"IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY."

Taranaki Daily News, 24 May 1919, Page 9

"IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY."

WELCOMING BACK THE SOLDIEE

(By Hal Berte)

"You little know the joy we feel Our Jack comes home to-day."

So runs the lines of a song very popular in the days when picture shows were unheard of, and vaudeville waß the popular class of entertainment This, however, is by the way, but merely an expression of the feelings of those who have the pleasure of welcoming back those who have braved the dangers of the battle-field, the horrors of prison camp, and the dread of submarining.

When he volunteered none of us believed the years would roll past and the experiences he would pass through would find him at the end the same old Jack, but—

Well, let us go back to the beginning. How big and strong and healthy he looked as he came up irom camp to pay his last visit to his dear ones! And how each took the final handshake! Mother always had a weakness fo- her soldier son, and as she clasped his hand in a warm good-bye quickly the main incidents of his life were conjured up in a vision that laid his life bare to her, like a kaledioscope unreeling a picture. His childish illness, the first day at school, and his dislike to being shut in. Always the inside walls of a school never appealed to him. Then his first 'ob, and how proud he was to receive his first wage, and when nicely settled down comes the war. And everything is changed. At school and on the football field Jack dearly loved a tussle, so it was only a few days before he announced that he had passed Al at Lloyds, to use a nautical expression, and was going to camp. And when-he left, there was no one to wave a handkerchief or friendly clasp as the ship carried him away. "No, I prefer to say good-bye in the home!" he had stated with a little catch in his voice, and we who might have gone refrained from seeing the embarkation. And' his Cist letters. He did not forget Taranaki, and as the steamer left Wellington he remarks on how old Mt. Egmout stands out iike a beacon giving him a farewell that would always be rememorised wherever fate took him.

And then in Egypt. Letters always interesting if brief. Later on he becomes war-weary, or is it homesick? He becomes very solicitous about the welfare of a dog or his bicycle. And then the Gailipoli venture, and his good fortune there until one day a cable reaches us that "Private is wounded, and the Minister of Defence hopes, etc." Those were the nights when all were anxious. Nobody said much, but the mother of all refused to believe that her boy was going under. Then his recovery and return to Gailipoli, followed by the German submarines in the Mediterranean. Here we follow hia next venture. On board the Marquette and submarined, and in the water in the morning until the afternoon when those clinging to a raft were picked up by a British destroyer and taken to Salonika His letters from that famous city gave a few details of this mishap. A New Plymouth nurse was in the water with them and putting her on the raft, the others cling to the sides, and passed the weary hours in the icy-cold waters singing with teeth chattering like castenets. Twice they had hopes of rescue, but apparently the Greek and probably an Italian sailer did not see them, and h\ the meantime some of the weaker constituted soldiers had released their hold and sank. Watching a man drown and powerless to help ia anything but pleasant. And then the run to Salonika. He tells us gratefully how the British bluejackets shared all available clothing to the soldiers, and even the nurse had a dry rig out whilst their own apparel was being dried. At Salonika we next heard

that troops were going to France and then we hear from him again. He tells us the winters are fearful and the frozen snow and ice made the roads like concrete, and then he writes that they are standing over the knees in cold, clammy clay. Things move very well with him, and then the news of a holiday in Blighty. This is perplexing at first, but we soon learn that this is trench slang for England, and then he grows enthusiastic about Glasgow and the Scotsmen—and lassies. Back in Jfrance, and then just a few lines, hut they are vivid. "Been through Messines.' Knew you would be anxious. Feel a bit shaken and prefer to say nothing about our poor chaps." And bo. we can follow his happenings. Sometimes his letters were not too bright. Letters were not reaching him; he wanted papers, etc., and here all hands were sending letters, parcels, etc., and then his next letter. "Just imagine how pleased I am. Received a batch of 30 letters, ateo parcels, and cake was all right." Right through the piece he is anxious to see the end of the game and the Werraan hordes subdued, and with the he begins to think once again of home, sweet home. Then he is fortunate enough to he one of a small ihand of New Zealanders who travelled 'five days up the valloy of the Meuse, t«nd writes gloriously of the delirious | joy of the French inhabitants as they farewell the colonials in their journey ,to German territory. And last of all his triumphant letter depicting crossing the famous ffohenzollcrn bridge at Colfogne, and finally his disappointment at being taken ill on German soil at the last stage of the operations.

But like the close of a summer's day the end is approaching,'and the mother of all receives a telegram that her boy is arriving per troopship . And as the day approaches each and all try to depict what he is like after four years' absence. The mother does not say much. She usually is quiet and prefers to sit alone and meditate. The youngest girl, in the flapper stage, does not conceal her joy. She has had many girl friends welcome relatives home, and says she wished she had someone to welcome, and now her turn is coming, and her excitement is pardonable. The "baby" of the family, a boy, is all eyes and ears at the mention of the return of the elder brother, and by the time ! the day arrives he will be turning somersaults, and whistling like a fifo band. I At last the day arrives when our hoy [boards the train from Wellington- The hours that day are long, time seems slow, an eternity. The "flapper" has no appetite; she ia restless and impatient. The "baby" is all talk—and whArtle—oxeapt at the lunch hour. Mother is bright and her eyes are gristening, hut she has good control of her emotions, [and the otber members, although mak[insrjßO demonstrations, are keyed up with excitement and pleasurable anticipations, •and now we are at the station. Not all, the mother, the grandest ladv in ithe land, prefers to remain behind. " Her greeting to her soldier is too sacred for the public gaze, so she will be patient a little loneer asd greet her son as she farewelled him—at home. The.band is on the platform; so are maav hundreds of peepk, but we possess eves for onlv «• taftrtdu*. n» bud i» jOwrta*

"Home, Sweet Homo," and people a* crowding round. Soineoae bumps aatt bangs with a portmanteau and vainly beg- permission to bo allowed to get through. "Hullo, there, kid," and the "Klapuer" has her wish. She receives the first greeting and in a moment "Our Jack's come home to-day," and the band may be playing, and people cheering, but we do not hear. All are oblivious to their surroundings except that once more the family is united, and a patient mother is waiting at home.