SOLDIERS’ TALK IN THE TRENCHES

Taihape Daily Times, Issue 220, 9 August 1917, Page 2

SOLDIERS’ TALK IN THE TRENCHES

HOME AND FUTURE, BUT LITTLE ABOUT THE WAR. (By a Transport Officer) There is not a man or woman who has not at some time or other wondered what our soldiers really think and say. I am constantly asked what the men think about home affairs and the war, and generally what, oeupies their minds during the long, wieary spells in the trenches. There is no pose when they talk to me. My official position is not likely to terrify them into silence, nor do they feel it incumbent to adopt the picture paper grin, which transforms our millions of grim fightnig men into a musical comedy chorus. Tommy—be he regular or a “ duration” man—does not bother his head much about the war and still less about its causes. All he knows is that he has got a job to do for his country. It may be listening post or it may be be a “ cushy” job at the base. In either case he will grumble heartily, probably curse his fate, country and himself —and do the job bettor than any other soldier in the world.

He is still less interested in our politicians, and lie rarely reads political news. He does not like the war: he hates soldiering and loathes discipline —and you can always tell the difference between Regulars and others n the way they salute. All he is determined on is to give the Germans such a hiding that there will be no need for any more wars in his lifetime.

The one thing I say that does interest him is his future, and ; more buncombe has been written by civilians on this subject than almost anything else. BACK TO THE CITY Their favourite illusion is that Percy Smith, late broker’s clerk and now a Territorial, has been captured by the charms of outdoor life, and that when the war is over he will \plough virgin land or ivatch sheep grow in some far-away colony, quite oblivious of his former interest in the rise and fall of shares. Regretfully, but firmly, I have to assert that of the many hundreds of of townsmen with whom I have spoken I have not yet discovered a single one who is not aching to get back to big cities. After lying on their faces in the mud of Flanders they have all the getting back to the land they want.

What the townsman -wants is to get back to his nice comfortable job. “1 didn’t know I was so well off then,” said one man to me last week. “Why, do you know, I was happy, only I didn’t know it. ’ ’

Unfortunately— and this is all important—the same cannot be said of the country recruit, who, I am afraid, in a large number of cases has not the slightest intention of over going back to country life in England. He joined the Army more or less contented with his lot—because, despite all our education, papers, and the rest of it, the w r orld outside his little bit of country hardly existed. Now he is an altered man. He has run across the men from overseas, drawing five times his nay and with -wonderful stories of the money they earn. Tommy Cannuck and Tommy Cooec make no bones, about their aim in life. They moan to got on, to farm on a big scale, to run sawmills involving huge capitalf—all sorts and manner of schemes—but ■with ultimate success as their burden.

Perhaps our country Tommy may not be quite sure where Canada or Australia or South Africa is. What he does know is that men no stronger, braver, or more willing than he have an altogether different outlook on life. No u(se offering him Wil/tshtirc wages, not a penny-worth of good to be contented wdth his lot. In this connexion I was greatly struck by some remarks by Lord Lorthcliffe in his book on the w r ar. He did not devote much space to it, but in a few 7 sentences he got at the heart of the subject. A DANGER TO THE COUNTRY. What it means to this country is so serious that it requires immediate action. It means that not only have we lost some of the finest flower of our youth through casualties but the others arc seriously thinking after the war of leaving our shores for ever and leaving a feebler, less enterprising manhood behind. It means that unless there is some radical revision of the countryman’s life there will be great tracts of country bereft of young men.

It would require a very long article to give even a short sketch, of what the countryman will expect if wo want to keep him here, and I can only attempt now a shadowy outline. He will want far higher wages, wages that will compare in every respect with those earned by highly skilled mechanics in the best paid industries;

ho will expect extensive Government facilities enabling him to buy land on easy terras; he will want his children to have all the educational facilities enjoyed by the children of the townsman. Yet one more thing he will want. Ho will want society. He has become used to meeting his fellow-man, living with him and exchanging ideas with him. He will work on the land, if it is made worth his while, but I doubt very much whether he will consent to live in a poky, little, insanitary, isolated cottage. Before the problem is settled we shall find little towns inhabited by agricultural workers, who will go to their work of a morning on a motor cycle. This is what soldiers tell me; that is what they really say. Whether their wishes can be met or not is not for me to decide —I can only record their views. But if we want to keep our manhood—and these little islands are, af,ter all, the heart and centre of the Empire—we shall have to try very hard, and the sooner we start the better, for the problem must have its solution by the time the war is over.