TRENCH HUMOUR.

Auckland Star, Volume XLVIII, Issue 36, 10 February 1917, Page 13

TRENCH HUMOUR.

SEEING THE FUNNY SIDE. "How is it," I inquired of a Canadian with whom I foregathered in rest billets (•writes "Pioneer," in an English exchange), "that the Anglo-Saxon soldiers, British and Colonial alike, are able to ' display such extraordinarily high spirits, I and preserve euch an unfailing sense of humour in the face of the awful privations and dangers of the war?" His answer was characteristic and illuminating. "It doesn't follow because there's war on," he replied, "that the clash of hostilities has the stranglehold on human nature. It's natural for us to see the funny side of thinge. We were born so, and that's ail there is to it. The more tragic our surroundings, an , the more' I directly they affect us personally, the ;more we cultivate our sense of humour as a weapon of defence against adverse circumstances. "The engrossin' habit of squirtin , fifty-seven different varieties of fatal J termination at the savage an' relentless I Hun is only an added wing—an annexe, lif you get me—of the self-contained outfit of original emotions—of which a sense iof.humour is by no means the least— handed out to us by a long line of backslidin' ancestors. "The fact of a. guy bein' first in war an' a leader of forlorn hopes—and the beginning of this war -was one large Forlorn Hope which became gradually lese forlorn ac time advanced,, until it's the Sure Thing it ie to-day—doesn't ■ mean he's got rid of his old stock of inherited instincts! "No, siree! In war a man's juet the same as he was (before plus an acquired agility in dodgin' buckshot an' a passion for throwin' bombs." Which, I consider, ie an admirable summing-up of the situation. A very tall, thin English boy reported to a Canadian battalion in Flanders. His colonel was bald and elderly, but adored by 'his men. After a few days' experience of hie new command the cub. approached the O.C. and asked permission to' ventilate a grievance. "i wish you would'use you* influence, sir, to restrain my platoon, from referring to mc as T-egs,'" He eaid. "Sure! my lad, sure!" replied the colonel, solemnly, "if you'll use youre to stop ray whole dajnn battalion eallin' mc a ftald-headed old !" When my own battalion first "went over" we were put into the trenches with other regiments for four days to "try us out." The second afternoon we were in, the Boche shelled us hard for two hours, which was rather a severe . ordeal for troops who had only juet left England. When the shelling ceased I walked down the trench to see how the men had stood the test. A diminutive boy Cram Manchester was just crawling out of • dug-out.

"Well, Morton," I eaid, ac cheerily as I could, "what do you think of it!" He looked up at mc with an inexpressibly humorous twinkle in hie eyes. "My Gawd, sir," he exclaimed, "do you know, I don't think it's safe!" Whether the Germans knew there were raw men in the trenches I cannot say, but certainly the shelling was particularly heavy for that four days. When we go back to battalion headquarters we mvapped yarns as to our J experiences, as, tie regiment being distributed over so many different trenches, the officers had seen very little of each other during the tour of duty. Two of them were discussing a mutual friend who had not succeeded in persuading the powers that be to send him over with reinforcements, and was ticking his heels in England. "I met him in Folkestone just before we left," eaid one, "and he'd have given all ho had to get here." From the depths of a. roll of blankets in a corner came the voice of one who had been shelled unmercifully in his particular bit of trench all that day. "Your friend could have had my place d d cheap this afternoon!" he said. Once when we 'were in rest billets I went to dine at another mess. It was very late when I started hack to billets, and the night was ao dark I lost my way. Suddenly a figure loomed up through the darkness, and I was jU3t able to distinguish the khaki of a British private. I halted and inquired the way back to . For an appreciable moment he stood in front of mc, slightly swaying on his herls as a young sapling in a breeze. "Lmnme, guv'ner, you drunk, too!" was all he said. The following incident took place In the early period of the war, when we were lamentably short of guns and ammunition. A certain Tegiment had been under almost unceasing shell-fire for five days, and were just about "fed up." The second, third, and fourth days they asked permission to go over to the German trenches and try and "get a bit of their own back." Consent was withheld until the night of the fifth day, when instructions were given to raid a portion of the German line at a given hour. At the appointed moment the men went over the parapet 'with a rush which nothing could stop. They gained the trench without, heavy casualties. The particular party with whom we are concerned was led by an enormous sergeant armed with a heavy calibre revolver. They cleared out one foay very quickly and went on to the next. Just round the traverse they were met by a very fat German private, desperately anxious to surrender, but unable to express his desires in the correct formula. With hands held high above hie head he advanced to the big sergeant. "Kamarad! Kamarad!" he shouted, in the accepted whine of Teuton entreaty. "See! I 'aye my hands 1 I 'aye my hands!" "You don't want no 'ands!" said the sergeant, happily. "What you want is * pair of wings!"