Echoes from the Battlefield.

Taihape Daily Times, 31 May 1918, Page 6

Echoes from the Battlefield.

(Continued from, yesterday) Cheerless as the camp may seem, not a few turn eyes towards the huts •which, have heen our home for the past weeh, as they pass them by, no doubt thinking of the warm braziers which will be a thing of the past to-night and the coining nights. But soon the camp passes from our view, and we settle down to a steady, plodding gait, so necessary on these frozen, slippery roads, where a lighter step would bring you to the ground every few yards. The old and familiar Y.M.C.A. hut brings pleasant memories of former nights spent therein, sipping hot coffee and discussing a variety of subjects, interesting and otherwise, and quite unmindful of the whining ’planes overhead until the roar of the bombs is heard as Fritz “drops his tailbaord” over some dump or otherwise, more often than not “otherwise,” the tombs rarely getting the mark they are aimed at. Now the waiting train comes into view, and very soon we are all crammed aboard the open trucks and rattling along the line. A bend in the line opens up the Railway Dugouts, a former resting place, now inhabited by Tommies, and as we swing under the arch the broken ruins of "Ypres comes into full view, standing clear out against the sky towering above all the rest is the remains of the once beautiful Cloth Hall, but half of two walls now remaining. The whine of a “rubber-neck” is heard, a second after cloud of dust, smoke and debris rises from the ruins and yet more of an already sadly battered city is demolished. "Large though the city, is, I doubt if one single house or build; ing of description could be found that has not suffered in some way from the continuous bombardments. Even How, when the Huns have been pushed many miles away from it, these “rubbernecks” (nav,al ishellq, probhbly) come hustling at intervals into the broken city in the hope of catching the nuiherous lorries and other vehicles which are continually passing through. A little to the right is the ruins of St. Julien, a small and fairly modern town in the pre-war days, now perhaps even more battered than Ypres. Numerous crosses are now noticeable, sometimes in clusters, sometimes singly, but all. denoting that down below lies the body of some unfortunates who have made the greatest sacrifice of all. Such scenes, in our civilian days might possibly have inspired ns with different feelings, but now but little notice of them is taken by us, they are just “poor beggars” that were unlucky o bo ugh to gc|t “skittled.” Perhaps it is .as well that it is this way with us, depression would never do in this life. But all the time the train is rattling along, and soon onr destination is in sight. A little to the right of the railhead and further down the road, the shells are bursting, telling us of joys to come when we move off, but for the present they do not concern ns. It does not take more than a few minutes for the whole battalion to tumble out On to the snow and without any delay the leading company starts off down the road by platoons in artillery formation, —a single line of men, each man close up to his mate in front, so as to offer as little target for the bursting shells and flying shrapnel as possible, At about a hundred yards interval between, these “worms” wind down towards the shelled zone, the leading worms now being in the midst of it and runnir." their fastest so as to get through as quickly as possibly. A huge fall of smoke and flying earth hides one of the w'orms for a few seconds and as it clears away, two dark huddled forms are seen lying on the road. Leaving their position in rear of their company, the stretcher ever so carefully carry them out with that swinging stride which causes scarcely a jar to the battered humanity on the stretcher. The two leading companies are now on their way, and it is our turn. The leading platoon falls in quietly, moves off at its correct distance, followed by the second platoon soon after. Now it is our turn. Commands to “fall in” are not wanted and never given in a case like, this, a bare, “10 platoon” from the sergeant is sufficient. Taking bis place in the lead, “March” from the sergeant at the correct time and so we follow in the wake of the rest. Soon we are out on to the road, and slips, slides and falls are numerous. Tho surface of the road is like glass, but no one stops if a man falls, he just picks himself up and gets back into his place as best he may. From now on it will be “every man for himself,” and get through it as best you can. Nearer wo get to those whining and screeching shells, till a burst at the side of the road tells our sergeant that it is time to be moving, and wo start off at a run, looking at nothing, and intent only on getting through it. ■Gradually the platoon lengthens out,

the faster runners in the lead; screaming- shells whine just over our head and burst a few yards away, showering flying stones .and clods of frozen earth over us, but no heed is taken of them, we must run, and run and run till we are either hit by the bursting shells or get through. The side of the narrow road is blown into the air just in front of us and the air all round is full of flying debris, but we go on and on. Throats get dry and parched and many are breathing in quick gasps, but it is for our lines we are running, so no one thinks of giving in. Whew-w-w-crafeh! ! but a couple of yards away, .and all those near it arc blown off their feet. The flying lumps of earth come pelting down on you as you struggle to your feet, and with a gasp you realise that you are unhurt. Miraculous, it seems, but everyone is on their feet again, some badly shaken, but all unwounded.. Then your scattered wits return, and you break into a run once more-, perhaps going faster than ever, as that shell “put the wind up you.” Another hundred yards and we will be fairly safe, as safety goes in this locality. With a feeling of relief we break into a walk, and looking back, are no signs of the following platoon. Probably they have made a circuit preferring a hard struggle over the shell-torn hill to the risks of coming along by the road. Either side of the road is just a battered mass of limbers. G-. S. wagons, etc., piled on each other time after time as a bursting shell has caught them and reduced them to matchwood. Every now and again the dead body of a mule proclaims its presence in no unmistakeabl© fashion, those hardy animals which have helped us so much when men and machinery would have been hard put to it to carry on. (To be continued.)