STORIES OF WAR.

North Otago Times, 20 July 1917, Page 7

STORIES OF WAR.

' ONE DAY OP AOTION. / i -ALONE IN A TRENCH. PRIZE FOR ENEMY FLARES, rain falls in a light drizzle out Bide, and the spa-wind blows sharply ■across the'qnadi angle, of the Raudwick Military Hospital, so that tho usual groups of men in khaki desert it for , more congenial quarters', Inside there is a pleasant busllc and waimth, for the long ward' is filled witli men in hod, men in shirt sleeves, and one or two fully dressed, while eleven o 'clock tea is being passed round. The sister •pauses in the folding of pyjamas. "Try Sam Cunningham," says she, "he has a good story! There he is sitting by the fire.' No; not the man in the wliecl-ck'air, the other chap." ■: You follow the direciion of her hand, and'notice a soldier With an upper lilp that was'' givcn : him'for laughter. He is in conversation with, a wheel-chair ■'friend in- a 'blanket: dressing-gown. They sit in the glow of 'a'coal fire. You introduce yourself with the plea that "Sister" wants to. get .rid'of you for

a bit, and yon pine to hear a story of war. • The blanketed individual immediatejjpiifcfutes anything of it,' while the" eyes of tho' other' soldier ' grow steely blue. You address'yourself to him, but the .answer leaves you in no doubt concerning- ],i s attitude towards stories of

'-If you want to know about war." says Sam Cunningham.'"you'll have to go somewhere else, for I know nothing about it, I got*under a train; (hat's how. I got 'this," lie adds mendaciously, as he reveals a limp hand and an arm that shows humpy above the elbow, under his pjvjama sleeve. You express your conviction that the untruthful will never go to heaven, and dppcal to the wheel-chair for justice. He agrees that it is criminal to keep a good story locked away, but the keeper of the tale remains adamant. The Human Colander.

"See that fellow over there," says kc. "Well, he ought to have a fine story! He's got so many wounds in hiifc you'd think he was a colander. Now, there's a ■man could talk worth while!" His voice becomes almost cooing in its intensity of purpose as he points to a comrade who sits up in bed, eyeing his legs and dabbing them here 'and there with lumps of cotton wool, You profess a marked disinterest for anything but wounds in the hand and arm. The man in the blanket dres-sing-gown wheels off down the ward, and the voice of CiiJiingham,-grows desperate.

"There's a fellow down in that cor-' ner has the D.C.M. That'll be a fine story for you, now." But you,eye him with lauglifer, and he joins i'ii at the end. "All J know of war,-' says the soldier, "is that there's good times and bad times; there's been people have given iiie cheek, and.there's some I've given check to! No, 1 'can't tell you about the good times! If I did it might spoil ihem for those who are still looking for fund. But I wish I could find the chap that did this"— (pointing to his injured hand)-"l'd give him a little souvenir!" ; You murmur-a question, with fear at your heart that it may put the conversation out of joint. "It was at Flcurbaix," continues the returned man. "But I didn't see anything of war, really. I went into the trenches, and was there only one night. Jlv

m'ates were on their way into action when I got hit. They couldn't wait for me. If it were your own brother you couldn't stay behind for him! Well, I was left behind in ihe trench by myself. The bombardment by the enemy soon turned the rest of the trench into a quagmire, so that the stretcher-bearers couldn't get to me. I ? Oh, I cat with my back up against the trench all night and wondered when they'd blew my head off." (His eyes have grown tired: and you have a vision i)!' him bleeding and muddy and alone iii a nightmare of shells.) The Unclaimed Offer. ',Tu.the morning," he continues. "T found another chap who had been <-i/l like myself. He had a bullet wound in the back. Tt was no good our trying to get to the dressing slation along the th'iii'li. which was in a hopeless condition, so we c.linibeil up on the parapet and started off by way of No Man's Land. , - "I must say this for the enemy, they did .not pot at us. Whether Ihey saw we were wounded or not I don't know. But tlie artillery' kept on wasting good ayJMinition; all the. same.- We go't to the dressing station without a^^orc'being added to our wounds. I had to be drugged as soon as I got there, for I had lost a lot of blood, and was in .a fine state. Then they sent me off to Boulogne, and afterwards to the . Canadian Hospital. No! I never again set eyes on the other fellow that came through with me!" The man in the -blanket dressing-gown-.wheels himself down the ward and past the lire, aml'tlic soldier with the limp hand suddenly becomes aware that he has let slip a story of war. }}c

•becomes silcivt, and you hear no more V personal details. ; Talking of. flares, , Sam Cuningham tells how 'they are sent up from both sets of trenches, and how.they look for all the world like • electric glomes, "I .heard that £IOO and a week's furlough had been offered for any soldier who got a German flare so that its composition could be analysed. I never heard of anyone getting one. They: were always burnt out; before reaching the giound." The- soldier's inrfiiner pudic'ates iliat there'will be no 'more/conversational lapses to-day, so you bid him good-bye and go off, with wonder in your heart that a mail could keep his mental .balance in spite of that night watch at tragic i'icurbaix. For Chronic Chest,' Complaints, Woods' Great, Peppermint Cure. 1/C, 2/fl.