THE WOUNDED.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 16406, 28 December 1918, Page 10

THE WOUNDED.

IN A BATTLEFIELD CASUALTY

CLEARING STATION.

(From the Sydney "Sun's" Correspondent.) AUSTRALIAN HEADQUARTERS, FRANCE, September 15. You can see, by the graveyards where a casualty clearing station hai been. Here a British cemetery, whit< painted crosses; there a German, dull naked wood, or if the line has for lonf been stationary, some ambitious design.' in carved sandstone. So you come to think of the C.C.S as the place where the boys go to die Here the mortally wounded are brought if they have not breathed their last 01 the long stretcher journey or at th< main dressing station. Here the sorel] stricken have their fight for life, sink ing to utter weakness, lying for night: and days in pain, refusing death to th< last. There is an inescapable atmosphere of tragedy. It is a place where bravi men sometimes moan and cry, when the sounds of the night are the sounds of distress and death; where youtl looks aged, and strong men are weak where flesh wounds are stitched. . The modern shell gashes and tears. Th« surgeons are constantly working. Yet sense, of tragedy does-not sin! deep or broad in the C.C.S. Of all th< places on the battlefields it is the on< where Australian mothers would gel most comfort and feel most proud. Foi there is a genuine kingship over casual ties. It comes partly from skill, partly from physical stamina, but mostly froir that fine asset of the "Digger"—m domitable, invincible, indefatigabh spirit. These men defy their materia; wounds. In their weakness they art more spiritually masterful than ever. They are not going to allow torn flest and:smashed bones to beat them! The C.C.S. to which I was sent, with a mere damaged ankle, lies , white and quiet on the rim of a peaceful farmers' vjllage. It is. outside all shelled zones. You feel again on the edge of a forgotten land of, women and childreni. The dozen large marquees stand in lines three deep. A group of assorted huts shows the centre of administrative activity—registrar, commanding officer, dentist,' barber, dispenser, carpenter, X-ray operator. Equally mixed, specialists- and tradesmen, permanent Army Corps men and recruits from infantry units —is the staff of orderlies. Kilted, infantrymen "carry the stretchers from motor ambulance to receiving tent. Long-service R.A.M.C. non-oom-missioned officers register" the new patient and label him for a bed. Another willing .group takes him along the duck-boards. THE WORST MOMENTS. These are busy periods, and the ambulances roll up along the white roads with load after loadT They go slow. Even' the best of. roads is rough to wounded men. Every jolt means a sharp pang. Ask any five seriously wounded men what moments were worst—four at least will,.tell of the ambulance; That is why the receiving tent, shows so many taut faces. During these minutes of waiting here on stretchers on the. ground, the pain of. the ambulance drive is still wearying them. Their wounds as yet bear only makeshift dressings. Blood is oozing out again, vitality is low. Lying in the ward you get closer to the young Australian's soul than you have, ever thought possible. I felt like a spy listening to brave .men's most 6acred secrets. Yet these lads' rav-ings-showed such pure and good things that I propose to tell of them. As veils dropped from their minds, and the clouds' of consciousness lifted, there were revealed such jewels of thought and motive that their beauty dimmedlmy eyes. Brave lads, single-minded and sim-ple-hearted-—this one on. my right, a young country boy from Portland, Victoria,'a harbour engineer; here On my left a Sydney university undergraduate, unchanged by all this fighting; down the ward there —the mere boy who ■ raves so much—a Riverina • farmer's son, with a picture of his mother seemingly burning in his brain. When they speak thus, unconsciously, they 'are always either at home amongst their dear ones, or on the field of battle amongst their brave comrades. Gould any fact of the A.I.F. be more poignant, more pregnant? Could anvthing be at once more comforting and honeful to a nation that asks hut two. things' of its young men—-that thev should be true to their homes and Rtrone fighters for the nation's cause? •The A.I.F. has given a thousand oculaT demonstrations of its devotion: here, in the sincere confessional of the hosnital ward, was proof that none can doubt. I lay for two days and nights amongst many desperately-hurt men, and not once did I hear a word that would not console a mother or gratify a patriot. ■ When released _ from consciousness the mind of the young fighter sped straight for his mother. "Mother, oh, mother," cries this Riverina lad—he talks at times gaily to her, at others he • tells her of the pain. Other men do the same—it is always, the parentSj sisters, and brothers. THE SMILING COLONEL. Opposite is a 'iasmanian colonel, whe was moving up' with nis heauquarteh when sinayuei stiuck the lot. Jivuiy chest case is serious; it gives moit chance of cure than the "abuominais,' J but it takes a long course. Uhe coione has never lost his smile. He has tin character of Tasmania stamped upoii him—unchanging, unswerving, smiling Twice they uiew pints of blood from his chest. But tnough he grew pale he kept smiling. . His youhg otticers came to see him, idolising as ever. And he hears oi how battalion has won through, It is then lie confesses to fear. He fears that he will be away for the next stunt, and he dictates a letter to his brigadier beseeching that by hook oi crook, lie be sent for in time. A-gallant and trusty colonel. He will'suffer this' war for twenty years if be. But "none of them doubt ultimate victory or their own capacity to see more heavy fighting. You should hear this quiet, red-haired Upper Hunter, boy teil how Chuignes was taken—you can hear the bullets ping-ing-ing and thwacking, and see our gallant lines charging forward. They fear neither death nor defeat. The one matters little—the other cannot touch them. THE SCREEN AROUND THE BED. The rumour that a hospital train is to go to Boulogne to-night creates a stir. Nearly everyone wants to go. The colonel fidgets for his peggy-bag, a glaring calico contrivance, a Red Cross gift, in which are his prized shaving apparatus and his few "French coins. The major swears that he is fit for travel. The trench fever cases assert they are much better. Orderlies pack them on to stretchers and they are repacked, upon comfy beds in the fine broad train. They are another step nearer Blighty. It is worth while hiding up a fot of pain. Ninety per ceht> of the ward will soon have gone. Others come. And what of tho ten ? Some cannot be moved for many days? And others? Well . . the middle-aged, one-star lieutenant who got the oxygen all last night died this morning; and the Riverina boy—the screen is around his bed; they are.moving him, too, to the mortuary. . -