THE GRAVE

New Zealand Times, Volume XLII, Issue 9619, 27 March 1917, Page 7

THE GRAVE

GERMAN SOLDIER’S IDEA OF THE SOMME The Somme is known among the German troops as “The Grave, i.bo following is a translation of an article recently published in o wellknown German periodical, the ‘‘Leipzig Illustrated Gazette” ( .J----Instrite Zeitung") under the head- • Ing ‘‘The Grave on the Somme. Toot-toot-toot! „ “Hostile aeroplanes! Take cover. . . That 08 what the signal means. The British airman is flying very low, not more than a hundred yards high. 1 can hear the whirr of his propellers quit© distinctly. In the trenches fhc car ;soon learns to tell the Englishman by the sound of his machine. This fellow is an artillery observer. Since dawn he has been over our positions, sending back his signals which we can hear quite clearly. Now he has caught sight of something again; already I can detect the rushing night ■of shells approaching from the distance. ,‘We know the sound well enough . • ■ they must be llin shells at least. The ■earth trembles and a. mighty pillar, of mud springs aloft from; where. Übp l shell .has ’ fallen, leaving a gigantic' crater!

‘‘Hostile aeroplanes! Take cover!” The word is passed-down tho trench from man to man. But there is no cover. A simple, very shallow trench is bur sole defence. I have managed to scrape myself a-hole in -the parapet, and In this way T can at least sit down, with the pack of a dead comrade as a seat.

I wonder if the airman has found us out already. ■ The trench is quite new, and it was dng with every possible precaution. The English seem to have got plenty of ammunition again to-day, so 'everything that looks, like ' a trench. Where our brave lads are gallantly holding out, is to .be” smashed and ploughed up bv the British -Heavies.

t The battalion doF one side of us is catching it, now. The sun is uncommonly [hot to-day, and we are all suffering from thirst. ‘ 1 don’t know why .1 am so ! thirsty, as I have- j ust finished one waterbottle! X wonder if it.is the smell of earth and of decaying, corpses. A gentle breeze, is Mowing across to us from'the enemy. It is a gas wind oil [right/ I wonder , whether . lought to place another gas sentry.” I feel so unisettled to-day, yet this is but a day like ithe rest; we - have had' this sort of thing for ten days past- But gas is not 'much used here; the fighting sways too much to. and "fro. Besides, a gas 'attack . doesn’t worry us any longer—these are ’stale tricks,.

I don’t care so much for the gas shells through, which we had to pass when we came up to take over the line. They /make an.odd sound when they burst, but their splinters don’t do so much harm. I remember how we stumbled from shellI hole .to shell-hole until we reached tb a [front line- amid a thunderous cascade of [howling, rushing, bursting shells. ;" h /■ • - ' *

; I wonder" how long we- shall be here, ■Our orders are to hold the line At all [costs. If only X were not so thirsty. It can only come from the penetrating odour of dead bodies, for they lie .in heaps. For days the smell has haUnted me; my food tastes of it; that is why X hardly eat at all now. It is the same with drinking, but you can’t do without water. I think I’ll just get my second water-bottle ..... but there is the humming-of -propellers again, and this time the Englishman is coming nearer. On our. left he makes a circle in the air. then his monotonous too-toot resounds, and almost atonco the shells come rushing much ; nearer to us now. Earth and steel are flung far and wide. X press myself close up against tho parapet. Keep still, everybody, so that he doesn’t find us out. He comes nearer and nearer , ; now he is over us. ! Then he seems to start in surprise and he corkscrews' down so low that you would think you could almost touch him. Very cautiously I peep out under my steel helmet; then a wild rage seizes me. I spring up and seize the rifle of the man by my side to shoot the intruder down. ,

But he has already turned his ma-chine-gun on the trench. Tack-tack-tack he sweeps the trench; but in vain. Then suddenly I hear a shell. "That is coming at you !" is my first thought. A big shell takes some seconds in its flight, apd you have time to think things out. But there is no doubt this time.' This shell is meant for ms. Though death, is so close upon me I don’t want to die; I fight against the thought, every muscle taut, every nerve strained to preserve my life. Then the heavy shell plunges into the soft ground right in front -of me, the trench : rooks, and I am buried under tons of- earth, as it seems, My body is shaken as though I had jumped from a lofty window on to the pavement, and my senses, begin to slip away from me. So it’s all oyer .... this is the end. Mechanically my right hand had gone up to protect my face, my steel helmet had fallen forward a little, my left hand was outstretched high above my head. , Like lightning my whole . life- flashes through my mind like a film run ’across the screen at express speed all is over 1 .... I aid dead. Yet 1 still hear the shells bursting right-and'left, I can still hear the English airman • sending back his signals. Then crash after crash re-echoes in my •trench, .(foe parapet quake*;; -that -is “drum-fire” . .... Oh; .if only the

shells would kill me again so that I might not hear them, still! Now they are falling closer, first ■ dull reports, then loud explosions. Those must be gas shells! Now I hear the voices of my men. The shelling has ceased. 1 That means they are attacking .... aha, my lads will give it to them 1

The voices are louder-. They have begun to destroy my grave ..... daylight filters in. What is that smell . . . . . gas or the dead? It must be gas, for it releases me from my sufferings. The pressure is going at last I am' passing away peacefully, gently. All I know is that the feeling of terror has left mo and that all is still.

Thunderous crashes -Rake me again. Will the shells never leave me in peace? The trench is narrow, and I am lying in it at. full length. My senses arc coming back to me; I put out my hand and feel that somebody is lying by mj side quite quiet and contented. A violent shaking. ..... I open my eyes. Where am I? It is no bombardment, but the rattling of the ambulance over the shellholes in the road. I feel as if every one of my ribs were broken. The wagon is badly hung and plunges as it is driven swiftly forward, for English shells dearly love the roads. Slowly 1 realise what has happened. My men must have seen my hand projecting from the mass of earth under which I. had been buried bv the big shell and forthwith set to work with pick and shovel to dig me out. My steel helmet, thrust forward over, my face, had retained enough air to keep me alive for the few minutes that the rescue work lasted. They sent me down unconscious and the ambulance bore me swiftly to a place of safety. My chest is very painful ah! the odour of death! .... and when I sleep I can still hear the dull droning of the English airmen and the gurgling rush of the llin shells.