SCENES IN FRANCE.

Taranaki Daily News, 1 August 1918, Page 2

SCENES IN FRANCE.

FLEEING FROM-: THE HUNS. . The following vivid', picture, is drawn. 'By a New Zealand 1 soldier in the course of a-letter- to at New Plymouth friend:— Everywhere,, even, in war-worn.France,, nature seems; to be; lovely—every prospect pleases and. only man. (and his evidence) is vile.. Tha land has taken on its spring freshness once again and the weather up till the last few days has been, lovely,. But how could one .admire all these firings, when coming along* the roads„ over the spurs and through the. valleys, could be seen littla parties of refugees evacuating from threatened villages. They come with. all their world goods—or such as~ they could carry, piled high upon a:huge, farm cart. May be a couple of young children may ride upon the load, but Usually tho whole family walks. The farmer drives the horse, walking beside' it, A. couple of cows are led behind the cart, and possibly an- old granniehobbles along behind with, a stick and leading another cow.. The missus drives a calf or two, or wheels a pram with the two blbies and a few other things in it. The remainder of the family string out behind, and the mademoiselle, in her Sunday best, limps lamely along in the rear, because of the ridiculously high-heeled and thin-soled shoes she wears.. She also carries a hat-box', too precious to be trusted amongst the furniture, and thus proclaims her sistership with, mademoiselles tho world over. But the.' faint humor of tho picture in no way/ covers the pathetic tragedy ofYifc all. Tho many fly, but there are-a, few who remain, and these, strangely enough, are generally old women, often quite alone: Maybe they do not valuo life enough to go to the trouble of moving, or it may be that they cannot bear to leave their old homes, scenes of so much happiness I and sorrow, to the destructive hands of strangers, for—l am sorry to have to j admit it—there are a. number (happily a small minority) of soldicra who are absolutely ruthless with regard to evacuated homes, and others during a time like this have so much to attend to that they absolutely cannot, protect other property than that which they are billeted in.

The last to. leave a village is the old priest. Not only does he attend 1 to his liltlo remnant of a flock, but he also walks through the street, and as best ho enn in French and a word or two of English lets the soldiers know that they are welcome to his sacrament. '

I am going to roll up in- my blanket' now, curl up in the straw in the old! bam, forget all about the guns outside 1 and tho waggons clattering by, and dream that leave has commenced.-again..