TWENTY YEARS AGO

Manawatu Standard, Volume LVIII, Issue 121, 21 April 1938, Page 6

TWENTY YEARS AGO

MEMORIES REVIVED. WAR DAYS RECALLED. (By 11/2103.) Aprilj 1938.—A contingent of returned soldiers is crossing the Tasman Sea to meet men of the A.I.E. whom we knew 20 years or more ago. April, 1915.—The Australian and New Zealand Forces were crossing the Mediterranean on their way to Gallipoli and made history which speaks for itself.

April, 1916.—We were crossing the Mediterranean again ; this time bound for the battlefields of France and Flanders.

March, April, 1918.—We were speeding from the northern portion of the British firing line v to the south to fill the gap that had been rent in she British Fifth Army. ' March, 1918.—With Fritz gaining superiority in numbers' of men over the British forces, the great Gcrnian offensive broke on the British Fifth Army on the Somme on March 21. We were then in the Yyres salient, having been in that part of the line nearly six months. Sunday, March 24: We got our marching orders and left at 10 a.m. for the entraining centre (Godewaersvelde). Owing to the railways being congested with traffic and destroyed in places by enemy bombs we did not get away until 3 o’clock the following morning. The railway being cut by enemy bombs near Amiens we detrained at Hangest and bivouacked the night at Piqumgy. We left the following morning for the firing line. Portions of the city of Amiens were showing the effects of enemy aeroplane bombs. Some buildings were still smouldering. Quite a few of the bridges near the city were being mined by members of the Royal Engineers in

readiness to bo blown up should the Germans continue their break through. After leaving the city behind the real horrors- of war were revealed. When soldiers go into battle one can expect to see mutilations, such as men with limbs blown off, eyes shot out, disembowelled, or blown to pieces. To see refugees of war clearing out before an invader would upset tlie feelings of the hardest of men. In this case refugees were strung out along the roads for miles—old men, women, girls, and children. One isolated case was a buxom girl of about tvyenty summers; all her worldly belongings were in a small carpet bag. Looking dusty and weary she was ‘.‘stepping it out” for some distant town in the back areas. 11l her eyes was a deep fear of what her fate would be if she were overtaken by the invader. Then came an old couple, each about 80 years of age. The old man was evidently a cripple and was sitting in a wheelbarrow, being pushed along by bis wife; every fifteen or twenty yards she would have to rest. How far they had come we did not know and could not assist as we were going into_thc battle jfeliat was raging on the horizon. Others were more fortunate; they had their goods in farm waggons, the children trailing in the rear. They onlv had one ambition—to put as much distance as possible between them and the advancing Hun. These scenes gave one a good deal of thought—what would happen should an invader ever land on the shores of New Zealand? Here and there among these refugees would be a walking wounded British soldier; also quite a few straggles (soldiers) who had lost touch with their units. We oven passed some of the observation balloon units all packed up making for the back areas. Things seemed to be in a bad way, and no one knew what we wore going to be up against within the 1 next twenty-four hours.

Passing through a deserted village about 10 p.m. we halted opposite a battery of Royal Field Artillery on the march, all complete but minus their guns (eighteen pounders). ‘‘Where are your guns?” says a gunner to their sergt.-major; the reply was, “Jerry’s got t lupin” The sergt.major then inquired where we were going. Our reply was back in a flash: “Up to see where the old Hun is.” The final retort of the sergt.-major was: “And you will soon be coming back again.” We got into action about midnight on March 27 near the Madly Mallet railway station. The ammunition limbers and detachments not required at tlio position were returned to wagon lines. Next day after having spent the night in the open we moved the wagon lines into the deserted village of Forceville. The inhabitants had evidently cleared out in a hurry. The tables were set and pots and pans were on the stoves with food in them. In this particular house we took possession of the previous owner had evidently been gathering army clothing and jams for a long time. Some of the drivers were skylarking in the hay loft when one struck his head on something hard. What a windfall it was—cases of jam and clothing galore. One man donned a Highlander’s outfit and “did the rounds” of the sub-sections.

April 3.—A very quiet day; relieved the gunners. They had had a rough spin with several casualties. The following day was uncanny; hardly a shell-burst-to lie seen anywhere. A lull before a storm. The guns were just out In the open field within a stone’s throw of the Maillot Mallet railway station.

April s.—At 5:30 a.m. one thought hell had been let loose. Fritz attacked and we were absolutely deluged with gas and high explosive shells and shrapnel. Quite a lot was captured ammunition. We opened up and maintained our fire for several hours. All our food was tainted with gas, and the result was no breakfast until new

rations were procured from transport lines. Our cook house which was in an estaminet came in for a fair share of the shell fire. One high explosive went clean through the window, killing one gunner, another having a piece of his skull blown off. While carrying the latter down to the dressing station a shell burst on the road killing our cook, who was one of the stretcher bearers, and wounding another. At the height of this shelling along came the padre. “What sorb of a time are you having, men P” Anyone else than a padre we could have told; we did not reply. “1 will tell you; you are having a hell of a time,” he said. “Who smokes?” A packet of cigarettes for the smokers, a stick of chocolate for the non-smokers, and off went a shell quite near him; when the smoke cleared the padre was still seen plodding on. They were wonderful men. As a precautionary measure each of the batteries was covered by a pair of ma-chine-guns. In the event of Fritz breaking through again they would have enabled us either to withdraw or to blow the guns up. These machine-gunners had their' cook-house in what might have been a washhouse belonging to the estaminet where our cooking was carried out. One enemy battery was putting over 8-incli (about 2501 b) high explosive shells searching. Durjng a lull in the shelling a sergeant and myself were yarning to three of these machine-gunners and it transpired that one of them had s.ailed from New Zealand on the Tahiti, being in the same unit, Wellington Mounted Rifles. He asked me if I had seen anything of the “old man” (meaning our former captain). I was replying when off into the wilderness 1 departed. One of the 8-incli shells had struck the cook-house. When 1 picked myself up 1 found that I had been blown clean out of the doorway which had collapsed. The machine-gunners were wounded and the “Blighty” I thought I had received was a bruise. Evidently T had been hit with a bit of flying brick just above the knee. Before we got over the first shock No. 2 8-inch came over. This time not quite so bad, only a shower of rubbish. A couple of hours later we were working near the gun when' a whizz-bang burst a couple of chains away. A splinter pinged over my head and whang! It liit another n.c.o. in the shoulder. This chap was about 6ft 3in. I am sft Gin. I missed death and lie got a “beautiful Blighty.” That was one n.c.o. and a gunner wc liad lost that morning from off our gun. I don’t know why the “beads” selected a position right up against a railway station. Perhaps they imagined Fritz I thought no one would be foolish enough to put a battery in such a place. This battery position got its final “sally up” in the qarly morning of April 8. Our “bivy” when on the gun is just a hole 7ft long and 4ft wide and 3ft 6|n deep with a piece of canvas for a roof. On Sunday, April 7, a gunner started on a more elaborate “bivy,” but Fritz sent'up a balloon and put a stop to the work, otherwise we would have slept in i» that night. Anyhow, on the night of April 7 a- gunner was detailed with myself for S.O.S. guard and “to do” a shoot 2.30 a.m. My final orders were not to open fire if there was any hostile shell fire near the guns. At 2.25 a.m. the gun wa,s laid on the selected target, a high expolsive shell in the breach ready waiting for 2.30 a.m.. when there came a wild screech, a crash, and over in front of the gun burst two high explosive shells. The gunner unloaded and we made for the “bivy.” We bad got mixed up in one of Fritz’s shell storms. The following two and a half hours we just sat there. The concussion of exploding shells kept blowing the candle out, so we just sat ,ii\ the dark. The gunner’s matches

were getting low in lighting the candle so often, and he said he would not be able to light a cigarette soon. So. as stated, we sat in the dark. The shelling ceased just before dawn. At daylight we got out to look around. Ammunition was scattered everywhere and our new “bivy” did not exist—a big shell had landed right in the middle of it. Wo thanked Fritz for putting up his balloon yesterday, thus stopping it from being completed. During the day we moved to another position, leaving dummy guns in the vacated one. That night we were relieved by another detachment, thus ending our episode at Mailley Mallet.