NEW ZEALANDER IN FRANCE.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LVII, Issue 151, 21 November 1914, Page 6

NEW ZEALANDER IN FRANCE.

'•LORD GEORGE MURRAY, DON'T YOU KNOW." Dr. W. Johnston, a graduate of Otago University, who subsequently practised for a time, in the Wairarapa, was in Edinburgh when the war broke out, and immediately went to the front. Writing to his parents from St. Nazaire, under date September 23, he says: —"We arrived at Havre about August 24 in a transport crowded with horses and troops and along with large numbers of officers and men of the Royal Army Medieal Corps, and with some 2000 tons of medical equipment. Some of our party were field ambulances, and have disappeared at the front. They keep the general hospital as far i?i the rear as possible, and only send up stationary hospitals (2.")ll beds capable of being shifted i;< a few hours) and field ambulances. T'le casualties of the British are enormous so far —IS.OOO in six weeks. The wounded are nearly all hit by shrapnel. They say the German artillery is superb, and their wonderful accuracy in finding the range at first shot is the talk of all. In this the aeroplanes render indispensable service. The German infantry are treated lightly; their fire is .stupid and erratic, and they simply won't face the bayonet. Our infantry fire is marvellously accurate. The casualties among the Germans are awful. The soldiers say it makes them sick to see the -way they fall. They advance abreast, shoulder to shoulder. The tales of heroism are never exaggerated. Life is cheap. Blood is spilt like water. The English soldiers pay the highest compliments to the motor cycle despatch riders and to the British aviators, who constantly take awful risks to render the generals particulars of the utmost value.

"We have put through 1800 wounded via Rouen, Havre, St. Nazaire already. Troops continue to arrive. I have seen the most sorry sights. . . To-day one of my sergeants went up to a hairyfaced, dirty-looking chap lying on a stretcher. His head was bandaged, and his trouser leg ripped up to the thigh, and bandages and cottun-wool round his knee. '-What's your number?" said thr sergeant. Our friend on the stretcher laughed heartily and looked up and said: 'Got no number, sergeant; am—er —l'm Lord George Murray, Guards, don't you know.' The sergeant nearly fell over. I walked across and spoke to him. I had been introduced to him at Blair Athol three years ago. He is a brother of the Marquis of Tuillibardine (Scottish Horse fame). The wounded are most cheerful. Some are very ill and. very wretched, but very few refuse a smile to you. If they don't Bmile or joke or make some facetious remark, you may take it they are badly hit. Most of the wounds are in the feet and legs. The shell fire must be appalling. Most of the men have a dazed, stupid look, their faces are thin and pinched, and their khaki clothes are caked in mud. They say the German trenches are masterpieces, of construction. We have over 200,000 of the best we've got there now, and more to follow."