A War Tragedy, 1918

Maoriland Worker, Volume 12, Issue 293, 11 October 1922, Page 3

A War Tragedy, 1918

It was a beautiful morning in early October; fresh and fair, with ,a tang In the air that made one feel it good to be alive. ,

The grass.was' soakeij in dew, and the-skies 'blue" and clear, in a region where men, just the day before, had ruthlessly, slaughtered each other as a sacrifice to the god of war. Thehideous roar of. the guns had reverberated throughout the night, as their muzzles venomously spat forth death and disaster, shattering homes and hamlets, churning the earth, giving a picture of blasted .trees and hedges, and green fields lacerated with shell holes. . :

After the storm, had come the calm and the reckoning. I arrived upon the scene of one of numberless minor tragedies that make up the "glories of war." In front of a German pillbox of concrete lay twelve dead soldiers of the Cheshire legiment.

I visualised the scene before they fell, the rush from the ditch, the burst of fire'from tiie enemy machine 'gun; the troop.;-, winded but safe, throwing thtrnsolves flat, and feverishly cia-yviii.'-j Lheuir-selves hi at the roadside with tlWir entrenching tools. The surface, was of. hard stone,, and their efforts would be of little use, but patient!;. , they 'would wait for the first.' peer- of diiv/n to locate the pillbox. .

A sudusn cnuiiaand, and they are doubling over iho field —a spit of fire from tiie enemy giin twenty yards away --a rmitturod curse, a gasp of rage or fear or ajony as the bullets find the 1 hta'pan nvarks that drop in their tracks—viesd| The- survivors f>.n in. re-.i", primitive rage as they di'ag' forTα-th* 'gunnoi*- and smash lii his KkiiJt with the 'butt-end of their rifles.

i The twelve mcii , ' lay is i? laid out for the inspection of. Death —in a row, exactly. Tv. r o paces .'between each, and ..all shot through head or throat, with bloodless aisa sightless eyes turned iipvrarus to the heavens, and some twister; as the final paxoxysm had left then:. Two yards away lay the German gunner, he. too —right or wrong as liis cause may have been — I a martyr. Ho had stayed behind to help stem tli? British advance, knowing full well that the certain end be death. His? 'brains were hanging out, a horrible sight to look upon; I)ut evt'u in death there was a twisted smile on his face.

"Anions the «?ad"was. a youth of 18 or' IS years—a bullet wound in his throal---with a wealth-of fair curl:: hair. The fail , hair and still, white fs.ee gave l\\i:\ the appearance of asaintly picture Ihnt one might see in. the-'slKiiiKd-g'toss window of a cathedral. I approached him. My eye caught the aid. of a pocket-book projecting from his , -b re:;-.':si pocket, I kueJt dawn, and from ih? li'tle leather case I drew tr.vp po~.'cards—one a photograph, the other a. birthday card. The photograph was one of a group o.£ people, a typical.working-class family, a middle-aged it* an and woman, a little girl of; about 12 years of age, and two boys, the elder of whom'was the dead lad beside mc. The birthday card was from, a sister: this fair-haired British lad had been killed on his birthday morning! It ■ was a pathetic document' Ihis card, in which Iris sister wished him many happy returns of. the flay and wondered if she would ee-e. him soon again. I involuntarily gulped, down v sob as I thought of the still figure beside mc and of his folk far away in n little I/ancashire village all unaware that he lay dead in a Flanders field.

1 walked away with sad and heavy heart, and air day long the'memory ol: that boyish face, wreathed with curling hazi', haunted mc, and my heart turned to loathing of this agony of blood and tears called war. —KMMA. LEI-:. In the Scots "Forward."'