"GHEERO!"

New Zealand Times, Volume XLI, Issue 9246, 13 January 1916, Page 7

"GHEERO!"

WITH THE ARTILLERY AN OBSERVER'S BREEZY STORY. From Our Special Correspondent. LONDON, November 26. "September.—Some-where in France. —Cheer oh! wo are still in our rest camp, but I don't think I shall be able to write to you for some little time. Our last tour was a very 'kouchy' one in reserve trenches, broken only by my servant hauling me out at 4 a.m. to observe for artillery. As a general rule, we get an over-night notice saying: 'Please observe for artillery tomorrow morning from dawn for half an bour.' You then turn in after many swear words, and in the midst ot vour dreams are awakened, with the stars still in the heavens. You dress up like an Arctic observer in a cap, comforter, many sweaters, and a long, large pole to 'feel' for Jack Johnson holes, and sally forth with a respirator and revolver, armed with many maps, a watch and a compass, looking like nothing on earth and very far from the typical English Hofficerl "Having previously selected a good spot free from 'W nizay bangs (high velocity field guns with Bosche observers who seem trained to detect anyouo moving, however far off), you sit down and smoke a cigarette before the 'straffe' begins, punctually to the hour every d d gun opens with an earsplitting crash: 4.5 howitzers, held guns, 9.2'5, and 10-in, while 4.7's blaze away as though they were trying to iblow up. Then brother Bosche begins to retaliate, doing the same on his part. Soon the whole section of front is a mass of smoke, and then the sun rises (a perfect sunrise!) and gets in your eyes, making observing very difficult. Punctual to the hour our guns slacken off, brother Bosche slowing down a few minutes later, and then all is quiet. The smoke drifts away and a calm, undisturbed front lies before one's view, the sun serenely smiling down. Calm from the rear, Heaven only knows what chaos that thin line of khaki really hides. "All is not yet over, however, boon the dull, almost noiseless report ot the enemy's heavy guns is heard, and great 'expresses' come sailing over, to find our batteries, which retaliate in turn. My job is over, the maps are folded up 1 . I plod back to the trench. Everyone is asleep. I write up my roport with the aid of squared mats. Drink a cup of hot coffee, smoKe a cigarette, and to sleep once more. Three hours later our. lig 9.2"|s start firing on the enemy's trench to revenge themselves for the 'expresses' of the earlier part of the day, Bang! A sort of stealthy, subdued noise, compared with the. harsh bang of the 4. s. 'Whuir, -whuir,' as the shell' passes over us. Up we pop to have a look. A cloud of smoke, up, and heaven(wrarda. go sandbags, timber, and clouds of earth. Then bang I (one hears after one sees). Surely this war is one-half mechanical. "A growly major, suffering from i the effects of a good dinner the night ibefore. is awakened by the enemys shells trying to find his battery. He pops hia head out of his dug-out, yells, 'No. 1, let the beggars have it 1' The sergeant in charge of * No. 1 gun rushes to where it is .ready loaded and laid, and pulls the trigger with a vicious bang. The huge gun recoils in a stealthy, creepy sort of way, arid some poor devils five miles away go to blazes. Another instance is that of a battery major, who one afternoon poked his head out of his dug-out and yelled, ' '250 rapid. . "Such are the impressions of an officer observing a bombardment. At the end of it he. shrugs his shoulders. ■nMh the mental observation: 'A damned good Bhow.' I think, yes, this ' war is onerhalf mechanical and the rest, of course, is" composed of 1 the human element. One can't really write too much about the 'Tommy'! He is a hero, and nothing less than that!" -After having been in a. jolly warm corner for five days, he is re-i lieved, and comes out smiling and singing, to march his seven mile* to billet as though on an ordinary route march in peaceful England, putting away all cares and dangers, if only lor a few days. With men like this, we are bound to win the war." A WOUNDED CORPORAL'S ACCOUNT. ■' "For days the guns had rained explosive shells on the German lines," writes a corporal. "They never seemed to miss.. It seems as if they picked out just the spot they wanted. After blowing a trench about i'or a while, they would send the wire entanglements up into the sky. When you remember that our lines were only a few yards from the Germans, and that our gunners never dropped a shell near us, you will realise what our men can do. When the order to charge came, there was the wildest scramble out of the trenches. Platoon ■commanders were out first. The younger officers were jolly good. No man would want better. I was wounded before I reached the German lines, worse luck, in the left arm arid left leg. I crawled as best I could into one of the numerous shell holes. 1 tried all I could to bandage myself, but it is hard with only one hand. 1 lay in that hole for five hours before I was able to crawl out and roll back to our lines, where I was finally picked np and brought back to the hospital. As I lay in the shell holes a captain came by. He was swaying from side to side like a drunken man. He was looking sometimes on the ground at the men who lay there dead. Then he would shade his eyes with his hand and look around him. It seemed as if he had lost something. He came quite near to me, and I called to him. He looked at me for a moment; then he passed on, calling ,out as he went, 'I have lost all my children! I have lost, all my children!' I tried to get out after him, ' but I manage it. There was blood running down his face. He had been shot in the head. He passed out of my sight, still looking for his children who were dead."