LIFE AT THE FRONT.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 30, Issue 23, 22 March 1918, Page 6

LIFE AT THE FRONT.

EXTRACTS FROM A SOIDIER’S LETTER. Private David Henderson, writing from No. 1 New Zealand General Hospital, Brockcnluirst, England, to his brother in Havelock, gives a long and interesting account of life at the front, from which we make the following extracts: —

“As soon as we get within a radius of about four miles behind the front line up till wo get in the trench there arc shells bursting around us, and especially if we arc travelling on a road, as the enemy has got the range of very near all the roads close to the line. From when we leave a road, which usually run to about three miles from the front line, we travel on what we call “duck-boards,” which are like a ladder laid flat on the ground the steps of which are only about an inch apart. There arc miles and miles of these laid end to end, and each one is about the length of a ten-foot ladder. As these tracks arc fairly numerous and run in all directions they have to have tapes on all those leading to the front line. In the wet weather, if we happen to stop off these boards, we sink down over our knees in the mud and have to be pulled out. Within a mile or a mile and a half of the front line the Germans have machine guns playing on all these tracks, and it is a usual thing to hear bullets whistling past, but they usually go high or else low, and those who get hit arc nearly always caught in the leg or foot. We usually stay in the front line for about eight days, and while we arc there wo just have bread and margarine and jam, and cold water to drink, as it is impossible to cook anything. For instance, if the Rifle Brigade are holding the line for eight days, during which time they are not allowed to take their clothes off and get an average of about two hours ’ sleep a night, and never have a wash or shave. They are then relieved by one of the other Brigades, which might be the Canterburys’, Otagos’, W cllingtons ’, Ruahines ’, Taranakis ’, or whoever’s turn it might happen to be. Each Brigade is supposed to do eight days in the front line, six days in support (which is just behind the front line), and four days in reserve (which is just behind that). They do nothing during the day, but at night have to go out into “No Man’s Land” (which is the ground between our front line and the Germans’ front line), and put up wire entanglements or dig a fresh trench, as the trenches are always getting knocked about by shelllire. When on this duty we generally leave about 8 p.m. and return about 4 or 5 next morning. As soon as wc return we get our rum issue, which is about ns much as I can drink without losing my breath —teetotalers and all wouldn’t miss it for anything, as it is about all that keeps us alive at times. It is not broken down at all and comes from Jamacia, and is the strongest stuff I have ever seen. When we leave the front line (which we call changing over) we always leave at night. After we have done our eighteen days, all told, wo go back about three miles to huts made of corrugated iron, with circular roofs, one of which can be put up in about two hours. From here wo do what is called fatigue, which consists of carrying ‘duck-boards,’ shells, barbed-wire, and such like up to the front line or dumps just behind. There are light railways running up to within a mile or so of the front line and back to the main railway, which runs to Raucon, Calais, Boulogne, and all other large ports. They take shells, ammunition, etc., to what arc called ammunition dumps, and from there they have to be taken on pack mules, that is, the heavy shells, as some of them weigh as much as 750 lbs and down to 18 lbs. All the 18 pounders are manned by the New Zealand Artillery, and they arc about a quarter of a mile behind the line. All the howitzers and other heavy artillery, which arc about three ot four miles behind the line and which have a range of from twelve to twentv miles, arc manned by Tommies. When the artillery opens up at night time the whole sky is one mass of red flame, and there is one continuous roar. The flash from the barrel of one of the large guns when it is fired shows sufficient light to enable one to find anything on the ground, no matter how dark it may be, for a radius of several chains, so you can imagine what it is like when there are hundreds of these being fired at the same time. A 12inch howitzer, whose shells weigh 750 lbs, can fire as many as three hundred rounds in one night. For miles behind the line there is not a square inch of grass showing, and everything is one mass of ruined villages and shell-holes and wreckage of every description. As near as I can describe it resembles a huge ploughed paddock, covering miles, with holes from ten to thirty feet deep and as close as one could dig them to one another, and each one half full of water and mud. Nearer the line arc dead men and horses. There are thousands of motor-lorries, steam-lorries, etc., on the roads travelling to and day and night, carrying everything that is needed to keep things going. The horses arc not driven the same as in New Zealand. There is a man to every two horses and the teams are from two to six. Each left-hand horse has a saddle and is ridden instead of driven, and a six-horse team has three riders, one on each of the three lefthand horses. The reason for this is that it is the only way to manage them when the shells are landing close. They have some of the finest horses I have ever seen, and it seems a shame to see them killed and knocked about. Sometimes you cannot sec them for mud especially the pack mules. Many of the roads are wooden roads made of planks laid side by side, and they have to tic sand-bags on the horses’ feet to prevent them from slipping. Mules are valued much more than horses as they have to bring them from America. We also have to take our turn at salvaging, that is, collecting shells, ammunition, harness, or anything that is of value from the wreckage lying about, and they also have men doing nothing else but this. There arc also labour battalions who do nothing else but keep the roads in repair, and they come in for a good bit of shelling. Those workers are all Tommies, and are men who have been classed ‘C. ’ and are mostly unfit. I think I have described (as near as I can) the life in France, but it is impossible to give a clear idea by writing.”.