! fight: j When the wounded moaned for water Then h e passed along his she,re, | While he grinned at me, and shook j his fiery poll, :

With, “I’ll charge* it to the Sultan When we bail him over there.” But Dan, alas, has paid the Sniper’s Toll. When the day was almost ended We had won a hard-fought way, ’Till we failed to move another yard ahead. "Never mind, my men,” cried Danny, "We’D go through another day, And make every Turkish waster wak e the dead!” But the words were scarcely uttered. When a rifle’s vicious crack Was blended with a cry that reached my soul. A "doctored” bullet tore its way— Piercing through his chest aiid back— And, dying, Dany paid the Sniper’s Toll.

Oh, the shrapnel claims its victims, You can count them by the score; The rifles and machine-guns have their due; Deadly bombs and high explosives ’Count, alas, for many more; And bayonets end the lives of not a few. But of all war’s fearful losses That make up the tale of Death — Of all the names He's written on His Scroll — The loss that makes the soldier curse With a fiercely drawn-out breath, Is that of men who’ve paid the Sniper’s Toll. —SERGT. ALF. KREBS. Taranaki Company, N.Z. Expeditionary Force. Ist S.G. Hospital, Birmingham. 11/10/’ls.