The War Machine.

Horowhenua Chronicle, 30 March 1915, Page 3

The War Machine.

(By Walt Mason)

The massive German war machine won't work tlic way it should; from all the facts we've heard and seen, it isn't making good. They used to say 'twas like a watch, its movement was sublime; but now it seems to be a botch, and it is losing time. It's partly manned by Turks obese, wlio of their culture shout; it squeaks as though it needed grease, its kingbolt's fallen out. Their war machine the Germans made; it was their pride and joy; and then they longed in blood to wade with their expensive toy. They kept it waiting in its shed, and longed for an alarm; "if 'tisn't used," the Germans said, "'twill rest, and lose if# charrn. So let us wat-cli and let us till someone thj'ows a brick, and then our engine, charged with fate, will get there pretty quick." The brick was tTTrown, a small affair, that made a trifling sore; "this is our chance, beyond compare," uprose the German riijir. Groat Britain wished to heal the wound that errant brick had made; and France desired to wrap it round with linen, splints and braid. Hut Germany was fierce and mean, for she had waited long to use her big red war machine, so wonderful and strong. Now, manned by sundry Turks obese it groans upon its way ; its wheels are needing axle grease, its mules are needing hay.