ANZACS AT THE FRONT.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 14052, 24 July 1916, Page 4

ANZACS AT THE FRONT.

. .#. OFF TO THE FIRING LINE. NEW ZEALANDERS MARCH OCT. .r^h c ; '■ (From OHicial War Correspondent.) NORTHERN FRANCE, May' 28.' Months -of and action m varied lands and climes have familiarised us with the ' details of active service — with the tragedy, and the comedy >f war, for, insofar ' us ilio- Anzacs are concerned, v-« have our . uioincmts of gaiety as well as of sadness. Tragedy nas come hotfoot ovei'Hlie ilex -Covered ridges and. niai'c'hcd -stealthily across the hot desert sands, to meet i)s face to face m trench and dugout. And m interludes'in the fighting itself 'comedy has walked with us harid-ih-hand. And so it is here, and will be to tho end. <)n the evening of our arrival the air was palpitating ' with the throbbing : ; onni] of a distant cannonade. Tlie loud booming of (he bigger guns and the more staccato . banging of the smaller ones name iti an incessant chorus across the fields and the forests,, rising and failing m a cadence that secniied a«,if it woiild be never-ending. For miles at .night-time 'the sky was lit with the Hashes of artillery. Flares sent from the ' distnnt trenches . the clouds, aiid' at", interval's the long bright fingers of the searchlights waved across the firmament. Away, m the .south, a flashing light rose intermittently ''above the tree tops. * This was the glare of furnaces, from the throats of, which poured the, molten steel that means so much to a modern army. What all this was about >we did. not know. It was not m our sector. It did "not concern- us intimately. It was simply an indication of the vast enterprise' m* which we had become involved. .'.-•/ A GIGANTIC STRUGGLE. The enterprises- in which Aye had engaged m the past were vast enough m all conscience, yet 'this mind reels before the new and more gigantic manifestations- with which we are confronted; From day to day one looks at the brief communique posted at Headquarters, and notes that some aircraft has been brought down, or that some bit of trench has been lost or taken. It is; 'a bald ( announcement. Imagination- must fill m tho details. It is a bald announcement m a period of comparative inac^ tivjjy. lt\eems all so dreadfully bald and prosaic, and there is an irritating sameness, about it all. Yet we.who are on the spot know that day and . night all along the, line men are being killed and wounded, and that tlie best brains of the opposing nations are working and scheming and plotting to end. it) all as quickly as may be. The war seems, to hay c settled down along t* narrow strip of territory stretching for hundreds, nay, for thousands of miles ..across tlie land. Behind that line the world goes oh with its work— feverishly, m the centres .where, guns and ariimunition.are beirig mad\e, . but with the sairie old quiet rural, simplicity where the grass is growing, and the corn is dail_* coining > nearer to the ear under the alternating [influence of rain and summer sunshine. In the narrow, battle zone men are at grips with all the diabolical appliance's of modern warfare, and new machines are being pressed into 1 the service of mailkilling. On our small sector comparative calm reigns, though Death takes his daily toll. On the Italian .frontier there ii a vast and deadly struggle going Oh. At Verdun the enemy, with what almost seems a the madness of despair; is hurling battalions and .brigades and "divisions' m a vain attenipt at victory. The clash of arms there, is on a truly gigantic stale, and the carnage too dreadful to con- j template. But Verdun is a long way off, and the sounds of its most intense cannonade do not even faintly reach our ears. THE BRIGADES MARCH OJJTjy. For a time the Anzacs were' scattered over a large area. The Australians were the first to go into the trenches, ahd it was not lonjg before they -had their new baptism of fire with Gei-maii high explosive. Then . our brigades began to march out. Even one brigade, with all its impediments, makes a great showing on the road. On a beautiful summer day two of tho brigades came tramping along the hard paved roads, through country lands and towns and villages. For hours I watched them passing — sturdy sons from thy Southern land — and for a time inarched with them, chatting to old-, friends , and acquaintances. They were m, high spirits, eager, to get into the trenches and pit their' valor" against" that of the Roche. With waggons and motor lorries, and. machine gun Sections and ambulances, with travelling kitchens -"■-chimneys smoking and. pots steamink — with their bands playing, with snatches of song, and, at intervals, a tune \ whistled, they came along abroad lined With apple trees ' m g^y blossom. The blare of the trumpets' aiid the roll of the drum gave an air of the old-time wars tb the scene; It, whs^ll so - very' different from • what we wero used to 'on Gallipoli. They" sxyu'iig over a bridge, aiid men and horses and waggons were duplicated iiv the placid waters of the straight canal. .From the beautiful grounds -of an ancient ■ chateau that fkisted when we fought other 'wnrs liere — and centuries before— the Baron no; shrewd,''.- capable, and witty, -watched them pass. The, villagers at -the ..doors of then* steep-tiled red and brown, cottages gazed at the new soldiers with ■ m ( terest and curiosity. ' They were something different from what they had seen; Yet many. British . feet had tramped along here since the., war begarj.. 'The peasants — French and Flemish— mostly ,q)d men and women and children, leaned ori their hoes m the fields and watched them pass with swinging stride. At the bridge a military, policeman, witli Todding grey emufclumesiri. his picturesque* slouch hat, sitting" his horse with the ajiy grace of the stockman, smiled down at them. /'To hiiri'; the .men m passing made' cheery, chaffing 'remarks. "Hallo, Australia, how goes it?" one irian called. "Ronzbr," replied the hdrsemari.'""What ho. Emu! ■ How's : 'thi&''kan^"ai'6o? ? ' mieried 'anotheri ''Still jumpiiig"""'.replied the laconic horseman. 'But 'of all tho enquiries 1 the most pertinent 'was from the tired, dry ililgrim, who 1 "wanted to know how faiv.it- was to the next estaminet? ITor it was- a 'hot day, arid that particular soldier was thinking. move v of beer than battle. For -five hours' the rumble' of wheels and the tramp 'of j j inarching men sounded m the village.] The men carried their rifles and packs. ! and the dull green of their new steel helmets strapped atj their backs made a riote'df color jh the drab khaki of the column. Wo watched /the long columns bend round through, the .village, and a rinle away across the. .green fields, Where the road wound through tall elms and beeches, we saw the dull khaki ribbon si roaming along the forest road. Near liv 'tho axes of the pioneer Maoris were ringing on the hard wood of tha t" beautiful ■ forest. . ' ' ' But it was a hot day, arid the marching over the hard "pave* of the roads of Northern France told on the feet' of the men. A few days later one of the brigades inarched back to billets, and another brigado camo on to take their place. On the whole iuarc\ only one man fell out from this brigade. "There's nothing. .like the old lot." said one of them proudly .r.to me ■ tho: next day. Theirs certainly was.-.-a fine performance. They had a good sprinkling of old Anzacs amongst them. ' , On another day we watched the artillery go past. Thoy arc a fine lot. the Artillery, aud with their added batteries, their howitzers and field guns, ammunition waggons and general transport, and their fine-looking horses m tip-top condition, they made an, excellent showing. Like the men, they will have to bear the brunt' 1 of much' heavier -shelling than they got on ' Gallirioli^ but they wilMJe able to dig Well -'v'in;' and will be spread over' a- much greater' ' area of country. They will at least be away from the bullets- -'in this battlefield.