AROUND THE LINES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LII, Issue 15916, 13 May 1915, Page 9

AROUND THE LINES.

BRAINS OF THE ARMY. GENERAL HEADQUARTERS. CONTRASTS OF PEACE NEAR TRENCH KS.

( For three flays I have been visiting some ' , of (iiOst? places in Franco and Belgium . whose names since the war began have t, j become familiar as Jidiißehold word?, and . I now, in many households' lA England and I .' the Empire cause a quick catch of the ." breath and a sudden heartbeat to those wlm speak them, writes the special corres- , polliiriit of tile Daily Chronicle, Mr. Philip Ulblisv Because it is here that some of i ! tile ties), (if our blood is being poured out, I and here that the old heroism, of the race | has flowered again above Ihe slime and J the slush, and here that hundreds of thouI sands of our young men still stand to I arms, struggle forward, and fight for all 1 that seems to us true and sacred. j In these last three days I have learned | more about the machinery of war than 1 had gathered during the six preceding months. "The front'-how does it look, that : place which is drawn in a jagged black 1 line across the map on the wall" "General headquarter*"— hat sort of a place » that, in which the commander-in-chief ))v«s with his staff, directing the operations in the fighting lines' "An attack was made yesterday upon the enemy's position at . A line of trenches was carried by assault." So runs the official bulletin, but the wife of a soldier abroad cannot fill in the picture, the future territorial cannot get enough detail upon which his imagination may build. For all those at home, whose spirits come out to Flanders seeking k( get ill touch with these young men who are fighting for honour's sake, it is I difficult in form any kind of mental ] vision, giving a clear and true picture of this great adventure in "foreign parts." They would be surprised at the reality, It is 'so different from all our previous imaginings. General headquarters, for instance, is a surprise to those who come to such a place for the first time. It is not a verv long distance from the fighting lines in these days of long-range guns, but it is place of strange quietude in which it is easy to forget the actuality of war— until one is reminded" by sullen' far-off rumblings which make the windows tremble, and make men lift their heads a moment to say: " They are busy out there to-day." A Placid Scene.

There' are no great movements of troops in the streets. Most of the soldiers one sees aro staff officers, who walk briskly from one building to another with no more than a word and a smile to any friend they meet on the way. Sentries stand outside the doorways of big houses. Here and there at the street comers stands a military policeman, scrutinising any newcomer in civilian clothes with watchful eyes. Church belis tinkle for early morning .Mass or Benediction. Through an open window looking out upon a broad courtyard the voices of school children come chanting their A B C in French, as though no war had taken away their father*. There is an air of profound peace. At night, when one stands at an open window listening to the silence of the place it is hard, even though one knows, to think that here in this town is the headquarters staff of the greatest army England has ever sent abroad, and thatllie greatest war in history is being fought out only a few miles away. The raucous horn of a motorcar, the panting of a motor-cycle, the nimble of a convoy of ambulances, perhaps the .-hook of a solitary gun. come as *,he only reminders of the great horror away there through the darkness. A despatch rider n coming back from a night, Vide on a machine which has side-slipped all the way from Ypres. An officer is motoring buck to a divisional headquarters after a late interview with the chief. . . The work goes on, though it is very quiet in general headquarters.

Organisers at Work. But the brains of the army are,not "sleep. Behind those doors, guarded by sentries, men in khaki uniforms, with just I a touch of red about the collar, are bending over maps and documents— the lines of (Herman trenches as they have been sketched out by aviators flying above Herman shrapnel, writing out orders for ammunitiu i to be sent in a hum' to a certain point on the fighting line where tilings were very "busy" in the afternoon, ordering the food" supplies wanted | by a division of hungry men whose lorries are waiting at the rail-head for bread and meat and a new day's rations. "Tilings are going very well," says one of the officers, with a glance at a piece of flimsy paper which has just come from the Signals Department across the street. But things would not have gone so well unless at general headquarters every officer had done his duty to the last detail, whatever the fatigue of body or spirit. The place is quiet, because the work is done behind' closed doors in these private houses of French and Flemish bourgeoisie whose family portraits hang upon the walls. Outside one does not see the spirit of war unless one searches for it. It is after one has left "G.H.Q." that one sees something of the human side of war and all its ceaseless traffic. Yet even then, as one travels nearer and nearer to the front, one is astounded at the silence the peaeetulness of the scenery about one' the absence of all tragic sights. Yesterday! on the way to a place which is very close to the ben-nan lines, children were playing on the roadside, and old women m black gowns trudged down the lone straight high roads, with their endless sentinels oi trees. In a furrowed field a peasant «- as SO wing the seed for an autumn harvesting, and i watched his swinging gestures from left to right which seems symbolical of all that peace means and of all nature's life and beauty The ed is scattered and God does the rest, though men may kill each other and invent new ways of death

Ceaseless Traffic. But the roads are encumbered and the traffic of war is surging forward ceaselessly in a muddled, contused, aimless sort of way, as it seemed to me, before I knew the system and saw tile working of the brain behind it all. A long train of carts without horses stand, shafts down, on the muddy side of the road. Little blue and red flags flutter above them. A group of soldiers arc lounging in their neighbourhood, waiting, it seems, for something to turn up. Perhaps that something is a distant train which comes with a long trail of smoke across the distant marshlands. At the railway crossing there is a great park of motor lorries, 'lhey, too, seem to be waiting for new loads. 'Obviously this is one of the "railheads" about which I bad a lecture this morning from a distinguished officer, who thinks in railheads and refilling stations and other details of transport upon which the armies in the held depend for their food and ammunition. Without that explanation all these roadside halts, all these stationary lorries and forage carts would have seemed like a temporary stagnation in the business of war, with nothing doing. A thrill comes to one when one sees bodies of British troops moving along the roads. On" is glad when one's motor-car gets held up by some old waggons slithering axle-deep in the quagmire on the side of the paved highway, so that one can put one's head out and shout a "Hullo, hoys.' How's it going? And who are you.'" After all tli. thrill of the recruiting days, all the excitement of the send-off, all the enthusiasm with which they sang "Tipper, .try" through the streets of their first port of call in Fiance, they have settled down to the real business.

I Some of them had been into the trenches for the first time a night or two ago. "How did you like it?" Well, it wasn't amusing to them, it seems, but they "stuck it." They are readv to go again. That is the spirit of it all. They "stick it," gamely, without grousing, without swanking, without any other thought than suffering all the hardships and all the tin ills of war like men who know the gravity of the game, and the risks, and the duly to which they have pledged themselves. ,