"GEORGES," THE TRENCH RAT.

Auckland Star, Volume XLVIII, Issue 113, 12 May 1917, Page 13

"GEORGES," THE TRENCH RAT.

I THAT WHISTLES TUNES. I A TOUCHING STORY. My fellcw-passengers in the train on Tuesday last from Birmingham to London were a pertinacious old gentleman and a young officer returning from "leaxe." The old gentleman wanted to talk; the young officer wanted to read. The old gentleman wanted to know what the [tanks are like, whether there is any bad language in the trenches, whether the "big push" will go on all through the winter, and how long the war is likely to last. The young officer was patient and charming, but it was obvious that he was silently praying that the floor of the railway carriage would split asunder. Only once in the young officer's agonised journey it seemed as if peace had descended upon him. With infinite discretion he managed, during a moment when his persecutor paueed to think of a new question, to entrench behind a newspaper. The old gentleman likewise opened a newspaper. For just three minutes there was silence. And then the old gentleman rea.l something that made him twitch with excitement. "'Excuse mc," he said, touching the young officer on the knee. 'This will interest you. Listen to this. It is amazingly interesting. It is a letter from a man at the front. He is wondering whether the Hun's life in trenches is like his, and says, "Good luck to him if. he has got as decent rats as there are on our side, for these are as big as rabbits and far more intelligent.' Now. sir, that is a remarkable statement. It is either true or it is not true. If it is not true, no man is justified in sending home statements misleading to his countrymen in these grave days." The young officer lowered his paper; a gleam came into his eyes. I have seen a cat look like that on a hot afternoon when, for the hundredth time, a bluebottle has buzzed round his head. But the young officer finally laid aside his paper and answered the old gentleman in the voice of one who hae been almost <lying for conversation. "The statement is* not exaggerated. People talk about the intelligence of dogs and parrots and elephants." I would back old George against any of them." "And who is he, sir?" asked the old gentleman. "George is my trench rat." "Your trench rat., _ "Why not? No one*" knew anything about rats until this war. No man ever met rate on equal terms, living the same life in the same holes, so to epeak. Ypu have got to housekeep with rats, and sleep with them, to understand them, But I was going to tell you about George." "Please: you interest mc amazingjy, said the old gentleman. "Well, at first I used to shoo the rats out of my dug-out; sometimes I potted at them with my revolver; oirce I put down virus to kill them"—he shuddered —Good heavens to think of it, I might have 'done in' old George. However, I gradually got used to them, loathing than at first "and then getting to like them — and then I started feeding them from the hand, and eventually old George singled himself out. He was bigger than the others, more the size of a hare than a rabbit " "A hare!" cried the old gentleman, "Yes, larger, if anything. Life in the trenches has altered the rats. The men overfeed them; they don't get enough exercise; they're not kept down in weight by their old nervousness of human beings. The same result has happened as with mankind when they have no struggle for existence. Intelligence and culture expand. "Well, as I said, George singled him■gelf out. He made himself a sort of sergeant-major over my other rats. He gjrdered them about, he made them keep (tidy, he sometimes swore at them." "Swore!"' echoed the old gentleman. "Well," said the young officer apologetically, "the trench rats do pick up a word now and then. Not that they really mean what they are saying, any more than we do. As for old George, he's a perfect gentleman now. He's dropped all thai sort of thing since the fight." "Which fight?" 1 "The day George decided to live alone with mc. By Jove, that was a 'big push' if you like! George won, but I had to nurse him on his back for two weeks. It was the only time that I have ever known bombardment get on his nerves — shadows where there were no shadows, quarrelsome and touchy even with mc, pessimistic about the war. Thought it would end some day and that I should go back to England. I had a shocking time with him." "Do you mean to tell mc that a man and a rat understand each other?" argued the old gentleman. "Of course. Not as you and I understand "each other, but quite enough to rub along with. I don't pretend that George can talk much, but I've taught him simple words —as you teach kids, don't you know. For instance, I happen not to like my major, so I taught George not to like him. 'Why can't you keep that confounded animal of yours in order?' the major used to shout, when George did his running-up-the-leg-baek-and-shoulder-and - twice - round-the-collar 'stunt/ All I had whispered to George was the one word 'Deploy.'" "And he understodß?" "Of course he did; understands much more than that. Knows the nights when it is my turn for wire-cutting and any other tricky jobs, and sits up anxiously until I come back safe. Knows my friends and the p° st corporal with the home letters and never as much as sniffs at them, let alone biting them. Knows I am a faddist about the dug-out being neat- keeps it tidy; eats up old candle ends; climbs up to my shaving mirror on damp days and polishes it." "Polishes it?" "Yes- bieathes on it and rubs it with his coat. George has got a lovely coat, since I use a spot of brilliantme every day when I brush him up. He's not only the biggest rat in the battalion but the handsomest and the most faithful. The colonel would give his hat to have him; he's always trying to bribe mc to part with George and to bribe George to go to him. He offered him potted grouse daily, but George refused. The first person to greet mc when I get back to the front will be old George. I'm taking this for him," the young officer indicated a round parcel. "It's glassed tongue; he won't touch tinned things." I The train ran into Euston. You ye told mc a wonderful story—a touching and humane story, sir," said the old gen"Doii't mention it, sir," said the young officer —"T. 8.," in "Daily Mail/ , - T ' '' ' —«-,": .'