"LEST WE FORGET."

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 31, 15 October 1920, Page 15

"LEST WE FORGET."

(By "X Rays").

A DAY IN THE LIFE" OF A BLIND DIGGER.

He was an Australian busb.man f ull of life and grit and energy. The longest day was never long for him nor the hardest work too hard. His earnings with the axe often reached £12 p,er week, - and sometimes more. After a Tiard week's work. he would ride to the nearest town and enjoy himself, and on Monday morning he would be as "fit as a fiddle," and the woods again resounded toYEe strokes of his axe. Sometimes he would lay aside his axe and listen to the sw,eet notes of the "beubird or some other hush warbler. One day" amidst these pleasant surroundingg he heard another call — one clear, distinct and plaintive. It was the call of the Motherland for help. He laid aside his axe and told his mates he was going to the great war for freedom, home, and country. Anyone could have his tools, he might come back, and — he might not. He was soon in khaki, and soon on the transport that hore nim away from the fast disappearing shore of his native land, and they vanislied irom his sight — for ever. Hard training oii the des,ert sands of Egypt, and then he found himself at the "landing" at the Dardanelles. After some dire and dangerous work there he was struck on the thigh, wliich was nearly shattered. He next found himself in hospital in good, kind hands. Before he had fully recovered he was sent back to Gallipoli again because men w,ere badly needed, and he fought on till the Evacuation. He had done enough to entitle him to he invalided home, £ut no, thous.an.ds of slackers enjoying life in Australia turned a deaf ear to the call, and he was sent to France. After months of severe and dangerousous service he'fell again at Posieres. A shell burst near him, smashed his jaw, liquid fire burned his eyeballs out,, and, in addition, he received 30 shrapnei t woundg in the body. This former bright Australian bush boy was sent back to the hospital an unrecognisable wreck. After many montlis' pain and suffering he was able to return to liis native land. He could not see its shores or blue skies, or the faces of his -dear ones — he was blind. Atter many weL comes and such pleasures as friends could give him he settled down to a life oi eternal night. To him the days are mostly the same, and this ig a fair sample : He is sitting up in his bed smoking a cigarette. The call of the birds remind him that day is breaking — he sees no difference — night and day are the same to 91 m ; all is darkness. He hears the rattle of the milkmen's carts, and this reminds him of the passing of artillery guns. He smokes on. He knows the people of the house are asleep and he does not wake them. Shortly the sun's golden rays peep through the window ; he does not see them. Presently there is a stir about the house, the inmates ar.e rising to begiri the day's work. He wishes he had work to go to, even with the axe. He sits down to breakfast, and the daintiest morsels at hand do not tempt him ; he cannot see them. Breakfast is over, and he sits on the verandah smoking cigarettes. The daily newspaper rests idly by. He hears the chatter of the children going to school ; he would like to be one of them again. and sometimes he thinks of his schooidays and the number of times he "played the wag" and robbed birds' nests and orchards. If he is fortunate ho may get a friend to take him down town for a walk. He grips the arm of his friend, and if a tram bell clangs or a motor horn hoots close by he grips harder and halts. His nerves are shattered, and he who faced the guns and bayonets at Posieres feels a danger in these ordinary street noises. He hears the conversation of the people as they ,pass by on their way to work, and he wonders why people with their limbs and sight can grumble at anything. Occasionally he meets an , old mate from his battalion, ' and he smiles as they talk of the hard da.ys at the front and some of the good days in France and Blighfy. For the moment he forgets his affliction. Wlien walking through the streets the blind digger ought to have the "right of way;" he doesn't always get it. Sometimes a flapper will carelessly hump him, or a profiteer who did not go to the war will brush him aside in his hurry to go and profiteer sonfe more. The afternoon, perhaps is spent at home. If the housework is finlshed (it

seldom is) someone may read to him while he smokes. Strange to say, he enjoys descriptive articles 6n the various hattles, and in his mind's eye he can see the whole of the movements of the army, and then he will call a bait while he relates some of his own experiences and tell you of the horrible sights he has seen. The children are going home from school ; they play and chatter and he listentg with evident pleasure and would like to join in their games. Shortly Ihe sun sinks in the west unknow.il to him. The tea bells rings ; he sits down to the meal aird heartily enjoys it. He is sorry when the company retires to bed. He is the last to go, for going to bed does not mean going to sleep as far as he is concerned. He retires, lights a cigarette and, perhaps will doze off into an intermittent sleep. He drearns. He fights is battles over ngaio, and sometimes walces himself calling out to his mates in the trenches. He lights another cigarette and listens and feels the stillness and loneliness of the "night. He dozes off again, and wakes to find himself where he was when the birds warbled to him the previous dawn. This is only one day in the life of this blind digger.