Comstock’s Nerve and Bone Liniment

Otago Witness, Issue 3382, 8 January 1919, Page 54

Comstock’s Nerve and Bone Liniment

I* # a powerful, penetrating preparation, which acts through the pores of the skin on the nerves, bone, : and muscles. It possesses the marvellous properties of a prompt pain-killer, and is unsurpassed as a remedy for tha pains and aches to which human beings aro subject, and which only an external remedy can relieve. It overcomes pains and aches by relieving the effect on the delicate nerves, causing the circulation of the blood to be fully maintained through the injured part. It is an invaluable remedy for sprains and for reducing swellings, which, under its influence, become softened and disappear. Rheumatism, Sciatica, and Lumbago all yield to the powerful, penetrating, and conquering properties of this Liniment if used in connection with Dr Morse's Indian Root Pills according to directions. For Stiff Joints, Neuralgia, Lame Back, Scalds, Burns, Contracted Muscles, and Painful Swellings, it will be found that Comstock's Nerve and Bone Liniment is a splendid remedy. It prevents severe blistering, and draws the burning sensation from Burns and Scalds, ard averts discolouration of the skin from bruises. Comstock's_ Nerve and Bone Liniment may be obtained at all the leading chemista and. stores; or will be forwarded by mail (post paid) at the same price—2s 6d per bottle (6 bottles 13s 6d). Address: The W. H. Comstock Co. (Ltd.), Farah ■tr<*4, Wellington

infantryman -was not always an enviable one. For days on end we would trek over the sun-scorched veldt: our mouths parched and our eyes blinded by the clouds of choking alkaline dust which the passing o'f our column sent up into the quivering air; our heads and bodies aching with malaria or dysentery; the only prospect at the end of the march being a share in a tin of bully and perhaps a mug of warm stenching water to relieve a thirst that defied description. If only one could have had a scrap things would have been different; but fighting the Hun consisted chiefly of jogging along through the bush until the sudden tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of a machine gun hidden with devilish cunning amongst the trees indicated the proximity of the enemy. Thanks to his intimate knowledge of the intricate system of native paths through the jungle, the Hun could get away before ever we caught a glimpse of him.

Quite often, as we marched, a British aeroplane would sail along serenely overhead; its occupants apparently quite oblivious to the heat and dust and the thousand-and-one discomforts of the footsloggers. At first the sight used to make me green with envy; for I would picture the airmen completing their reconnaissance m an hour or so, and then returning to the comparative comforts of an aerodrome —regular meals, 1 hot baths, comfortable beds, and—well, wasn't it common knowledge that they boasted of iced beer for lunch ?•.-■'

Ye gods-! Fancy iced beer, when you ■wouldn't have turned up your nose at warm soapsuds I But later I developed a very warm regard for our airmen friends. One day, a machine appeared from the direction of the enemy, and, flying low over our column, dropped a message bag. After a few minutes' halt, we completely changed the direction of our advance, and later it was found that had we carried on we should have run into a tremendvously strong ambush. If we couldn't see the Hun the airman most certainly could, and every day the deep boom oi his bombs brought comfort to our hearts.

As we got further and further away from our base ordinary communication with civilisation ceased; but whenever a machine flew our way it would always drop a bag containing mail, newspapers, and the latest wireless news sheet. But the incident that even now makes we want to shake hands with every air"man I meet, took place on Christmas Day, when, after four months of this wretched guerilla warfare, we suddenly bumped into the enemy's main body, and were obliged to take up a defensive position and wait for reinforcements. We had no anxiety on the last score; but it was rather disgusting to find ourselves on Christmas Day with none of the season's comforts. We hadn't as much as a cigar/tte between us! It was late in the afternoon when the familiar hum of an aeroplane was heard. We soon spotted it—flying lower and lower until at last we could see the occupants waving their hands. Suddenly we saw some dark object leave the machine—falling much more swiftly than the usual message bag. Good Lord! Were they bombing us by mistake! Helter-skelter we made for our dugouts. But long before I reached cover I heard one of the missiles whizz past my head and fall somewhere near my feet. With my eyes closed I stood there waiting for the explosion that was to end this sorry business of war for me at any rate. y Then I heard laughter and opened my eyes! There lay the fearsome bomb—a sandbag with a white label tied round its neck: "With best wishes from Father Christmas." Inside it we found a huge parcel of cigarettes, some mince pies, copies of the latest English papers, and, most sacred of all, our Christmas mail 1 The loud cheers that we gave the airmen as they finally turned for home must have made the Hun think we were attack{ng him, for he opened up a.heavy bombardment, and wasted quite a lot of his treasured ammunition.