FRANCE’S VIGIL

Wairarapa Times-Age, 29 December 1939, Page 2

FRANCE’S VIGIL

MAGINOT LINE DEFENDERS LIFE UNDERGROUND. NEW WONDER OF WORLD. A giant is stirring uneasily, but the War here is still not really awake. He groans in his sleep sometimes, but we can only guess when he will rouse himself (writes Richard Capell from the Maginot Line). It is like early morning in some enormous palace, a tyrant's palace. The master of the household is not up, but there is tremendous activity among the innumerable' servants. Privileged onlookers have been allowed to see the preparations for the day's work. They have been welcomed and shown without reserve all kinds of marvels, dreadful marvels, now in readiness for the entertainment of the risen giant. Never before was there anything of the sort so elaborately prepared. It is not on the surface. The eastern frontier of France will in 1000 years or so have nothing to show to remind posterity of the year 1939 comparable with Hadrian’s Wall or Offa's dyke. The Great Wall of China has not been rivalled as a picturesque spectacle by the Maginot Line.

LIKE SUBTERANNEAN BATTLESHIP.

The new wonder of the world is indeed characterised by its modest inconspicuousness. Here and there is a mushroom —so called —of concrete and steel, but there is hardly anything else to catch the eye of the casual passerby —if one can possibly imagine a casual passer-by in these parts. But, underground, French ingenuity has elaborated a new world, something between the London tube system and a battleship. “Subterranean battleship. - ’ The phrase is inevitable to describe the forts of the Maginot Line. It has been heard often in recent weeks, and still it was news to me. when enjoying the hospitality of the commandant of one of these forts, to find he was “the admiral” to his officers and men.

And, by the way, we no longer say “fort” in this part of the world. The word for the new thing which is a fort indeed, but one which assembles the resources of a half hundred techniques and sciences, is “ouvrage.” Throughout this visit to the new underground world it wanted a persistent effort to realise that one was not on board a battle cruiser of some strange navy where khaki was the wear. As much was said to a young gunner in one of the turrets. He answered with a shade of wistfulness: “Yes, but a real ship would sometimes put into port.” MASTERS OF THEIR MACHINE. Pride and confidence are the prevailing notes among these men, in their various ways so zealous, such complete masters of their complex machine.

But it would not bo fair to them —it would misrepresent the strange life they lead a hundred feet below ground —to leave unmentioned the trace of wistfulness. The outside world ought to be reminded of the sacrifice and strain which this life represents. Many of these guardians of the fort and its secrets have spent years in its labyrinths. Those labyrinths abound in comforts such as shower baths, lifts and tramways, and still the mere visitor has to confess to a feeling of relief when he is once again able to breathe the upper air. Above ground there is a world to all appearance placid. On most days the sound of a shell is a rarity. Cows are grazing between the belts of wire. We come across a young gunner who has in a leisure hour snared a hare.

A very few miles away there is a ridge, and you are told that the Germans are there. •'Let them come," says the commandant. The whole garrison longs for them to come. The garrison is on tiptoe. It is magnificently confident in itself and its marvellous machine. It knows itself impregnable. POSTAL DELAYS. I had the fortune to witness a surprise visit from no less an eminence than the Army Commander to a pioneer battalion working in a forest near the frontier. The daily shave is not in the French Army the almost religious obligation that it is with us; and the men as they came scrambling out of the undergrowth might have been taken for beings of a different species from the wonderful General, so refined and pale of face and so gloriously decorated. But in a moment his relationship with these muddy woodlanders'was established. It was almost fatherly. They crowded round him, and after but a moment's shyness there were plenty who did not wait to be spoken to before they chipped in. Things were not too bad they all agreed; but not everything was perfect. There was, for instance, the great question of delays in the Army postal service. The General questioned them closely. He wanted to know exactly how long it had taken for letters to reach them from home.

Ono man's complaint was that his people had not written to him for 10 days. The General did not rub it in t.oo hard that this might not be the fault of the Post Office. I do not know what, exactly is the power of an Army commander over the working of the postal service in the field; but when they went back into the woods the pioneers knew that a great man from on high had heard their grievances kindly and that he would assuredly do anything within reason to straighten tilings out. Where was there in the world to be found a more cheerful city than Strasbourg. in lhe days of peace? There was no place of its size where the people led a livelier bustle.

Today that bustle lias gone utterly; the people of Strasbourg have gone, nearly 200.000 of them. I have spent a day at Strasbourg, and the sight is one that eyes have perhaps never seen the

[ like of before—a great city, intact, and p deserted. I Geraniums flower on the balconies of I the houses, and the little trellises of ivy stand on lhe terraces of the cafes. But . in mile after mile of streets the blinds j are drawn, the shutters down. It is as ! though a magic spell had been cast. . The scene would be less strange if ’ there were but a few of the sounds of ■ war to be heard, and gashes to be seen in the empty streets, shell holes in the roadway. But Strasbourg is untouched; and not a shot is to be heard. ON THE OPPOSITE BANK. Meanwhile just across the river, a couple of miles away, are the Germans. The Frenchmen one end of the Kehl Bridge, the Germans the other. The last time I had approached that bridge it was to go on ordinary holiday to Baden Baden and the Black Forest. This time there was as little temptation to cross as there was possibility. To be at Strasbourg in war-time and not get to the bridgehead would have been disappointing. But so far was enough; one was happy to stop at the French end of the bridge, where, by the courtesy of the officer commanding the defence, glimpses were gained of Germans at work on the eastern bank. At the German end the curious belief seems to obtain that by means or soft words the French can be persuaded of the charm of Adolf Hitler's character and the amiability of his intentions. They provide their opposite numbers on the Strasbourg shore with concerts’, sandwiching the music with political blandishments. One day a German soldier came waving a white handkerchief towards the middle of the bridge and threw a box of cigarettes across the wide barricade. HITLER BOMBING THREAT. There seems at the same time to be a belief across the river that wordy threats may affect the defence. One can read at the whole distance of the flood- ( cd Rhino a quotation from Hitler, exhibited in letters of the size of an ad- . vertisemont hoarding. It is a saying pointless enough. But the Germans ; must set great store by it. to judge by the trouble they have put themselves to, making it readable at 300 yards away.

The saying is to the effect that “after a few hours of jolly good bombing’ the state of mind of the "warmongers" will be thoroughly changed. The gist of the propaganda at the eastern end of the bridge is that England is the warmonger and that France could enjoy a cmiet life if she would only retire from the conflict. The French smile grimly. Tito German cigarettes retrieved from the Kehl bridge were despatched down the line for authoritative analysis.