"RELIEVED!"

Sun (Christchurch), Volume II, Issue 563, 29 November 1915, Page 6

"RELIEVED!"

OUT OF THE TRENCHES SONGS IN THE NIGHT. (The appended sketch was written by Private Patrick Mac Gill. Mr Mac Gill, who began life as a labourer at 12, and has passed through all the hardship of a navvy's existence, is known for the realism of his writings. His books show an extraordinary grasp of grim and living detail. He enlisted for the war and is now at the front.]

Four days ago we were relieved by the Canadians. They came in about 9 o'clock in the .evening when we stood to in the trenches in full marching order under a sky where colour wrestled with colour in a blazing flare of star shells. We went out gladly, and left behind the dugout in which we cooked our food but never slept, the old crazy sandbag construction, weather-worn and shrapnel-scarred, that stooped forward, a crone on crutches, on the wooden posts that supported it; we passed the keep that holds a tragic tale in every fallen brick; the church where the white Christ still hung, gazing as if in pity on the broken altar and the open graves, and followed the twistings and turnings of the trench, wayward as a river, out on to the brick pathway by which we had come in so many days before. Then we had Mervin, he was dead now; Kore, Z——, and L , our section corporal, they were wounded. All companies had suffered. 9 "How many casualties have we fiad?" I asked Stoner as we passed out of the village and halted for a moment on the verge of a wood waiting until the men formed up at rear.

"I don't know," he answered gloomily/ "See the crosses there," he said, pointing to the soldiers' cemetery near the trees. "Seven of the hoys have their graves in that spot; then the wounded; and those who went dotty. Did you see X, of Companv, coming out?" "No," I said. "I saw him last night when I went out to the quartermaster's stores for rations," St oner told me. "They were carrying him out on their shoulders, and he sat there very quiet-like looking at the moon. I never saw eyes glisten like his. 'Poor devil!' I said to myself. 'He'll never see it again.' I said to him, 'Much hurt, chummie?" and he didn't answer, didn't take his big, shining eyes away from the moon. One of the fellows who was carrying him looked up at him, then at me, then he pointed at his own head 'Has he copped it Bad?' I asked. 'Copped it!' was the answer. 'He's gone dotty. It began when he saw the wounded come out the other day; then his best pal looked too long over the parapet and got a packet in the skull!'

"Over there in the corner all by themselves they are." Stoner went oh, alluding to the graves towards which my eyes were directed. "You can see Ihc crosses, white wood "The same as other crosses?" "Just the same," said my niate. "Printed in black; number something or another, Rifleman So-and-So, London Irish Rifles, killed in action on a'certain date. That's all."

"Why do you say 'Chummie' when talking to a wounded man, Stoner?" I asked. "Speaking to a healthy pal you jusf say 'mate.'"

"Is that so?" j "That's, so. Why do you say it?" "I don't know." "I suppose becai .se it's more motherly." "That may be," said Stoner,; and laughed. "Quick March!" Quick march! The moon came put, ghostly, in a cloudy sky; a light, pale as water, slid over the shoulders of the men in front and rippled down the creases of their trousers. The bayonets wobbled wqarily on the hips, those bayonets that once, burnished as we knew how to burnish them, were the.glory and delight of "many a long and strict general inspection at St. Albans; they were now coated with mud and thick with rust, a disgrace to the battalion! ...

"Hang on to the step! Quick march! As you were! About turn!" someone shouted imitating our sei* geant-major's voice. We had marched in comparative silence up to now, but the mimicked order was like a match applied to a powder magazine. We had had 18 days in the trenches; we were worn down, very weary, and very sick of it all; now we were out and would be out for some days; we were glad, madly glad. All began to make noises at the same time, to sing, to shout, to yell; in the night, on the road with its lines of poplars, we became madly delirious; we broke free like a burst dam. Everybody had something to say or sing, senseless chatter and sentimental songs Van riot; all uttered something for the mere pleasure of utterance; we were out of the trenches and free for the time being from danger. The Appropriate Song Stoner marched on my right, hanging on his knees a little, singing a music-hall song and. smoking. A little flutter of ash fell from his cigarette, which seemed to be stuck to his lower l|p as it rose and fell with the notes of the song. When he came to the chorus he looked round as if defying somebody, then raised his right hand over his head, gripping his rifle, and held the weapon there until the last word of the chorus trembled on his lips; then he brought it down with the last word and looked round as if to see that everybody was admiring his action. Bill played his jew's-harp; strummed countless sentimental music-hall ditties on its sensitive tongue; his be-