SHORT WAR STORIES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LIV, Issue 16627, 25 August 1917, Page 3 (Supplement)

SHORT WAR STORIES.

THEY WERE HAD. A company ~in the North of England I had for some time been dojng trenching on Sunday morningß. One Saturday recently the sergeant in charge requested all those who would prefer to go to church to give in their names. The pious ones were numerous. On the following day they were called out for church parade. When they learned that Sunday morning trenching had been discontinued their language was not Sabbatarian. A QUICK MARCH. Private Clark (to the Medical Officer): " Burnt feet, sir." M.0.: " Burnt feet? How the deuce did you get your feet burnt?" Private Clark: " Through marching, sir." M.O. : Through marching! I never heard of such a thing. How did it happen?" Private Clark: "The nails of my boots got red hot, sir." PICCADILLY AGAIN. It was at Pozieres that an officer of the —s had an amusing experience. He was working along a communication trench with a party of bombers when he met a regular procession of Bodies, all holding their hands well up, and led by one who carried an enormous cigar-box over his head. The British officer suspected some sort of foul play, of course. The Boches have played so many dirty tricks. But the fellow whipped open the big box and showed it had nothing in it but cigars, and explained as well as he could that it was by way of being a sort of propitiatory offering. He wound up by saying: " This war no" good ; no good I at all, sir. " Piccadilly no good ; no good at all, sir. Piccadilly again soon now, sir!"

ON MANO3VRES. The military manoeuvred. All the afternoon the attackers had attacked and the defenders defended, with conspicuous lack of incident or bravery. Operations were beginning to drag horribly, when the white flag went up. The officer in command of the attackers started in amazement. "A flag of truce!" he exclaimed. " What do they want?" The sergeant-major endeavoured to cover up a smile. "They say, sir," he reported, "that, as it's tea-time they'd like to exchange a couple of privates for a can of condensed milk —if you can afford it." READY TO CHARGE. The colonel was getting angry. The day had tried him sorely. Many of his 1 men, among them his own son, had been carried back, all but gone. I "Go to the rear," he ordered me, " and | tell that blasted cavalry regiment behind us to get off our heels. We don't want them charging over us." I bolted back. Excitement made me run, and as I neared them I caught every eye fixed on my movements. Was it a summons to go forward? They crowded in and the officer rode forward. "Through? We're wanted?" he panted excitedly. "By God! we're ready." I shook my head. "No. My instructions are to ask you to stop pressing on our rear." His face fell, and he looked at me hopelessly and nodded. A DETERMINED SURRENDER. A really funny experience was that of the officer who came upon four Germans in an otherwise deserted stretch of trench, and having previously emptied his revolver, paused in some uncertainty as they came rushing at him, jabbering in chorus. Then he retreated rather precipitately to call for help to secure the Boches as prisoners. But the quartette ran faster than he did, and overtaking him, proceeded to embrace him, to supplicate him by tone and gesture to accept their surrender. Although he marched in with dignified satisfaction at the head of his little bag, he did not hesitate to tell the story against himself. In describing some " hands up stunts" on the part of the German prisoners taken at Guillemont a war correspondent says :— "An spectacled and elderly— went on his knees before an embarrassed British sergeant, and still another, according to the non-commissioned officer who told me his experiences, hung to him and asked not to be killed.' ' Mercy' was repeated at intervals. They pronounce it very well. I fancy they practise saying it in their front line trenches. " They came running up to their captors from craters and shallow hidingplaces in the broken earth, holding out watches,, money, personal trinkets, firm in the belief that they could buy their lives. " An officer captured in the quary with 24 —four of them wounded and already ticketed for a German clearing station —offered his gold watch, worth at least £30, to the officer who took his surrender. When it was refused, he held it out to a sergeant, and then to a private, and finally put it back in his tunic with a puzzled look- They cannot understand their captors."