FROM DUG-OUT AND BILLET.

Taranaki Daily News, 23 August 1916, Page 2

FROM DUG-OUT AND BILLET.

OFFICER'S LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. A rather remarkable war-book was lately published at Home, entitled "From Dug-out and Billet." It consists of an officer's letter to his mother, of whom Be is passionately fond. The book makes a special appeal to all women who have lost husband, brother, sweetheart, or other dear one in the great war. The letters touch 011 many things; the feelings of a man at the front, both in regard to what he sees there and what he hears of the happenings at home, are expressed in a moving way, and there are many graphic descriptions. A delicate love interest runs through the book, which is a human document. The cheeriness of the writer is remarkable. This is what lie says about his fellow soldiers: — "I really think all the good men of the nation are out here already. It would do your heart goojl to see the brotherly spirit that prevails among all classes, lords and laborers, dukes and dustmen. What a happy world it would be if all but the commanding few were paid no more, than seven bob a wok, and their hours of labor were controlled by nothing but necessity! Then if you deported the able-bodied louts who expect others to do their fighting for them, and put a painless end (preferably at the dog's home) to the noisy eleventh hour patriots who are interfering with the conduct of this war, we should celebrating the Millennium." TOMMY AND THE NEWSPAPER. He is very critical on newspapers, presenting one or two rapier thrusts to the bare bosom. They are full up in the trendies with war news and "we'd much rather read about the Derby and the Leger than what 'the long-range' correspondent has to say about Neuve Chapclle. . . . Why can't somebody print a paper for us fellows at the front with all the war news left out?" Describing a nurse, he makes the following picture: "Last vejir she was fair, Hue and white, with spangled fan at a dance. Butter would not melt in her month. Now she's by way of being a capable understudy to a swagger Harley Street surgeon. She just looks at you, and you do what you're told. She's 20, and she's seen men die, and helped them over their last fence in style. When the war's over and she marries she'll be one of the mothers of real men."

DYING CANADIAN'S TABLEAU. The following is a touching realistic episode. The officer was reading a letter he bad received-from his darling mother. A wounded Canadian was lying near, and dying. He v.'ondercd why the officer was sc fascinated; and he explained it to himself by saying rather loudly: "Some fool skirt, I suppose." The dying man was told the missive was from mother, and he asked to see it and rend it. Ultimately it was handed over to the Canadian. He turned away and read it through, and then seemed to fall asleep, Shortly afterwards, "Up went his hands to the bandage round his head and he had it off. Nurse came running up and asked him what he meant by being so naughty and fixed him lip again. " 'Sorry, sis,' he apologised. 'I must have been dreaming I had a, hat on and took it off to a lady.'" He added to the officer: "My, you are rich." He did not remember his own mother, and broke down. He asked to be allowed to add a sentence or two to the officer's letter, just going to post. He wrote well, and asked that the mother write to him also a few kind words. She- did, but the good-hearted fellow died the day before the letter came to band. I know nothing that has touched me like this for a long time. UNFORGIVABLE ATROCITIES. Speaking of German atrocities, in allusion to the ideas of slackers, conscientious objectors, and such-like fellows, he say:— "There are German deeds beyond forgiveness, which ought to be avenged in this world as well as the next. "I've seen some of them and heard first-hand about others. There is something inconceivable about the brutalities of the Germans. They don't bear talking about. But I would have liked to show Canon Lyttelton and other clergymen who preach about toleration to our enemies, a little church we came across a month ago. There were sights there to awe a religious man. The place was wrecked, and wrecked in a way that only fiends could have thought of. If anyone needed convicting that this is a holy war in which the enemy are the powers of Darkness and no other, they had but to look on that hellish devastation, ribald words scrawled on a crucifix, holy images defiled, even a statue of the Virgin and Child disfigured. It was such a girlish little Virgin, a face so serene and happy. The brutes had. hacked it about and stuck the stump of one of their foul cigars—taken the trouble to gum it—between the holy, smiling lips! Can you wonder at their rrimes against the mothers and sisters and wives of Belgians and Frenchmen? What would thev not do to the mothers of Englishmen if they could—if thev ever see the Day?"