BELLEVUE AND PASSCHENDAELE.

Taranaki Daily News, 28 December 1917, Page 7

BELLEVUE AND PASSCHENDAELE.

TIIH NEW ZEALANOEIiS' HEROIC ADVANCE. OVER A SHELL-PITTED MORASS. WHERE OUR LADS WERE CUT UP. (By H, W. Burridge, Chaplain Otago Battalion). France, Oct. 25, 1917. This month has been a memorable one for New Zealander.s in France. I wrote a few weeks ago about the month's rest enjoyed by the division in beautiful hilly country some 30 miles back from the line—quite the longest spell we have had since we came to France. We moved out again towards the end of September, and a few days' march brought us into the fighting zone again—this time, as we had. anticipated, into the famous Ypres sector. From Poperinghe to Ypres—ra distance of seven miles—the road presented a sight we are never likely to forget, comparable only to the road, from Albert to the Soinme. From end to end it was one vast moving mass of men, horses, mules, guns, motor lorries, ambulance cars, "caterpillars," traction engines, etc.,—and naturally, long blacks were of frequent occurrence. The whole Empire seemed to be represented on that stretch of road, and it was a memorable experience to pass up and down it as I did many times during the next few weeks. Why Fritz did not shell it more than he did—for it was well within the range of his heavy guns—was somewhat of a mystery to me. Several Scotch and English regiments passed us on their way back from the line and gave our boys a rousing welcome. New Zealanders and "Jocks" especially have always seemed to "hit it" well in this campaign, and as -you know, the majority of our boys on leave invariably make for north of the Tweed. Soon we came in sight of the ruins of Ypres, and after a night's bivouac in the open a mile away my battalion went forward through its pave streets—kept in wonderful order in spite of constant shell fire and bombing—past the remains of its once famous Cloth Hall and Cathedral, on to a point about four miles distant passing en route the sites of some of the most fiercely contested battles of the early period of the war, where Lord French's thin line of khaki had kept at bay, but with enormous loss of life, hosts of Germans many times their superior in numbers—'but in nothing else. We saw sign posts with names we had often read about, many of which will surely always have a wealth of meaning for Britishers everywhere, such as Solvation Corner, l)ead End, Menin Road, Lille Gate.Tflell Fire Corner, Ft. .Tean, 'St. Jtflien Road, and many others. The cruel hand of war had twisted and distorted everything into a repulsive ugliness, but this is for ever sacred and classic ground for the people of our far flung Empire, and here if anywhere we felt the truth of Rupert Brooke's famous lines—

If I should die, think only this of me That there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England. ' There shall in that rich earth a richer dust concealed.

Soon we were in crater land, and there my battalion "held the line" for five or sis days. "The line" in that part consists as you probably know of a few score out of a, few million shell holes of all sizes, some so large that you could comfortably put a horse and cart into them. The weather at this time was good and our boys were fairly comfortable, although we suffered loises owing to enemy shell fire. While we were there two other New Zealand brigades made a successful push on October 4, with comparatively light casualties, among the number killed, however, being one of the most popular Church of England padres in the Division, the Rev. Bryan Brown, of the 3rd Canterbury Battalion, who was instantly killed by a shell just outside a former German "pill-box."

After being a few days in reserve we were again sent forward this time for the "real thing." Just before we moved up I hud a communion service on the edge of an enormous shell hole, attended by some thirty or forty 'boys of my battalion, a number of whom I shall not see here again. The setting and circumstances were such as to make it one of the rao.Hl memorable services of the kind that I have known in my experience. The position allotted to me, and also to Padre McLean, was with the battalion doctor, in a very large concrete blockhouse, out of which the Hun had o heen pushed only a few days previously, and situated close to what was once a road about 300 yards from the German line. My journey by night along that ■ "road" through "Flanders mud —heavy rain had fallen just previously—was an experience also d;hat I shall not forget. It took me three hours to do five miles, and I was several times hopelessly bogged, and had to get the boys near to haul me out by main force. The light of fiernan (lares was invaluable in helping lis to locate our destination, where we arrived about midnight. This particular blockhouse, called Waterloo Farm, had walls of concrete fully fift thick, and was large enough to have puShed into it at one time nearly 100 men. When wo arrived there we found the place crowded with English wounded, whom it had nut been possible evidently to evacuate after a push several days previously—a situation which naturally created considerable difficulty to our own medical stall', as we had to try to get those poor fellows away somehow in order to deal effectively with our own wounded in the rapidly approaching "stunt." Six men were required lor one stretcher case in that wilderness of mud and slime, into which men often sank up to their waists, and every such ease had to be carried from three to four miles to the nearest advance dressing station. The process of evacuating these wounded men was therefore a painfully slow one, although doctors a*d stretcher-bearers worked like heroes, often under shell fire. There were still a considerable number of wounded Tommies inside that dugout when our own testing time enmo, and the result was a congestion that added materially to the difficulties of the situation for our own wounded.

I do not cam to dwell in thought on some of the scenes I witnessed during tho hmivs r spent in and around Waterloo. Tim beginning for iu was at 5,25 a.m. on October 12, and none who saw it and came out alive will forget the opening barrage ,-ind the steady advance of our splendid troops over that shell-pitted morass straight towards the low ridge' (the Bellevue Spur) beyond wfliich could he seen the ruined village of Passehendaele—onr ultimate objective. I "nM seen the barrage at Mcssiws, but t)>'s was a far more impressive spectre for me, for I was much further forward, and able to see our kurs spring out of tho shell-holes ao-fte distance to the r nr t »r«l forward m if on

parade, while above and around them roared' the incredible din of hundreds of guns of all calibres. So ircincndous was "the noise that audible speech was almost impossible onlside the dugout. For a time nil seemed to go well. Those thin khaki lines went steadily with comparatively few gaps in Hie" ranks. Then it gradually became evident that the advance had somehow been checked. From a number of concrete "pill boxes" on the ridge poured a hail of machine-gun. 'bullets, and the sharp crack of snipers' rifles could be frequently heard. Around the pill-boxes could be seen dark masses of what turned out to bo uncut barbed wire. Almost alt the rest of the story I have gathered from the lips of men who came out of that fearful ordeal two days later. Our men were compelled to halt and to drop into shell holes, while heroic endeavors were made by our officers and picked men to reconnoitre and, if possible, outflank and bomb these obstructin" pill-boxes. During the^e'endeavors many of our finest officers lost their lives. German snipers and machine-guns were especially deadly, and it was impossible to raise one's head above the level of a shell hole without incurring the risk of instant death, The barbed wire—unfortunately uncut by artillery—proved to be an insurmountable obstacle, and after many hours heroic efforts our sadly thinned line WS9 ordered to fall back a little while preparations were made to destroy the obstructions with heavy guns. This has since been done, and relieving troops have won the ridge and are now on the outskirts of Passchendaole, practically the summit of the roveted ridge that looks down on the plain of Belgium beyond. Friday, October 12, saw the first real cheek experienced by New Zealanders in this war—because of; the facts I have given it cannot be called a failure. Any criticism of the situation from a military point of view is, of course, impossible. This much can be said with truth that never have New Zealand troeps fought more splendidly. Our losses were severe, but not abnormally so considering all the circumstances. Still it was with a heavy heart that I walked among the little groups of the men of my battalion when we got hack into reserve, and found that so many of those I had known and respected were away wounded, or else would never return to their homes. It has been a sad task to write to the next of kin of those who have made the supreme sacrifice—quite the heaviest of the kind I have had. A considerable number also are missing, but it is quite possible, I think, that some at least of these arc in German hands, as German stretcher-bearers are known to have taken away several of our wounded during a period of what was p.actically an armistice during the day following the action. Information as to the fate of these men should foe forthcoming in due course, though .probably not for some time.

Afterwards it was my duty, in company with a burial party, to search part of the battlefield, and to bury the dead. I do not think that any part of a chaplain's duty so terribly reveals the horrors of war as' this. From shell hole to shell hole we wandered—sometimes forced to take cover owing to shellfire—laying to rest and saying a brief prayer over the battered remains of men who had given their all in this tremendous conflict. *

We were, not sorry to «ay good-bye to Ypres, at least for a time. Now we are back in rest, and the Division is being reinforced, and will boob be up to* strength again. Where we are to go afterwards I know not. I can understand the feelings of many of our fel-* lows vho wish Dhftt it was all over—and sometimes I think the day is not [very far distant.