A MILITARY HOSPITAL.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LXXI, Issue LXXI, 10 January 1916, Page 3

A MILITARY HOSPITAL.

ITS CHEERINESS,

] Some people think that a military ■ hospital must be> a depressing and clismai place, says a chaplain of the forces. Not at all; it is one of the cheeriest places in the world. Every, ward has at least one gramaphone. 1 ought to be able* by tins time to sing all Harry Lander's songs—-if I could sing at all. 1 feel that Caruso is an old friend. And I almost think that I "have been attending music halls since I was a baby. Quite the gayest of my boys has only one leg; he left the other in France.' But he hops all over the place, always with a laugh and a joke. He rags his mates a good deal, and gets clear away every time. I never saw anything cheer up a quiet ward like a thunderstorm. The whole ward seemed.' to be asleep when the thunder began. Suddenly everyone became alivb; Some who were dressed got off their bedsf and some in pyjamas got out of their beds. As each peal arrived there was a shout of "Another Jack Johnson," and a pretence of.dodging a shell. "Jack Johnsons" did not seem to have had much of a depressing effect on them. ALL GENTLEMEN, Their types and experiences are the same in number —infinite. The professional "Tommy" and the man who joined for the war lie side by "side —but they are all gentlemen at any rate in the hospital, where the surroundings are calculated to bring out the beet that is in a man. I have in my mind's eye a young fellow who seemed one of the gentlest kind.- In civil life he was accustomed to er ry comfort, and followed an indoor employment' just the sort of thing which might be least ex.pected to produce the soldierly feeling. When I saw him first he was pale, thin, and wasted. But his eyes were full of life and intellect, and he talked well. He had lost a leg; but he said to me:" "if I had to think it over again, I would do the same again] I am not! sorry." And he need not be sorry. I! know a. family of six stalwart sons, four unmarried. The four are eating the bread of ease, earning large wages because be"c. me* 1 "gone to the front" ; and thov have left it to a married brother, who already had two South African medals, to uphold the honour of the family in the trenches of Flanders. These four and their kind will have the fingers of scorn pointed at them in the days to ljicome, while my one-legged friend will have the approbation of his own conscience and the admiration of hi® neighbours for having given his leg for his country. It is a heavy tax, which the man who prides himself on his patriotism in paying his Income Tax would do well to ponder for the days that are to come. . . PECULIAR WOUNDS! Another lad lies quietly with a stump for his left'leg and another for his right army It ha® been a severe test of his system, but he will survive to be more lively than he is at present. Two of my friends were shot right through the head, .just behind the cheekbone, in another year there will be little mark, if any, and possibly, when they tell about it, they will be thought to be drawing the long bow. One of them was in a party which was told, off to drive some snipers from a house. The quarry was unearthed by shell fire, after which the British soldiers rushed them with the bayonet. One of my two friends made for a German, who aimed at him and fired. My friend thought the German had missed, as he did not feel any hurt, and he went for his opponent with the bayonet. It was only ' after finishing his job that he discovered his wound, but, as he remarked to me, "I got "my own out of that chap, , anyhow." Another of my friends did not know how many wounds he had —their name is legion. He was peppered with shrapnel all over, and picked a lot of the •bits out himself with his fingers. None of them were serious, so he had a lucky escape. HOW A SOUVENIR WAS SECURED. A friend at home wanted a "soiivenir" * of the war, so a soldier friend of mine decided to gratify him. Th& particular souvenir desired was a German sawedged bayonet; but the only chance of that which he saw involved the "bagging" of a sniper, who was troubling the trench nightly. So, he stole out one night and stalked the sniper. He got really interested. when I drew him on to describe the stalking, and it must have been a delicate job, as the sniper was aware of hi.3 presence, and wanted to bap; Jiira. "But at last," in his own words, "I got within four yards. of him ■ without him seeing me, and I bought him down and got the bayonet." It was not for this that he got the D.CM., but for earlier work, especially in getting two wounded men out of-an.exposed-position, bandaging them., and bringing them in afterwards at night. He maintained that instead of sending him from a French hospital to 'one. in Scotland the authorities ought to. have sent him back to the trenches, and he grumbled at the distance he would have to travel back. He passed on soon to a convalescent home, and perhaps he is now back stalking snipers. ■ .