AT THE FRONT.

Taranaki Daily News, 3 August 1917, Page 6

AT THE FRONT.

BEHIND THE LINES, A PEN 'PICTURE BY A TARANATCI BOY. • Writes Sergeant Hugh Fraser to his Wither (Mr, Murdoch Fraser, of New Plvmouth):—. J lie guns still boom with the consistency of yesterday, and every now and then the persistent Fritz sprinkles n 'little more debris in the air,' and adds more chaos to the shattered and dilapidated village 'which is now our liome. Imagine, say Currie Street, after a lire had swept both sides so that only the crumbling ruins here and there, and you will gather some idea of our surroundings. At about tho line of the Itenui river are the front trenches. 'Behind us our artillery lends greetings to l'ritz jnight and day; from the front the still air of a glorious summer's day is frequently rent by Fritz's shells, vvuich burst unpleasantly close, and litter the street with wreckage and crumble up the ruined village into greater disorder, i am writing in a room which is typical of the very best hospitality the village can oiler. The iloor, once solidly paved, is broken and rugged, the walls unkempt and lilthy, the 'windows and door open to the world, while a crippled bed and two broken chairs complete the furniture. On the wall are two enlarged photos apparently of the parents who lived here. They look down on a pretty poor apology of their old home. Of course, the village has been completely deserted by its population, and a strange contrast is provided around these ruined homes in the overgrown gardens and orchards, and where the shells have spared them, cherry, pear, and other fruit trees stand out in all their fresh greenery loaded 'with the beginnings of a generous harvest of fruit. The fields around carry crops here and there, but for the most part they are left for the grass and a great variety of beautiful wild flowers to run riot over them. Can you picture the strangeness of it all? ■Fruit and flowers prospering in perfect summer weather represent tho last element of gladness in this little village behind the line—a village which very day is rendered more broken. Similar scopes of desolation mark the trail of the war all the way behind the line where we passed on our 'way here. Our brief halt here has given us a good introduction to the war because wc have been under shell lire all the time, and the good stall" has been bursting quite close around us. To-morrow I am going up into tho trenches for tho first time, and so when next I write I will be able to speak of closer acquaintance with this disturbing locality. A good part of our train journey here from the port at which wo landed was in daylight, and our first glimpses of France showed us a glorious country. Flat country, for tho most part, it is fairly thickly wooded in parts, and there is much in common with the English rural scene, though the quaint arehltee-' ture of the towns and villages remove the impression of similarity (between the two countries. A striking feature of peaceful France—in these parts there is little in indicate the proximity of the wa r—is the extensive agriculture everywhere. Intense cultivation prevails all through, and one sees few localities where the soil is not generously tilled. Comfortable homesteads, acres of orchards, and fields of crops were scattered all a'ong our journey to defeat any impression of war. Hereabouts, the contrast is provided in ruin and desolation.