DUCE’S FENCE CUT

Gisborne Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20621, 24 November 1941, Page 4

DUCE’S FENCE CUT

DESERT BARRIER DOMINION TROOPS CONFIDENCE IN TASK (Elec. Tel. Copyright—United Press Assnj) (From the Official War Correspondent with tiie N.Z.E.F.) (Reed. Nov. 24, 9 a.m.) INSIDE LIBYA, Nov. 19. New Zealand sappers gaily tore huge hunks out of Italy’s one-time eastern frontier wire to let our motor columns stream into Libya last night. As I write this we are still roaming unmolested across the broad shingle plains of the former no-man’s-land. With the kind of Fascist extravagance that runs to the erection of impressive monuments to doubtful glories, Italy long ago marked her border with Egypt, not by an imaginary line, but by a thick and costly wall of tangled barbed wire. Like a super rabbit fence it stretches, sand choked and rusty, from Solium across plateaus, uphill and down dale far into the south. In face of our historic trek it was the most minor of the inconveniences. Our engineers severed the tangles and meshes in several places, dragged the wire away behind lorries and left a gap 100 yards wide through which we rumbled in the dead of night. At last we were within earshot of war. Big guns were thundering across the frontier last night and to-day we saw our first enemy planes, only a brace, which our anti-aircraft guns sent squirming between white shell-puffs in the blue sky as they fled homewards across us.

But we lost count of the British planes flying back and forth over us all day after the numbers had reached at least 100.

Day Worth Remembering

To-day is worth remembering. Firstly, here we are in Libya, starting our second foreign expedition and starting i r on the right foot. Secondly, here in black and white is the first realisation of our most optimistic hopes foi air and land support—planes in the sky, tanks on the ground. To-day we were able to switch our eyes from a swarm of Hurricanes to five heavy tanks and we know where there are more—lots more. Already the air offensive we expected has opened with thrilling figures for enemy planes destroyed in the air and aground. November 20.—As we enter the second day in enemy territory I cannot help emphasising again the unique nature of the circumstances and outlook of the men around me. I have never before sensed such a confident and almost exuberant atmosphere. There may be grim days immediately before us, but just now as we enter the battleground and enemy lines we feel as the German soldiers must have felt when entering Greece. Even if this almost unreal sense of security were to end to-mor-row it has had a wonderful moral effect on the New Zealanders. Trigger Fingers Itching

Their trigger fingers grow itchier every day. Can you guess how the men around me passed the time early this morning before the cooks yelled, “Come and get it?” They played football. In battle dress and greatcoats they scrummed, tackled and kicked until the cold and stiffness left their limbs. Their shouts and laughter reminded me of a suburban sports .gx-ound on a Saturday afternoon, but the noise was punctuated by the boom of field guns. Suddenly the footballs rolled to a standstill and the men became barrackers on the sidelines of a grimmer arena. A lone German plane had come droning , overhead. Then 20 British fighters appeared, flying westwards. Our hopes of seeing a combat were so strong that they burst into words. Men pointed excitedly, yelling to the distant British planes: “Get that Jerry. He is just above you.” As if they really did hear four of the fighters broke away and chased the now retreating German into the distance.