PEACE CONGRESS.

Taihape Daily Times, 15 May 1919, Page 6

PEACE CONGRESS.

NEW ZEALAND DELEGATION

THE RUINS OF RHEIMS AND THE DEVASTATED COUNTRYSIDE.

(From R. Riley, Official Journalist).

PARIS, March 13,

All that was once fair and famous in iho old town of Rheims is now an appalling ruin. Prussian warfare has changed beauty and prosperous activity into ugly desolation, and has in. wanton destruction made the rare monuments of the past grotesque

mockeries of contemporary civilisation Only one of two impressions can be the experience of anyone who, for the first time, emerges from the shadows of the Forest of Rheims, and, from the *op of the hill with a level plateau beyond, suddenly sees against the low hoizon the remnants of the battered town, and the shattered Cathedral overlooking a wide countryside still littered with the means and marks of scientific military destruction. One must, according to temperament, either have "a great inclination to cry" or an impulsive desire to curse the nation that caused all the terrible destruction which in varied forms fouls all the land within the vision which so often must be dimmed with tears_ All the members of the New Zealand Ministerial party in Paris made a jrnemorable trip to and from Rheims lay different routes last Sunday (March ! 9th) and although the journey by motor was long and rough every kilometre of the way was crowded with historic interest. The outward way from Paris led towards the picturesque valley of the Marne, and even under a grey sky and a wind representing a compromise be- - tween Winter and Spring, all the land was beautiful in its complete tillage from the far horizon to the roadsidrj "whence one saw all the thorough preparation for the coming season oi! growth and a peaceful harvest. The 1 only evidences of the war that has 1 "blighted so much of fair France were many grim and varied means of defence. A little beyond the walls of Paris, for example, we saw the elaborate anti-aircraft defences with the hands of great guns scanning the wide sky like the telescopes erf innocent astronomers; a few miles (it is easier to write than kilometres) farther on by cross-roads .or on the fringe of copses, huge guns, all pointing to the north-east; next, aerodromes set in the midst of wide fields, now rapidly yielding their green turf to the eager plough; and then, nearer the zone of havoc and desolation, great depots for munitions and war material. now guarded apparently only by a solitary sentry with a cane. Many of the veteran soldiers of France who a year ago were desperately holding back the tide of Prussian militarism less than forty miles away from the vineyards in which we saw so many at work are j now usefully armed with spades or secateurs, their garb representing the transition stage between war and peace —trousers of sky-blue hue, and the coarse jersey or corduroy jacket of the French peasant. The children alone maintain in the zone of peace the martial spirit, for they have commandeered with pride the military caps, and the great -coats (roughly reduce-! > to their size by frugal mothers) of J their fathers. There arc times "when j sadness is better than gladness." The edge of destruction and desola- s tion was reached a little beyond the rich valley near la Ferte where our way 'turned abruptly fom the winding \ Marne, and led uphill through Montreal, and le Thieler towards ChateauThierry # Here, within,a score of miles we ran through a score of ruined and deserted villages, looking like nothing else than great warehouses wrecked by e-arthquakc and fire. Many of the

ruins were without life at all, even the crows and sparrows having gono the way of refugees. The pathos Ct the people's hurried flight was occasionally revealed by the rude exposure of the remnants of simple domestic life; sometimes a teapot among debris on a hob, occasionally an oleograph clinging to a shattered wall with a weather-stained Madonna starringpathetically at ruins below. In the few villages where people have returned to their old haunts like homing pigeons the Avonien and children still have the pinched looks of a war-rationed race.

On the bend of the road leading down to Chateau-Thierry the savagery of the warfare in and about that ruined town is brought vividly to the imagination of passers-by by the number and variety of graveyards. The pathos j of it all is frequently enhanced by the j lonely mounds, marked with crude crosses, by the roadside. At many places, when snow lj Cs deep on the Tough paths by the cobbled highway, pedestrians may stumble over a Prus- ! sian's grave. In savage warfare the choice of a cemetery [ s often capricious. Chateau-Thierry bears severe evidence of the uestvuetiveness of modern I warfare, but the damage is trivial com- j pared with that beyond at D'ormans, near the junction of the Marnc and j •the Scmcignc rivers, and onward to the

east as-far a s Epernay, and northeast to Rheims, the climax —so far - as this theatre of war was concerned —of wanton destruction and heart-breaking ruin. There was special interest in our visit to Epernay, where the marks of war ar e upon almost every house. It j was near Epernay, in July, 191 S, that General Godlcy,. as commander of the 22nd Army Corps, had his headquarters. To this corps were attached the New Zealand Cyclist Corps, and a detachment, of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. These fine troops were very prominent in the heavy fighting which took place in the Valley of the Ardre, on the left of the forest of Rheims, on the southern slopes of the Montague d'Rheims, the New Zealand Cyclists particularly distinguishing themselves in taking the village of Marfaux. In recognition of their gallant services to France, the now happy people of Epernay arc presenting our Cyclists with a flag. This information had been communicated by General Godley to the Prime Minister, and a visit was made to Epernay to see the Mayor of the town. Unfortunately, however. Monsieur le Maire was out of town. The run from Epernay to Rheims was right through the centre of a sector in which there was bitter warfare last year. Everywhere the countryside rc-

realed bitter results of the desperate fighting, and interesting evidences of the elaborate defences of the Allied armj r . We motored over the "police road" through the heart of the forest of Rheims, where to-day the great silencce of the place is broken only by the birds calling welcome to the coming spring. One could sre that the forest had been taken over by British engineers and French artillery, for the innumerable signposts told a plain, but eloquent story. The 'engineers had cut many new roads through f he forest

which appeared to have been divided into different sections for various grades of artillery. These roads are as straight as though their perfect alignment had been determined in the leisure of peace. But now they are deserted, already Nature threatens to break the line with eager branched. Many of the great go-ns are still in the shadows of the forest, hidden from the eye of passers-by, but in open places by the roadside huge stacks of all sizes of potent shells lie unguarded. Occasionally, howovcr, a shaggy poilu emerges from th e wood as though, to remind intruders that the official eye of frugal France is" not slumbering. From the brow of Montagne d 'Rheims one commands a prospect that formerly was famous; miles of productive vineyards and cornland. and in the distance, high above all, Rheims Cathedral, a monument of the devout past, serving as a spiritual landmark for an industrious people. All that has been changed by the war, and restoration of much, of the former beauty of the place may never be achieved. All the approaches to Rheims lead through a labyrinth of military contrivances and devastation. The neg-

lected vineyards and farmlands an; pitted with shell holes, nd scored and scarred with tortuous trenches; there are scores of mazes of barbed wire defences* the banks flanking the roads are as terraces of dug-outs; the ribbon of trees on either side of the highway is torn and mangled, the eamoutUige screens of ivy strung along the trees that escaped the blast of shells now look like the tawdry trappings of a bankrupt, theatre; graves and roughhewn crosses are as thick as Calit'ornian thistles on a neglected colonial farm. A line in somewhat "tabooed'" literature best expresses the feelings of any sensitive witness of this havoc of war, "And the soul of the man went weeping across the marshes."

The town of Bheims is little more than a ghastly heap of smashed rubble and rubbish. Only a few buildings arc habitable, and even these appear to hold peril for the pinched inhabitants—mostly caretakers —for no building completely escaped the hurricane of high explosives. But one's attention and ore 's pity always come back to the battered and broken Cathedral with (as Stevenson would have said) "(he day showing through its shattered ribs." The sole civil activity amidst the ruins of the town is the peddling of picture postcards showing, at high prices, the past glories of the place. It was interesting to note that one series of such cards reveal the fact that the Huns were encamped for eight days in September, 1914. before the then beautiful Cathedral.

The grandeur of Eheims lias gone, but its nobility will live forever in history, for on the shattered .towers of the ruined cathedral, high above the tier of saints and angels in carved stone, now a pitiful array of sculpture made grotesque by shell-fire, wave proudly and defiantly in the keen, clear spring winds of a tolerant Heaven the

flags of the free nations. These symbols of honour, liberty, and the love of lovely things, offer the only consolation amidst the ruins of Bheims. And these ruins arc as nothing if compared with those in the, north of Prance. And yet. and yet. at fins wonderful PeaceConference there are so-called great men who would preach forgiveness of our enemies!