LUCKY ESCAPES

Evening Post, Volume XC, Issue 86, 9 October 1915, Page 10

LUCKY ESCAPES

IN THE FIRING LINE (By Trooper " Bluegum " in the Sydney Morning Herald.) ANZAC, 7th August. When I -was a good little boy going to Sunday-school teacher gave me a book entitled " Wonderful Escapes." I read it with absorbing interest, for ifc told of the marvellous escapes of princes and princesses from fortified castles in the hands of their enemies. Yet these delightful tales which so thrilled my youthful imagintion pale into insignificance and seem, quite commonplace when compared with the hairbreadth escapes which I have witneseed, and which- I have myself experienced since the 2nd Light Horse Brigade landed on battle-scarred Gallipoli. With the Taubes dropping bombs and darts from the sky, with the Turks undermining and blowing up oar advanced trenches, with, snipero cunningly concealed on the ridges, and the enemy's big guns sending high explosives right across the peninsula, there is really not a single safe spot in all Gallipoli. So, when these Australian soldiers get home again, and fight their battles over again, don't disbelieve them. The truth here is much more startling than any fiction. 1 vouch for the absolute accuracy of tbe following incidents, for they all came within my own ken. Some will say "'tis luck." Others say " fate." Others prate of the law of averages. It may be that the prayers of thousands of Australian mothers and. sisters beseeching heaven for the safety of their loved ones are not all in vain. For in very truth, there have been occasions when escape from instant death has savoured of the supernatural. McD have left their dug-outs for a few seconds, and almost on the instant a she{l has wrecked these same dug-outs. Others have had shells fall on the identical spot they occupied a few seconds before. Men have come back scathless from the open field which has been ploughed with shrapnel. Some have charged across the hills in the teeth of murderous machine-guns, spitting death-pellets unceasingly. Is it all the fortune of war? General Birdwood was having a look at the enemy's position when a sniper's bullet parted his hair and slit his scalp. Half an inch lower would have been certain death. It would take columns and columns of the HeraH to tell of the lucky escapes I could relate. Take the case of an Australian, who has just been made a brigadier-general. There is a very comforting idea that regimental headquarters are always a long way behind the firing-line, while brigade headquarters are further back still. Therefore, it is argued, a brigadier has a nice safe job. This may be aIL right in theory, but it does not work out so in practice. I do not believe there has been a day for the past eleven weeks that the brigadier-general has not visited the firing line of his brigade. Time and again he has taken the snipers' "posy," and mingled in a bit of sharp-shooting himself. Also he has at different times gone in advance of our firing-line to select new positions. Once, with bis brigade-major and orderly officer, he suddenly stopped to watch a squadron at bayonet exercise, and a shrapnel shell burst, and the case landed right in front of him. Had he not stopped it is almost certain the party would have been wiped out. Such incidents can be multiplied by the score. Sergt. Christie Hayden — who was badly wounded in South Africa — emerged from his dugout the other day, and a shell missed Mm by inches, and wrecked his little grey home. Sergt. Paddy Ryan, Sergt. Ken Alford, and a lieutenant were standing together on Hilly Ridge a few days ago, and a sniper's bullet perforated both the sergeants' hats, and missed the officer by a fraction of an inch. I wonder did that sniper wait till he got the three in line, instead of making sure of one? Tpr. Sandy Jacques showed his head over a parapet for a couple of seconds, and a sniper fired. But by a merciful dispensation of Providence, the bullet split just before reaching him. The nickel casing went to the right and the leaden missile to the left. So Jacques got a slight wound on each side of the head, and was abla to- walk to the ambulance. Some wag has suggested that the bnllet knew very well what to expect if it struck Sandy's head, so it took the line of least resistance. A lieutenant sent a man for water. As he walked away a high explosive shell passed right between his'legs and then exploded. The soldier had evidently seen Barry Lupino, for be merely exclaimed "Strewtn!" Here's an example of good and bad luck following hot-footed upon, each other's heels. The Turks bombarded our lines, and hurled half-a-dozen shells into our trench, smashing down parapets, wrecking rifles and gear, splathering bullets and splinters everywhere, and yet miraculously missing everybody. Later on a single stray bullet found its way through a loophole, ran along the barrel of a rifle, ricochetted off at an impossible angle, and killed young Tpr. Bellinger, one of the best lads in the 6th. I went down to Anzac Cove for a swim recently. About 500 soldiers were having a glorious time — better than Bondi. Half-a-dozen shells landed in the water, while the pellets spashed all round like hail. Some of the swimmers sought shelter. Most of them took not the slightest notice. Not one mail was bit. But they are not always as lucky as that. Sometimes they pay for their temerity. Trumpeter Newman and I stood outside the field hospital a week ago, and a big howitzer shell burst fair in front of us, killing and wounding a dozen men. Neither of us suffered a scratch, but there was a ringing in my ears for hours afterwards. A lieutenant was out on Eyrie's Post, beyond the firing line, for over an hour, while the Turkish artillery just painted the whole area,, with shrapnel. Hardly a square yard missed getting something, yet he never stopped one. When Sergt. Shelley walked along Shell Green a shell burst, and we could hardly see him for the dust kicked up by flying shrapnel pellets, yet he never got a scratch. Another shell just shaved an infantryman, who turned round, shook his fist at it, and swore loud and long. A second shell came after the first, so close that it almost took the soldier's breath away. He did not wait to swear again, but ran like a scared rabbit to his dugout!