CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE TRENCHES.

Gisborne Times, Volume XLVIII, Issue 4475, 16 February 1917, Page 6

CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE TRENCHES.

NEW ZEALANDERS HAVE A QUIET DAY IN THE FIRING LINE. SANTA CLAUS VISITS THE FRONT (From Captain Malcolm Ross, with the New Zealand Forces in the Field). Christmas Day broke with a boisterous wind after rain. At intervals throughout the night our guns had been busy. . There was no cessation of hostilities on our part. AVe woke before dawn, had an early breakfast, and made for tlie firing line. The General said that it reminded him of an August day in New Zealand when he was loath ‘to get on his horse to make an early visit round the lambing paddocks. He would not be loatji to do it next August. But meantime his one idea is to get on with the war, As we walked along the communication trench listening to the squish! squish! of the duck-boards under our feet, memories of our last Christinas came to mind. . AA 7 c had loft the Peninsula of Gallipoli behind, and nianj of the heroes of that campaign, which none among us regrets, were, cither on Lemnos or on the sea. The General’s A.D.C. became reminiscent. He was on board the Simla. The Simla is now, 1 believe «it "the bottom of the sea. “You remember that feed we had?’’ he said. “My word! I do,” replied the General. “It was just a day like this, cold, with a blustering wind, and we were all as miserable as a tin o’ crows,” added tlie A.D.C. “But that was a meal—we had everything we could wish for!'’ Apparently the A.D.C., like many another man, will remember that meal to the end of his days. It was not strange, perhaps, that in those days we let our minds run a good deal on food. . Ihe Peninsula was not exactly Voisin’s nor a Hotel do Ritz. In the field kitchen we found the cooks busy, and rows of great pots bubbling on the wood fires of the sand-bagged cookhouses. There were plum puddings and other good tilings in those pots. AYe met few men in the communication trench. On to the firing line we went. It was a 'scene of dreary desolation. Everywhere mud and water, and billows of bulging sand bags. They are called sand bags by courtesy, for they are filled with the soft clay of French Flanders, and such of them as have been there a long time are so rotten that you can tear the sacking with a slight pressure from your walking sticks. The dug-outs pi which the men live are dry but damp. Some have to he pumped out at intervals. “AA’e bale her out every morning,” said one hardy troglodyte. A battalion officer who was going the rounds with us slipped and fell headlong into the yellow mud and water behind the parapet. His name happened to he Treadwell. “I didn’t tread well that time, sir,” lie said, smiling up at the General, as he raised his face from the puddle, and we all laughed. For is it not Christmas? And in spite of the war we can still laugh. AA’e looked into an other dug-out. There were some roundish parcels. They were labelled “Parchment coated pudding,” and the men were getting them ready. The drains ran full from these trenches, for there had been rain. Two men were at a hand pump, keeping the water down. They were earning their puddings. AA’e wished them a Merry Christmas. “It’s a- bit of a farce,” said one of the pumpers. Butwe told them to be as cheerful as they could and passed on.

GRAVES IN THE FIRING-LINE. At intervals we came upon graves. They were the graves of men killed in action many months ago. The mounds were neat and trim, and on the clay were crosses neatly made with cartridge 1 cases. Crosses of various designs gave us the scant information that the battlefield vouchsafes to fallen men. “To the memory of Private Joyce, 2nd Scotti ”we read. The rest had been torn away with a shellNear by was,a grave of a private of the Royal Irish Rifles. _ Scots and Irishman had died here in the same trench fighting for the same Kings. And there were also the graves of Sherwood Foresters and men of the Devons and Middlesex and other s. Each had its little wooden cross, about three feet high. And each had its inscription “In loving memory,” etc., and at the end the inevitable “R.1.P.” But the saddest of them all was the simple sentence : “An unknown British hero lies here.” It was amidst such scenes a.ud surroundings that our men were spending their Christmas at the instance of the Supermen of Germany. Behind the lines were many pools —the shell craters of bygone bombardments —and limbless, forlorn trees that once made these lands fair to look upon in springtime and in summer. But if our lines were desolate and dieary what of the German lines? they were absolutely battered to bits, and the wire in front of them was torn and twisted by pur artillery and trench mortar fire. Only last night oui patrols had been out—right into the enemy’s trenches, and bad found them uninhabited and uninhabitable. Theio were three well-made concrete dugouts there that might be still useful with a little pumping. Even as we walked the line our shells were screaming against .the wind overhead to land behind tlie lines in front and' spoil the Christmas of the Boche. AYe were sending him over a few samples or our “plum puddings”. The Boche himself was strangely silent perhaps brooding on his peace proposals, perchance thinking of rctalßation. There were indications that his Christmas was not a very merry one. The scroach of the shells was varied with the occasional crackle of a machine gun; at times with the crack of a sniper s rifle. BEHIND 'THE LINES.

AVc walked back down another communication trench, and so on to the level road, along which we found our car waiting beside a broken house. Later, we met the Corps Commander, and with him went the rounds behind the lines where tlie men u'lio had the good luck to he out of the trenches were in comfortable billets, and tucking, in at good Christmas fare to the music of their own bands. At the Divisional Rest Station, which, by tlie way, is a credit to the Division, we found a menu that tempted iqs to stay— Alutton Broth. Braized Steak and Potatoes. Roast Lamb and Green Peas. Cold Ham. Plum Pudding and Brandy Sauce. Jelly and Custard. Christmas Pies. Coffee. In a biggish hall, formerly a school, now somewhat shell-torn, we came upon “The Dinkums” enjoying their Christmas. Here there was no shadow of pessimism. Little wonder! Look at tliis operation order —

GRAND DINNER. “Stand to”: 12 noon. . Barrage Lifts c 12.10 p.m. First Phrase: Duck Soup. Sub-Objective: Stew (we don’t think). Barrage: “Flying Pigs” (cold ham). Mashed Dug-Outs, Onion Jacic Pickles. Second Phrase: Beef a la John Bull. Cabbage,- “Baby Elephants,” Potatoes (not Blighty)” > - . Barrage: “Plum Puddings”—look out for the handle,. “Rum Jar’ - . Sauce. ‘ ■ - . Third Phrase: Advance through Pine Apples, Shells (nut) oranges, arid other, missiles, Minnie Wafer and Shrapnel Biscuits, Mills Bonbons and Other Stuff. Final Objective:' Beer (Bass Best

XXXX Mas.) N.B. •‘Tumblers” sent over by Fritz. Cigarettes—Rackets . (tens) Castlos .Three, medium, New Zealanders for tlie use of. Stand down (if possible) 1.30 p.m. Ambulances if necessary. Sick parade at 2 a fin. ) . AYliat’s the use of worrying? As a matter of fact none worried, there was no sick parade, ■ and the ambulances werfe not necessary. 1 From one unit to another the Corps Commander and the Divisional Commander went.. Early in the afternoon We came upon a glorious roast 'of porky and the Corps’ Commander’s A.D.C. who is of a country family, and a fine type of Englishman, could not resist the crackling,, which lie conveyed to his mouth with his lingers, greatly to tlie delight of the men, .and very much as the discoverers of roast sucking pig did in Charles Lamb’s immortal essay! And- —tell it not at G.H.Q. nor the Army Council —the Corps Commander, and the Divisional Genoral, and the rest of us did the same. And we found it good. To each gathering the Corps Commander said a few cheerful words, telling the men that if next spring they fought as well as They did on Gallipoli, and on the Somme they would help in no small measure in the winning of the war and that by next Christmas they would he in New Zealand or on the way there. At this there was cheering.

SANTA CLAUS ARRIVES. It was a very kindly thought on the part of the New Zealand Division to brighten the Christmas of the children in tlie villages where we were billeted. An officer was sent post haste to Paris and came back with a vanload.of toys and presents such as young children love to get especially at Christmas. I have just come in from one of tho entertainments provided by the Division, and never before have I seen such an enthusiastic and excited throng of happy children. Many of them, poor things, have lost fathers and brothers. ‘ Some of them have bail sisters and mothers killed in the war, for the'shelling of some of the villages along this part of the front has been very fierce. But to-day all these little ones were happy, for was there not a great Chrismas tree reaching nearly to the roof of the “Kapai” Theatre (built for us by the Maoris) and was there not also a real Father Christmas (a young Frenchman of the Corps of Interpreters) bent down with the “Weight of years and the great sack of toys that he carried on his back! And there was the orchestra of the Field Ambulance, and the speech of the Sub-Pre-fect (who looked handsome in bis gay Uniform with the medal of the Legion of Honor on it), and conjuring tricks by Bishop Cleary of Aucklaml, and choruses by “The Kiwis” (who are our own particular theatrical party), and inimitable laughter-raising songs by an officer who is the head alternately of a trench mortar battery .and our theatrical department. AA c sang 4 ho “Marseillaise” whole heartedly, and a band of young school girls sang a patriotic chorus, and finally there was Father Christmas and his toys. The hall was packed avith some lour hundred children ,and as many oi their mothers and sisters as could got away and every child went home happy with some little gift from the men who have come further than any other soldiers to fight in this cruel aval. In a village nearer the guns on the eve of Christmas, I avitnessed. a similar scene. Here the children not only 10ceia'ed presents, but something to eat and drink as well. Tho BrigadioyGeneral and the A.A. and the Q.M.G. aracecl tho. entortainineuu v» ith tnou presence —as the Divisional General did the bigger entertainment—and the cure in his 1 black robes made a chaiiniiur speech of thanks. But (here was a difference. There was a great ren ■ in the ceiling of the building m which the children' were gathered together. It avas made by a German shell. >e , braving the guns, Santa Claus bad come to the front in French Fiander-. And there avas this further difference. Each little child carried handy a gas helmet, neatlv folded in its khaki bag, for avas there not all this morning prominent in the village street the big board with tlie painted sign—

DANGER. DE GAZ. ASPHYXIANTS. —just because the avind avas from the direction of the German trenches. Every week these little children are taught their gas drill, just as they are taught their spelling and then arithmetic, so that the tiniest tot knoavs just avhat to do if the alarum sounds and tlie poison cloud comes along. Santa Claus and poison gas! -Vnd a little girl of four with hei mask handy! AVhat a reflection upon the methods introduced by our P^ ace loving friends the Super-men! Could President Wilson have glimpsed tlie scene he might have written a cliiteient kind of Note. He might by 1 ')” realised that there is some diffei dice iu the ideals for which the Germans are lighting. • Not three thousand yards navav tho Super-man and Ins noison’gas! And here ‘ uood lvrn« ’weMclv' <md «* little girl .» four with her go- mask handy.