THE NEW ZEALAND FRONT.

Taranaki Daily News, 2 September 1916, Page 10

THE NEW ZEALAND FRONT.

SOMK VIVID IMPULSIONS. THF. TKKNVHES FKOM WITIII.V. OVKKWHKLMLNG AVALANCHE OF SHELL PREPARING. (Hy Major (Dr.) irartiti.) Somewhere in France, .May 29. As you know, tlic New Zea landers arc in France and are (o-day, and have ken fl »' *<> littlr time, in the trenches. I liavc, lint an hour .since, returned from a torn- of our front, line trenches, the support line and the subsidiary line. I liavc, rubbed against men from" Canterbury, Otago, Wellington anil Auckland districts. I have had friendly grins from men whose people 1 know'in N.Z., and from men whom I have known well in civilian days, and midst civilian scenes. "I-a, vie inilitairc" is a wonderful "vie." It brands us all khaki and registers us as so many khaki units, feeds us, cloths us, arms us and buries us—by numbers and at the word of command. We wear discs like prize cattle at a Manawatu Show. The disc s bear our names, our numbers, our unit and our religion. The religion C.K. or R.C., or any other, is a guide to the Padre, and determines the ritual at that short, and last ceremony which is inevitable, sometime, to us all, for is it not written that all men are mortal and the Earth is the common mother of us all? "BLOODED." Our men have already suffered some casualties, some are dead, some severely wounded, some slightly wounded. We have been "Wooded." How T hate, that phrase. It is as bad as "Baptism ol Fire." Journalists at. the front write glibly that this or that battalion has been "blooded"—has had its first fipht. What does it mean ? Tt means wounded men. dead men, tears, heartaches. What is Baptism of Fire but a burial service for many or for few, certainly always for some. ~Sot two miles fro'ni where 1 write is a grassy field near a ca«al. The field ha s heen fenced with barbed wire and marked off into plots. There are already fifteen grave mounds in tlii.s field, and at the head of each grave is a small wooden cross bearing a me)tal disc with the name, number and regiment of the man who lies below. It also bears the inscription "Killed in action" and the date. Here lie the first men of the New Zealand Division who have been killed in the trenches in France.

"NOTHING TO REPORT." We have been here about sixteen days, and this part of the front is said to be quiet and "cushy," that is, like a cushion, or soft and velvety. In the army a "cushy" place is a quiet, soft place, but f have my doubts aboiit "cushy" places. The official communiques have not mentioned thi s place for some time. We come under the heading, "On the rest of the front there is nothing to report." They never even say of us, "There has been some slight activity." Comparatively, we are quieter than many other parts of the line, but if you think that we have "nothing to report'" and show no signs of "activity," then, my friend, you arc wrong. Tn these so-called quiet lines and on quiet days men go down to the big ditches and arc brought back on stretchers. A quiet part of the line is not necessarily a part where one can stroll about at ease and swing a cane. No risks dare be taken even on the quietest day at the quietest part of the long line from Flanders to the Sommc. THE J'KRIL OF THE TRENCHES. The old soldier familiar with the ways of the Hun takes no chances. ~l{ he has to get out into the open and make a rush he will do it cheerfully enough, but at other times he will keep his head down, made a dodgy run past a sniping post, and lie low when whizz-bangs and other nasty things are flying through the air. The enthusiastic junior will take an intelligent and appreciative interest in his surroundngs, admire the foliage of the trees and listen to the birds enrolling. One day this joyful soul will peep over the trench parapet to look at Fritz's across the way. That ends the joy—he is brought back on a stretcher. If he is lucky and gets back again lie doesn't bubble with enthusiasm, but lie lies doggo and keeps his head down. In spite of all the lessons and all tinwarnings, old soldiers sometimes forget themselve and do the mad thing. The first morning we were up here a stretch-er-bearer belonging to the British Division we were relieving was brought in badly wounded. This man had done good work for ten months at Ypres and Hooge and at the Bluff, and on this particular morning was showing some- of our New Zealand stpeteher-bearers round the trenches and pointing out their future duties. The morning was quiet and peaceful, the dawn had just broken. So our friend put hig head above the parapet and had a look across at the Huns. "Zip!" and like a flash of lightning a bullet ripped through hig upper jaw and brain. When I saw him he was unconscious. Our stretcher-bearers got their lesson, and I bet you that none of them will look over a parapet on a fine quiet morning. Nevertheless, the temptation to look oyer is very great.

THROUGH A PERISCOPE. On looking into tho mirror of a periscope one can see the German line of trenches, the barbed wire, tho trees and houses in the distance, but not a living soul can he seen. Fritz is lying doggo, but many eyes are watching our line through peepholes, and if you wish to get up on the parapet and make sure, then you'll know. If Fritz shows himself on his part, then he also get it "in the neck" quick and lively, for we've got some crack New Zealand shots on constant watch from well hidden peep holes on our side of the barbed wire. NO EIGHT-HOUR DAY. Our men are very busy when in the trenches. There is an amazing lot of work to do, and the work of digging, picking, tunnelling and shovelling and sandbagging goes on night and day. Tlierifs no eight-hour day at the front, and the soldier doe* not go from labor to refreshment by union time-tables. Ho is not, however, overworked, and some part of the work is more risky than arduous as, for example, fixing up barbed wire at night in front of the trenches. We have had no hard-fighting up here yet, but all the same we are continually lighting, Ma\'im s and Lewis guns, heavy field guns, trench mortars, grenades and rifles are constantly at work, and none of them are noiseless. If the Hun gets vicious and plumps big shells into us, we retaliate and plump big shells into him. Our gunners are conscientious, pious men who carry out the Mosaic laws and smite their enemies and all who oppose us. THE HAMMER OF THOR. It is whispered—but say it not in Gath —that when the time comes we can overwhelm the. Hun with an avalanche

of shell. But the time for the fulfilling of the prophecy is not yet, so our people must still have patience and wait a little longer. Of eventual victory for the Allies there can he no manner of doubt. The British organisation may be methodical even to the point of slowness. It may grind slowly, but it grinds exceeding small. We have over here a mighty army. Jt will be mightier yet, and one day it. will strike like the Hammer of Thor. When that "one day" will come I do not know. I certainly think that we will he fighting still in the summer of 1917. So cheer up! Make the best of a bad job and put a stout heart into a stae brae. v A DWELI-Eli IN A BRICK KILN. 1 am at present living in a brick kiln. Up to now I had never taken any interest in brick kilns except to think that they were probably necessary but very ugly structures. But a brick kiln is a very interesting place, especially if you have to live in one. Try it. Get three blankets and a waterproof sheet and sleep in a kiln by night. Have your meals in it and walk round it all day. No telephone bells, no evening papers, no worries of any sort. There are many worse places than brick kilns—and there are many better places than the county gaol. This particular brick kiln "somewhere in France" is at present occupied by myself and servant, a soldier cook, four ambulance stretcher-bearers and a sergeant, and two other soldiers, one of whom is the guard. This latter walks about with a fixed bayonet and his dut> it to ring a bell and let off a foghorn when the Germans turn on asphyxiating gas. I have a stove with a cheery fire in my brick kiln, and have sandbags on the roof and at odd places round the outside walls. UP SEAR THE TRENCHES. This brick kiln and the personnel constitute what is known in the Army as an "Advanced Dressing Station." "Advanced" refers to its situation only, and not! to the ideas or state of mind of the personnel. Our ideas or mental states are not at all advanced, but our situation decidedly is. That explains the sandbags and also why we occupy the kiln. We are pretty "well up" (I was going to say "fed up" but thought better of it). Our trenches are not far away-neither are Fritz's—and if Fritz took it into his head to blow us to h , was, as far as I can see there is nothing particular to stop him. We are all right from shrapnel and whizz-bangs, but not from the heavy metal Fritz has in his blacksmith's shop. Shrapnel is constantly dropping on our roof, and daily, hourly, heavy explosives burst round us in the fields—for our brick, kiln is in the country nearby a ruined village. We are surrounded by British batteries, and Fritz is constantly trying to get at them. So far he hasn't got any, for they are snugly concealed and tucked away in the most ingenious fashion. Fritz sends his aeroplanes out to look for them; then our batteries don't speak—mum's the word. .When the aeroplanes go away our guns wake up and send their whirling messages into the hostile line. Fritz's shots at them and their shots at Fritz pass over our brick kiln. THE ROAD WOUNDED MEN CO. I said before that our brick kiln i s interesting and that we were fed up, 1 mean well up. One end of our building is under observation from a German sniper. One man was nearly scuppered there last week. I avoid that corner as the devil avoids holy water. Three steps from this corner there is a com. municating trench running across a field in a zig-zag fashion to the regimental aid post, where the regimental officer live s in a dug-out. The wounded from the battalion in action are carried down this trench on stretchers by our ambulance bearers and the reinforcements and relieving troops going to the front trench also use this as the footpath. This trench has sandbag parapets and a "duck-walk" or wooden floor made up of small transverse pieces of wood lying on beams. All the trenches have these wooden tracks or "duck-walks."

When it wounded man is brought into our Dressing station we examine him and do any emergency first aid and send him off by a motor ambulance to the field ambulance headquarters some short distance back. From there the man is sent to a casualty clearing station, and then on to a ™neral ■>_ base hospital. So this dressing station is only one of the "stations"—the first station—on the via dolorosa of the wounded man. The road up to us from the Field Ambulance Headquarters is not a safe road by day, and most of our transport is,done at night. In urgent cases the ambulance travels along this road at any time and takes the risk. THE BRICK KILN'S RESOURCES. In a big emergency or bombardment we could accommodate a considerable number of wounded in our kiln. The accommodation would not be very good, but we could attend to their wounds, for we have the necessary dressings and appliances with us, and we could give the men hot soups and hot drinks until we got an opportunity to remove them to a place of safety—for the kiln is anything but a safe place.