DIGGER'S DIARY

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 66, Issue 5598, 29 March 1943, Page 6

DIGGER'S DIARY

LAST WAR MEMORIES (By A. K. Greves) _ No. 4. Wednesday, April 3rd.—Arrived here at the gun position just before dusk. The guns are just out in the open paddock. There are two men per gun on duty each night. Our sleep, ing accommodation consists of a hole 7ft. long, 3ft. 6in. deep and about 4ft. wide, with a bit of canvas for a roof. There are just a few steps cut in the earth for an entrance and with the misty rain its as greasy as can be. I have a coating of mud on the seat of my trousers. These shelters are behind each of the guns. A little while ago I went over to the spook’s and officers’ quarters, which by the way, is the Mailley Mallet railway station. I thought I had got into a harem. Some of the men had night dresses on. Apparently they had raided some wardrobe. Anyhow it would be a clean change.

Thursday, April 4.—To-day has been very conspicuous by the absence of shellfire: hardly a burst to be seen anywhere. Very uncanny; seems like a lull before the storm. It was quite a fine spring day. There is a section of Vickers machine guns, taken up a position just on a rise behind the battery position, as a safety measure. Should Fritz break through again they will cover us while we withdraw the guns or perhaps blow them up. Some one asked the machine-gunners what they were doing so far back.

The reply came in a flash: “To stop you from running away.” When off duty, the sleeping quarters are in a big reinforced cellar which will accommodate 40 to 50. The building which it is in used to be an estaminal practically shell proof.

Friday, April s—What a cow of a day—and that’s praising, it. Fritz opened up at 5.30 a.m. Hell had been let loose with the lid off. We were deluged with high explosives, gas and shrapnel from the word “go.” He attacked gain, and I believe his objective was a couple of miles behind us, but he came to what we would term a proverbial “gutzer.” We have had quite a few casualties. At the height of the shelling along came the Brigade padre, Major Alex. Hardie. “What sort of time are you having, men?” To anyone other than the padre we would have expressed our feelings. We did not reply.

“I will tell you,” he said, “you are having a hell of a time. Who smokes ” —a packet of cigarettes for the smok. ers and a stick of chocolate for the non-smokers.

Off he went to the next battery. A shell seemed to burst near him, and when the smoke cleared away, we could see him plodding on through the shell holes. They are wonderful men.

As usual with cook-houses, ours got its fair share of shell-fire. One high explosive went clean through the window of the cookhouse, killing one gunner and another, who was a member of our detachment, had a bit of his skull blown off.

While four men were carrying this chap down to the dressing station another high explosive burst in the middle of the road, killing one of the bearers and wounding another, who was also a member of our gun detachment. The last man that was killed was our cook.

The machine-gunners referred to yesterday have their cook-house at the rear of our cook-house and, during a lull in the shelling, a sergeant and I were having a yarn to them. The sergeant was inside, and I was standing in the door-way. It transpired that one of them had sailed from New Zealand with me, being in the same unit, Wellington Mounted Rifles. He asked me if I had seen anything of the old man (meaning our former captain). I was replying, what?—oldold (intending to say Oldham), and I departed into the inky blackness! An eight inch shell had hit the dump! When I picked myself up I found that I had been blown clean outside of the doorway, which collapsed. With a grin I looked down at my knee to see what felt like a real Blighty. Only a bruise. Evidently I had been hit with a bit of flying brick just above the knee. I was limping back to the guns when an officer came over to me. Over came No. 2—eightincher. We heard this one coming and ducked down and only got a shower of muck.

Fritz has been searching quite a lot with his eight inch, battery (the shell weighs about 2501b5). He has also made much use of the captured guns and ammunition, among it being some of that sixty pounder—wicked stuff. It comes in a helluva hurry alright. One hears the report of the gun and the shell iS on you before you can duck down on to the ground.

A couple of hours later, while working near the gun, a whizz-bang (77 high explosive) burst about a chain away. A splinter pinged over my head and hit another N.C.O. in the shoulder—a beautiful Blighty.

This chap was 6ft Sin and I am sft 6in. I missed a 6 x 2 farm, and I had not the least doubt the former will go to England. Note: This chap died in Sydney, N.S.W., about nine years ago from the effects of that wound.

I don’t knew why the heads selected a position right up against a railway station. Perhaps they thought Fritz thought that no one would be foolish enough to put a battery in such a position, and just did it. If Fritz does take a “jerry” to us, look out for trouble. All our food was tainted with gas. I tried a bit of bread, but out it came. There was no breakfast until new supplies came from the waggon lines. (To be continued)