THE HAPPY WARRIOR

Auckland Star, Volume XLVII, Issue 169, 17 July 1916, Page 9

THE HAPPY WARRIOR

MAN'S ENEMIES. TURKS, GERMANS, AND ESPECIALLY RATS. The appended letter is the good work of a man "'somewhere in France," who has seen war as it is, and has found life worth living all the while. "Sow in the first place I refuse to write about Gallipoli. Guess the public must be rather tired of that 6ubject. We are. Do you know I have already read about 146 'last men on Gallipoli' in Australasian papers, and about 73 in English papers. I wish to state most firmly that I was not the last man— don"t know who he is or anything about him—-but I can set endless discussions and arguments going on in the papers in years to come as to the 'first' and 'last.' It also fairly gives us the shivers to read the interviews with returned 'heroes' and their deeds, and letters from heroes in Egypt, who never saw the Peninsula. Joseph Hooking (or -was it Oscar Wilde?) was quite correct in assuming that 'all men are liars.' Perhaps not all. but by (here follows an illegible word) there are SOME. If

possessed of the brains I would write a tabloid drama entitled "The Last Man on Gallipoli, or Who Shot the Turk?' "Well, we finally left Egypt and crossed over to Marseilles. Spent three days in a train, which was a. home after travelling round Egypt in* a sheep truck. What a reception we got!—all through that journey. "Finally arrived at our destination and were billeted in farm houses—in the barns. What a treat after Egypt! Also what a treat to be able to buy things in the villages after the rotten Dago canteens of Egypt. A man couldn't spend his money there unless in Cairo, because the blessed Dagos were too independent to keep a stock of anything wanted. They all made their fortunes. "Finally arrived in the trenches during the wet season. What a heavenly place! We lived in long rubber boots, leather jackets, and steel helmets. Talk about fashion plates. You have never seen mud, believe mc. Great eticky, sloppy, <rreas3* masses of it up to your knees. However, we only have short epells in the firing line; and the food is paradise compared to Gallipoli. There was no rest whatever on the Peninsula, and a man was always under fire. "For this past week there has been some fine strafing. When Fritz lets loose the shells fly over like a string of sausages. First one arrives and says "Look out, here's 12 more!' Only the dozen usually arrive before the warning. What with shells large and. small—

gigantic 'nim-jars' and 'sausage bombs." giis —asphyxiating and weeping—stray bullets, rifle and hand grenades—there is plenty to keep a man occupied. There is a most glorious uncertainty about the length of a soldier's life. One. generally manages four hours sleep out of 24—the others are fully occupied. "We have plenty of sport here—both rats and Germans. The former are excellent shooting, the latter rather problematical. Rats! Spare-me-dayp! Tbey are specimens. They fight, hold swimming meetings, eat most of our rations. Can you imagine an old-man rat getting in my haversack, and after polishing Toff-a 'crlist 6¥ brSad~and some cheese (my brealcfast), then chewing oIT half a cake of tobacco and some part of the handle of a boot brush t I keep in good form during my midnight prowl by chasing big bucks with a bayonet. "Excellent sport. "Plenty of excitement daily with aeroplanes. Must hand the palm to our aviators —they're wonders. Counted 200 , shells in ten minutes at one chap. He just simply tide-stepped, volplaned, looped, etc. Then came back for more. Fritz is nowhere in it. Ours brought down three of Hans' in one day. "Look, you'd think it -was simply the ; greatest joy imaginable for those fcl--1 lows. One chap, "the mad major,' takes . a delight in flying over Fritz's lines about 10,000 feet up, with shells all around and every machine gun and rifle going 19 to the dozen. Just hovers ' over, turns round, and flies back, with ■ hell let lose everywhere. "Was interrupted last night. Six 1 shells flew over, followed very shortly ' after by 5,000. For two and a-ha!f '■ hours we got the most particular brand jof shell. Johnson's, Theobald's coal- > boxes, sneaking Lizzie's, whiz-bangs, of all varieties, large and smalL Bombs of every description. Xo use crawling - in a dug-out —just have to sit up

f against the parapet and wait your turn. " Really couldn't imagine any ordinary 1 mortal sitting out a tornado of this de- " scription and being alive at the finish. - Mentioned steel helmets—by gee! but 1 the pieces did rattle on it—coat torn, 1 even mv bayonet scabbard nipped, i "In the woTds of the poet: 'War is f hell!'"