WAR GLIMPSES.

Taranaki Daily News, 29 August 1917, Page 2

WAR GLIMPSES.

THROUGH FRANCE AND TO THE TRENCHES. LETTER PROM A NEW PLYMOUTH BOY. Writes Sergeant Hugh Eraser, formerly a member of the literary staff of tile News, under date June 39: Coming to the war from New Zealand provides a strange mixture of impressions. In New Zealand one lias a feeling of war, hut distance deadens reality. Three weeks in a city full of sunshine and gladness, making life light and cheerful—l refer to Capetown as 'we found it, brimful of all the joys of its happy summer season—made us fee] and behave like holiday trippers instead of soldiers going to war. Then in England we were at the front door to the war, as it were, and were just putting the last touches to ourselves before going in. Things were different. Soldiers 'were everywhere; the country was in khaki; hut we got used to this, and did not feel any nearer to the war. Then France; but here there was nothing to encourage either the feelings or pictures of war. For two days 'we rode in a train through continual scenes of a beautiful cuntry, which, to all outward appearances, required nothing to enhance its rural beauty, while the people in the villages seemed to live in a land where everything that goes to make life good and prosperous was plentiful. Intense' agriculture, to an extent not seen in England or the colonies, told of vast industry on the land, and showed signs of the bountiful harvest which Franco 'will this year reap as the results of an industrious and thorough system of tilling the soil. As the war has found new employment for the men of the farming community, it was but natural to find the workers comprised women, elderly men, •and boys, and though their number must be considerably less than those employed in normal times, it was an exception to meet with any great area of suitable laud which was- not covered ■.with a rich variety of crops. Later we .were to discover that even in the shell swept localities behind the firing line the same sense of importance of getting a return from every idle piece of land exjsts. The French people do not waste an acre, and tho country provides a striking'object lessqn to other countries iu working the soil at its full capacity. Acres of orchards smothered in bloom were scattered all along the line and in tho glorious summer sunshine 'which has given Franco delightful weather i-ince we arrived no one would associate war with these scenes of a fertile and picturesque country. That is how tilings looked from (ho outside, and though the war has robbed the homes of gardens, and certain as it is that complete happiness lias been taken from these fanning folk, yet they have tended to their land, their cattle, and their orchards so thoroughly that hunger will not add to their trials and troubles. Where the destructive 'wave of war has not encroached on France, there lies an cpdlcss picture of a fair and beautiful country, for where this vast sea of crops slop in places there are beautiful wooded valleys and hills, glorious in a hundred and one different tints of green, which are reininibcont of pleasant English scenes. STRIKING CONTRASTS. But as I told you at the, beginning tins business of going to the war takes one through scenes of striking contrast, and next day found us looking on tho other side of the picture. Our battery had received orders to leave the New Zealanders and join an English regiment in the line, and most of that day was spent in marching along the wearying cobblestoned roads 'which led us to the village which was to be our headquarters. Life .there was plenty; there was a ceaseJess bustle of traffic, but it all centred on equipping, feeding and moving the army. The natural life that should have ■been here was dead, and all traces of .peaceful labors were burned in the wreckage of buildings torn and riddled by shell-fire. Through groat holes in their sides one saw the ruined and lifeless interiors of farm-houses, shops, and dwellings on the street. It was as if a great fire had swept through the village and left a picture of desolation so complete that tho village did not offer a habitable shelter. The inhabitants had long ago fled and the grass grew riotously in the gardens and in the fields. Three or four of these villages we passed through, and each was broken and. torn ■to a state of thorough destruction. In this country brick is the universal building material, and this tended to give the impression that these shattered shells of buildings were tho remains of some ancient dwellings of a bygone day. Certainly the ruins of an ancient city I should think would give just as unhoniely shelter as would these ruined villages of Northern France. , JUST BEHIND THE FIRING LINE. Soon 'we reached a village a short distance behind the firing-line, and to our I surprise we found many dwellings still intact and a fair number of people in their homes and their shops. Shells whistled in and about this village every day and every night, some to burst iu the fields already generously perforated with shell holes, and others to ruin a home, or make more complete the wreckage of a former shell. There is rich philosophy amongst some of these civilians who remain in tho war zone. "Why don't you go away?" I asked a French 'woman who has kept her little shop going and who can tell you of the days when tho Germans held the village, who has seen fighting in the streets, and who has never ventured beyond range of the guns. "No shell come here, so we stay," she replied. "But thero arc plenty about here," suggested my friend. "Yes, but not here yet," she replied, adding with a shrug of her shoulders and looking towards the ceiling, "but perhaps one come to-night, perhaps tomorrow; till then I stay." She had the philosophy of the whole of one's chance in his business. That is, you never know when you are going to get it, but until you do get it you go on and don't worry. "Perhaps to-night, perhaps to-morrow!" Later, when I would be doing my turn at night on sentry duty in the trenches, and would only have the shells whistling company'l used to ponder on this phrase, and I suppose every chap who has done that lonely hour or two has had similar thoughts. It sums up the whole, of a chap's chance in this game. IN THE TRENCHES. Two or more days consistent and somewhat thorough shelling of this village, aggravated oy a shower of gas shells in the early hours of the morning, saw the village rapidly desated of its people. We shifted, hut not before we had our first casualties. Some of us vrent up to the line; the remainder to now billets further back. Going through pleasant green fields ono did not feel as-

if one was going to war—except that everywhere the fields were dotted with shell holes—for the artillery on both sides was quiet, and there was that restful feeling in the air winch you can experience in open fields on a warm summer's day. Soon we entered the trench communicating with the front lines, and for a considerable distance we passed through such a veritable avenue of beautiful wild flowers—rich, red poppies ,were particularly abundant—that it «eemcd difficult to believe the destination of our path. Then torn trees, wrecked farm-houses, a dressing-station, a couple of wounded men on stretchers, heaps of varied war material, and "Tommies" passing to and .fro, told us we .were at last really at the war. Havine established our quarters, etc., we soon settled down to play our part, which for a week or tnJTgave us days full of interesting experiences. Day and night we carried out our little part in the big game; we came to know'what it was to be under steady enemy shell-fire; we learned too thoroughly what it was te go through gas attacks (on one occasion we had our gas masks on almost continuously from 11 p.m. until four o'clock tlie next morning); and ive saw some of our good companions car Vied off in the daily toll. There were times when wo had "the wind up." I don't mind admitting that several times I had that "funny feeling," but on the •whole life went pretty well, and after a spell one could go back to the trenches, feeling much mora at home. Sevoral times I looked through peviacopes at Fritz's front line about a hundred yards from us, and s aw the terrible havoc which our artillery had caused. There is one thing that at once strikes you at the front, and that is the enormous superiority of our artillery over that of the enemy. Consistency best describes ours, for we gave Fritz little rest dav or night, whereas his guns seemed to burst out at odd intervals, and for every shelf he sent we must have replied with ten or a dozen. And so in places where a push is not made this war goes on daily, shelling from side to side, searching lor guns behind and troops in the trenches. It is not 'without its daily excitement, but one is not surprised to had the old .hands bored at its moiiouocy.