"WE SHALL FIGHT THEM... ...ON THE BEACHES"

New Zealand Listener, Volume 6, Issue 148, 24 April 1942, Page 6

"WE SHALL FIGHT THEM...

...ON THE BEACHES"

[T is not possible to mention the locality of the beach, which is somewhere in the North Island, but in peace time it was well known to picknickers and holiday-makers. To-day, that beach represents New Zealand’s front line against an invader, and sand, sun and surf are no longer an invitation to squander a day in idleness. Ugly barbed wire barricades scar the beach; here and there are concrete strong points and sand-bagged fortified posts; at an alarm, peaceful beach cottages would disgorge khaki, steel-helmeted soldiers. the men of New Zealand’s front line, standing-to.

NE day last week, I had an t) opportunity of visiting this particular beach and spending some time with the men there. I ate with them, talked with them, watched them at work and off -duty. To the families and friends of these men, who are probably seeing very little of them these days, I would say this: The troops defending the coast are stuck into a real job. It isn’t an easy or a comfortable job by any means, but they are doing it well, and they are standing up well under active service conditions. Let’s take a look at this area, which is a typical one, watched by what I imagine is a pretty typical company of infantry. The area includes beach, rocky coastline, and a stretch of rolling sand dunes and paddocks, and the men are quartered in cottages, in improvised "barracks," and some of them in tents. What Happens to Private Munro? And let’s see what happens to Private -shall we call him John Munro?-who has been posted to a platoon in this area. He finds conditions are a good deal different from those in the camp in which he has done all his training so far. From now until an indefinite date in the future his home will be a bare little beach cottage fronting the sea, Furniture, he finds, has been reduced to a few essentials, chairs, table, an old ‘settee, and a few boxes. His bed is a wooden bunk, the middle one of three which have been hastily built against the wall of what was once the bedroom. It has a ‘pretty hard bottom, but after the first day he won’t worry about that.

He doesn’t find many comforts or "amenities," but there is an old radio which someone has given his outfit, and any amount of magazines and reading matter. The food, too, he observes, is not served with the frills and extras of a first-class hotel. But there is plenty of it, and it is good and wholesome-two good hot meals at breakfast and dinner, and "dry rations,’ with extras, at midday. He has been lucky, moreover, in his platoon cook, a young man who is bad-tempered and blasphemous early in the morning but has a knack of making up an attractive meal from unattractive scraps.

Never Off Duty The life is hard, and for a few days, until he has toughened up and got the measure of it, he wonders how the devil he will last the week out. Here is approximately how he spends his day, or rather his 24 hours, for he is never off duty. He is roused out of bed at 0500 hours, which is five o’clock in the morning to civilians snugly abed at that hour. From then until 0630 he "standsto," fully dressed and equipped. There is no smoking or lounging around. For an hour before dawn and half an hour after dawn he and his platoon are on the alert, their only luxury a cup of tea or coffee to keep them awake. At 0630, sentries are posted (double sentries have been on duty all night), and, still yawning, he marches back to his sleeping quarters for a shave and a (Continued on next page)

GUARDING OUR COASTLINE

(Continued from previous page) wash before breakfast, which has been engaging the cook’s attention since well before daybreak. After breakfast comes the official parade of the day. There's little spit and polish (the rank and file of the Army breathe a daily prayer of thanks to the man who designed the modern brass button-less battle-dress), and it’s mainly a matter of seeing that equipment is in good condition and rifles clean. After that, comes a quarter of an hour of rifle exercises, just to keep him up to scratch in this department Once a week there is the usual foot in spection and a check up on clothing or equipment which may need repair or renewal, The parade over, he and his platoon proceed to weapon pits, strong points, or whatever work is on hand. There is always plenty. Trenches have to be revetted’ and camouflaged, protective works must be constantly attended to and improved, more slit trenches must be dug; strong points must be protected with more barbed wire. At midday, during the summer, there was .a swim parade before lunch, though these autumn days the chill in the water daunts all but a few. Lunch is plain and quickly over, and consists of bread, cheese, butter, jam, tea and maybe soup. From mid-day to three o’clock is a rest period, and the chances are that Private Munro will be very ready to flop down in his bunk and go to sleep for a couple of hours. And any civilian who thinks that giving troops a rest period in the middle of the day is "coddling" them, should try the life for himself. What with periods of stand-ing-to, sentry duty and alarms, Private Munro will be lucky if he averages five and a-half hours’ unbroken sleep a night. It's Hard But Healthy After the rest period, it is back to work until 1700 -hours, or five o’clock in the -afternoon. Dinner follows at about six o’clock, depending on the enthusiasm of the cook. After dinner is another half-hour stand-to, then a compulsory shower parade and a free period for reading or writing or listening to his’ radio. Every week he will get a few hours leave, during which he can sample the life of the nearest town. He may not bring back to camp any liquor that he does not carry inside him. It is not, as I have indicated, an easy life, though Private Munro didn’t expect an easy life in the Army. That it is a

healthy one is evident from the record of one platoon whose quarters I inspected. In 10 weeks, I was told, there had been only three cases of ill-ness-one of appendicitis, one of pleurisy, and one of mild pneumonia. Plus, of ‘course, a small number of inevitable aches and pains. One thing Private Munro does feel the need of is organised recreation. Some days, his platoon amuses itself by kicking a football up and down the beach, but sports equipment is not easily come by. He expects that soon this problem will be overcome, Private Munro doesn’t go round agitating for things, however. He does his job patiently, makes the best of his conditions and surroundings, and trusts that some small comfort will be added to his platoon next week and something more the week after that. In the meantime, he leaves most of the worrying to his platoon commander, and works away converting corners of beaches into wicked-looking. pill-boxes and green paddocks into well-concealed nests for machine-guns and the whole coastline into a potential fury of hot lead for any invader who attempts to set foot on it.

J.G.

M.