THE LAND THEY LOVE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LII, Issue 16026, 18 September 1915, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE LAND THEY LOVE.

BY ELSIE K. MORTON.

Ox shell-swept shores of Gallipoli, in Egyptian cities, all burning in the glare of desert heat, in homes and hospitals of England, New Zealand's soldier sons are fighting now or resting from the fight, scattered as never they have been before and possibly never will be again. They have seen sights which we New Zealand born may never see; they have trodden lonely wastes of scorching desert sands, have ransacked the Pyramids and criticised the Sphinx. They have gone down to the Great Sea and followed the wanderings of the Apostle Paul, and now their faces are turned toward- a land where, long ages ago, Jason ventured forth on his immortal quest, and the noblestborn of Greece flocked to the -year siege of Troy.

A far cry from the River Nile to the Waikato, from plains of Troy to those of Canterbury, yet not so far but that in one single mental flash our men can picture ponga for palm, bush creek for the slow-gliding waters of the Nile, hear the thunder of surf on Western coasts for the lapping of the Mediterranean's unshadowed blue. Far have they travelled from us in this last year, farther still they will go ere they return, yet never so far. nor their stay so long but their hearts will be in the land they love. It is ever so with the true New Zealander. You will find him everywhere from Saskatchewan to Singapore, but always he will talk of the day when he will set his feet to the home trail and go back to the land beloved, fyit in the last few months the thoughts of New Zealand men far off have turned to the homeland with a strength and love far deeper and stronger than the desire of the wanderer. For the homeland they . have seen beloved comrades, die. for it they themselves are st/ll fighting to the death, and for it they are lying by hundreds on beds of pain in foreign lands. So they think of it now as they never did before. In the first excitement and novelty of life in Egypt they had no time to grow home-sick storming Gallipoli's hostile shores, senses all a-riot in the first hot thrill of battlelust. there - could have been but few thoughts save for the work in hand, although well we know never in their heart of hearts were we forgotten. But now has come a pause. Our men still fight desperately, but they have become more or less used to the grim war-game, and in between times, they doubtless turn from tragedy and horror surrounding them and take comfort and joy in thought of the land they love. Every bit of it they know well, these men who have gone% from its cities, its backbiocks villages, its rivers, its mountains, "and its plains. From farthest North and farthest South they have joined as brothers in the Great Adventure, men from depths of the mine, straight from the heart of the bush, from the shadow of the ice-kings of the Southern Alps, from farms'of the fertile plains, from blue waterways of our coasts. And so, in the hearts of all these men, our country is enshrined in every feature. Amid blazing heat and dust of Eastern summer they'll be thinking back to early spring in the homeland, clematis festooning forest trees, tuis calling one to another in the dawn, shafts of pale t sunshine falling across the scented gloom of the forest. Again and again, there on those . thirsty, sun-scorched ylifts of Gallipoli, they will walk in memory down the bush trail, winding to the curves of the rippling creek, up and down banks all .massed with\drooping ferns and forest grasses. And when night comes and the darkness is starred with bursting shells and flashed "with rifle-fire and gleam of bayonets, even then may come a moment when the tumult ceases, and a vision rises, of. quiet skies where the. Southern Cross 'jewels the mantle of the night, and the scent of flowering tea-tree rises in • the darkness, and the cry of the weka echoes across the silent hillside. ' ,

For* New Zealand men know, as perhaps few men do, all the beauties of their native land. The Englishman knows bis city,"his village, his lakes, or his hills as his father and his grandfather - and his great grand father , knew them, but the New Zealander knows/ his land as only, those do who wrest a holding from the heart of the wild. The -.farmer makes his land his own by sweat of the brow and strength of his body, fells the native bush, burns off the , -tree, and sows the first seeds of a hardest that seldom fails. , In the heart of - the. forest, the bushman pits his strength and "skill against great odds, weilds gleaming axe and. cross-cut with hands that never weaken and nerves that never fail, and in his heart is something of the primitive joy of the conqueror when, with rippling crash, the forest giants go down one by one before his onslaught." Not all our men are farmers and bushmen and miners and sailors, true: not all have been at close grips with nature in her sterner moods, but it makes little difference. All have lived within sound of voices that will sing in their hearts forever, although some of them may seem to forget, voices that sing of the dawn wind in the forest, whisper of the lapping of moonlit waters close by summer camp, of the grave stillness of open plains and the everlasting hills. All these things they think of. these men whom the fates have led from Land of the Cross to Land of the Crescent, and back of those pictures of home scenes you may 1& sure will ever he thought of their beloved. Not for themselves are they fighting and dying, but for ns and for our land, that it may still be ours. And we. in this land they remember and love so well—how can we show we know where their thoughts are, how give them to know we are not unmindful of their love and constant sacrifice? Shall we still send to husband. 6on, and brother, thinking back to us even from deadly peril of the trenches and from beds of racking pain, pictures of their home-loving brethren crowding the racecourse, rushing the patriotic carnivals, waving flags as New Zealand men go forth to war, cheering as the wounded return to show us how the true of heart still keep faith with King and' country ? . . . Not much of a reward for them, is it. when you come to think of the men in tliose far-off lands, enduring hardships such as come only to men who brave the battle-field? Surely, their supreme effort and supreme sacrifice is worthy some better reward, and surely it rests with us both nationally and individually how full and fitting that reward shall be ! j

There is only one way of showing that this well-beloved country takes thought for her fighting sons, one way of proving herself worthy their Jove, and that is by sending her manhood to their aid and giving freely of her wealth to save them, as far as mav be, from the cruel aftermath of war. Their thoughts come back to us lovingly, yearning, night and day, and the voices of the valiant dead are ever calling. ... To you, to me, to everyone of us. those who have passed into the Great Beyond, as well as those who yet are fighting for us, speak across the ocean. Listen, and you will hear, and your answer will echo down all the years. Fighting, suffering, dying, they have proved their love for us and for their land, dare we shrink from proving curs ?