TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO

Taranaki Daily News, 3 August 1935, Page 6

TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO

POIGNANT ANNIVERSARY OUTBREAK OF GREAT WORLD WAR. THE MEMORY OF OLD COMRADES. (By “Helstom”) In those last few days before the tempest broke, almost a quarter of a century ago, few if any could foresee that from the spilt blood of a slain Austrian would spring a monstrous growth, the tentacles of which would enmesh, and destroy even those far off in distant lands? . For those of us who took part in the struggle, the passing years have perhaps erased some of the horror from the darker portions, but there are certain high lights which will always remain clearly etched in the memory, ■ Still at college, how,, we envied the glamorous times ahead of many of the Old Boys, khaki clad, who paid a visit to the old school before leaving with the early reinforcements. For them, alas, Gallipoli was waiting, its desolate and barren slopes destined to be the last resting place of many. By 1917 our own turn had arrived, and parade ground and rifle range had seen us doing our best, not solely on account of the sarcastic tongues of instructors and sergeants. Then on towards the Western Front. There was a short sojourn in Egypt, and I remember one night, on which. I did guard duty, that gave the illusion of an ethereal world. A full moon was high in the heavens, and the star gemmed mantle of the night was a veil of beauty. The stars themselves hung low, almost, it seemed, within reach of one’s outstretched hands. Ort the banks of the canal hard by was a native village, flanked by palm trees, which under the softening light assumed, a fairy-like aspect, a village where every roof was sheathed with silver. It seemed impossible that by daylight it was actually a place of squalor, composed of groups of dirty hovels with plentiful heap? of stinking refuse. Such is the illusion which a lambent tropic night can create, limning with beauty the bare outlines, and glossing over with violet shadows the sordid and ugly. Then there was that grey morning in the Mediterranean, when a keen wind scoured the transport’s decks with intermittent showers, and a sudden explosion came echoing across the water, to be followed almost immediately by others as the destroyers scurried hither and thither dropping depth charges to sink the enemy submarine. The torpedoed ship, one of the convoy,,.disappeared, in the distance as we hurried on, leaving her to travel at her own crippled gait accompanied by one of our escort. SPRING IN ENGLAND. England and the old routine of drills and the parade ground, but an England just emerging from the slough of winter and Nature once more burgeoning with the advent of . spring. France at last, and the final testing of our gear at Etaples, where there was the first casualty in our draft. As we passed through a gas filled , tunnel to test our masks, one of our companions foolishly removed his, to ascertain if there was any gas really present. Finding that there was he became panicky, fumbled hopelessly with hi? mask, and was seriously gassed before he got out. Then ’came the gradual approach to the Front Line, littered with the wreckage of war, and the only top evident presence of death, for an advance had taken place a few days before our arrival, and the burial parties had not yet commenced their gruesome work.

Out <?n patrol fo No Man’s Land for the first time, and the grass, wind rustled, bespeaking to the imagination the stealthy approach of an enemy-party, or the sudden glare of a flare giving. to some recumbent corpse the appearance of a cunning foe waiting to do hfo deadly work. More vivid ©till is the memory of that first wait fo the cold dawn for the barrage to commence, when minutes seemed to lengthen into hours as the tense silence continued. The sudden whistling scream as the shells tore overhead, and we rushed forward. No pausing to help if our comrades fell beside us. Keep going, kill or be killed, and the enemy machine guns stabbfog the air around us; their bullets searching fo deadly arcs for human targets. The hast/ digging in when our objective had been taken, and then the ensuing enemy retaliation by shellfire, which long delayed the bringing up of our rations. NEAR CREVICOURT. There was an unpleasant night near Crevicourt, when our company crouched against the bank on the tow path of a canal. The scanty holes dug in the flint-like bank were useless for protection, as an unending flight of shells just skimmed over the top and burst in the canal, constantly deluging us with water. Laughable now was the time I blocked my cursing companions as we crossed a narrow, one-man bridge in a dangerous area. It was closely wired on either side, and when we were almost across the brass rods on two smoke bombs I was carrying caught in the Wire on one side. In the dark I could not free them quickly, but after some tugging and fumbling they dropped into the water below.

Another night filled us with anxious moments. The Germans were retreating and our company was pushed ahead in an endeavour to locate their new position. We struck undamaged wire, and nobody had wire-clippers. Fortunately the Germans were further away than we expected, for had they been close the jangling we made as we squirmed our way through would have cost us our lives. Then there was the afternoon in Havrincourt Wood when I thought the man alongside me was killed and he thought the same about me. A shell burst just in front of us on the parapet of the shallow trench, and the sudden blast of air knocked us down. The acrid tang of the explosive lingered in the nostrils for days afterwards, Waits near crossroads, which were being shelled, for a foil that would give us sufficient time to continue our march in safety across the danger point. Tiring marches along muddy rutted roads where irascible drivers harried their teams of mules, and every passing lorry splattered us from head to foot as it bucketed past. The last tifoe over the top when, backed by a tremendous barrage, we moved forward towards our objective, and later had to play a waiting game for hours until, as night fell, we mounted the ladders and scaled the walls of the captured town of Le Quesnoy. . Finally the scene at the Battalion parade when we were informed that at eleven o’clock on that November morning an Armistice would be signed and hostilities would cease.

War memories, but above all others surging and whispering across the space of years, the memory of those fine fellows—our old comrades—who passed midst the turmoil of War into the Silence beyond the Western Gates.