The Laughing Soldier.

Manawatu Times, Volume XL, Issue 13523, 6 October 1916, Page 7

The Laughing Soldier.

PALMEESTON BOY WEITES HOME.

A well-known Palmerston boy who is now in the trenches in France, writing to his mother, says: —Just across the road from where we are is an old inn 300 years old, and it really is the quaintest place you could imagine. Tnc roof is thatched, of course, and the ceiling is just high enough oft! the weather-beaten buck floor to enable one to enter. On one of the coiling beams is a swallow's nest full of young swallows. The old bird comes in to feed its young as though it owned the place. The people tied some

arrangement round its leg to see if it was the same bird that came year after year, and sure enough it was. I had the pleasure of lunching at an old chateau in which the Duke of Wellington at one time spent two days, and, my word, it is "some home'' —slightly damaged, I am afraid, but the grounds are beautiful though slightly overgrown with weeds. The oecupants fled over two years ago. It is such a jolly shame to see these beautiful homes knocked about, and oh the lovely big tiled bathrooms! Of course, the bath has been hidden for safety long ago, also the pictures —only the frames left. Such is war. Thank God we don't have it in New Zealand.. The only trouble is that you dear people are worrying about the boys out here. But I must not be sentimental; one has to forget sentiment these days. It is a case of "bog in" and "go for your life," as Ave say when we are hard at it.

We have been very fortunate as regards accidents. We have only lost one officer and one man, and of all our working parties of infantry we have had only one man killed and about a dozen wounded. I hope our luck sticks to us a bit longer; it i:. really wonderful. I have been ovv the parapet at night, and Fritz swings his machine guns all round us, and no ( one gets hit. Mind you, we go for mother earth every time. One is no; so frightened of the bullets as the "big boys." One has a sporting chance with rifle and machine gun bullets, but the shrapnel and high explosives are deadly. I reckon they ought to fire "blue monges" at one another, what do you say? I saw Father Doyle again a few nights ago. He is good company and a real hard case. The war is no good'to him or to any one else as far as that goes, but he sees the funny side of the thing, and I can tell you we have some good laughs. I must tell you some absolutely true expressions I heard with my own ears. We were at a certain place the other day and a few Australians came in. One was a sergeant in charge of the party. The party were what is called trenching men: they do nothing but dig trenches, and he explained in this way: "Yes see, we are what yer call engineers' slushies. You coves are engineers, ain l t.yer? Well, yer see, you do the 'ead work and we do the 'ard work." He also said that several of his men had "spinal McGinnes"—they are a hard thing, I can tell you. The other day I overheard two Tommies, and this was their conversation: "I say,"'irrb, 'ave you got any lices?" And Herbert replied: "Yes, 'undreds," So the pal came again: "Oh, I'don't mean them things; I mean those what yer lice yer boots with" (not a dry eye anywhere). I must tell you of a rescue I took part in the other day. We had occasion to use the dinghy again on one of the canals, and after we (two of us) had left the moorings, and had been a mile or so on our way, the Huns started to shell one of our guns, and instead of getting the gun it brought a house down on the top of. some poor unfortunate women and children. Well, one shell landed right on the bank of the canal. I have rowed a few miles, but never so fast as at that particular time to get away from the danger zone. A few hundred yards down the stream was a poor old woman and her daughter with their goods and chattels tied in a towel, all they had time to get. They asked us. to row them across the canal where there was a church. They had no where else to go. The sad fact was that her daughter was killed, and a few days before the married daughter (killed) got word that her husband had got killed in the trenches. Needless to say, we started the poor old thing safely on her journey. Well, now, mother dear, I must conclude; and think of me as touring through France and Belgium, and keep your eye on the pot of jam for me. Don't forget to bring the bird in. Cheer oh,