OUR LAST DAY IN NEW ZEALAND.

White Ribbon, Volume 22, Issue 259, 18 January 1917, Page 4

OUR LAST DAY IN NEW ZEALAND.

We have received a copy of the “Pakeha,” the paper published on board the ship of that name while carrying our 17th Reinforcements to the Front. To while away time many competitions were held, one being an essay on “Our Last Day in New Zealand.’’ As the first prize essay was written by the brother of the Editor of the “White Ribbon,” perhaps it is fitting it should find a place in our columns. Prize Essay. “DER TAG,” September 23, 1916. Special Order, 17th Reinforcements: Reveille, 3.30 a. 111. Breakfast, 5.30 a.m. Roll Call. Entrain for Wellington. Did anyone need a second call ? No; straw had been burned and palliasses returned the previous day. Three-thirty, and the long, last, eagerly-looked-for day had started. “The Day Has Come.” Yes, after 17 weeks of “Supplying Shortage, ' 17 weeks of “Lectures on Soldierly Spirit”—minus, of course, 17 days’ final leave (1 nearly forgot it) —the 17th Reinforcements were on the move. “Good-bye. Glad as I am to leave you, I liked you well.” Once entrained, we soon lost sight of camp and township, on past the lake, and then “Over the hills and far away.” A wild rush at Kaitoke, tea and sandwiches, and soon we reached familiar ground. Past the scene of vigils and desperate battles; next, Trentham. Good old Trentham slid«*s past ; and then Wellington, and detrain. Many have friends waiting —Yes, Kaiser Bill —friends who have rallied from all parts of New Zealand to bid “God Speed” to the men who are moving from the uttermost end of the globe to fight side by side with those who will prove to you that “Murder is not Kultur.” Our next stage, to the wharf, was short, and we soon beheld the ship that was to be our home for the next seven or eight weeks. “Pakeha” —surely a fitting name for the boat that t arried Maori and Pakeha to the other side of the world to fight a common foe. The checking of rolls, and sorting of men and swags, was quickly dealt with, and soon all were settled in their new home. A “catch-as-catch-can” dinner, and we made ready for

our parade through Wellington. Assembling on the wharf, units were marched to allotted places on Waterloo Quay, and halted. And now the hour had come, the hour that many, if not all, had looked to w ith fear and dread. The parting moment was near —wives, children, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers; yes, and good and true comrades- all gathered for a final kiss and hand-shake, well knowing that for some it would be for ever; believing that some would look their last on the land that all held so near and dear to them. And those old comrades of the class, resplendent in new uniforms and Sam Browne belts. Perry, O’Connor, Stubbs, Deal, Doughty, Drew, Luke, and all the rest, who had achieved that laudable ambition, to hold the King’s Commission in the British Army. Hector McLeod, with his gifts of telescopes and compasses, was in his usual place, ever quietly carrying out his work. But parting moments are fleeting, and soon we are on the move, here and there, wives, sweethearts, and sisters marching arm-in-arm with those they love. W ith bands playing inspiring music, we march through the crowded stre. t, wheeling on to Lambton Quay, and past the saluting base. There are only occasional bursts of cheering feeling is too deep; it does not run to cheers —hearts are stirred and eyes are wet. A shout and a wave of the hand, or a hand thrust out, a hurried shake, a hearty “Good-bye, good luck,” from an old comrade, or, perhaps, a kiss from some one dearer still; and so it goes on until we again reach the wharf and quickly embark. But not before the ladies had further shown us how their hearts went with us: fruit, lollies, “Lucy Hinton,” and other gifts were showered on us as we mounted the gangway. His Worship the Mayor and Mrs Luke, who is surely the best Mayoress that Wellington ever had, were at their old places; tireless as ever, buzzing about to see what more could be done for the comfort and welfare of the troops. As soon as all were safely on board the gates were opened, and friends and loved ones rushed to the ship’s side. With dropping tears, husky throats, and waving handkerchiefs, last farewells were shouted, and as our floating home became a thing of life, we quickly got beyond the reach of shore—and heavy hearts, ashore

and afloat, realised that the parting, so dreaded, was past, and our last da> in New Zealand was over.