A CAMP CONCERT.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 144826, 2 November 1915, Page 4

A CAMP CONCERT.

HARMONY BEHIND THE TRENCHES. CAVALRY OFFICER AS A ‘ TURN." The following description of a "singsong" at the front is written by Valentine Williams, special correspondent of tho Daily Express:— The chairman rose at his table beside the piano. The cheering, the whistles, the tramping of heels, and the jingling of spurs stopped on the instant. The pianist reached under the piano for his drink. It was tho first time he bad stopped playing for an hour or so.

"Gentlemen." said the chairman, “I am requested to ask Lieut. Lord —- to oblige the company with a song." Instantly’ the tumult broke out afresh. An altercation was going on in one corner of the hall, already befogged with tobacco smoke. It finished with the forcible propulsion on to the stage—a simple, home-made affair of planking, with footlights consisting or candles screened by sconces cut out of ration tins—of a young staff officer of the cavalry corps. ’ Ho started operations by divesting himself of his Sam Browne belt, and then, having turned his capround ’back to front, and unbuttoned his tunic, announced that he would sing a song dealing with the sufferings in the trenches of a private known to his intimates as "Shrapnel Charlie." Fresh uproar, while the pianist, like a giant refreshed, struck up that popular ditty, "For you’re here and I’m here," from "The Passing Show." It was a topical song with a theme that struck straight home to the audience. For thk was one of the smoking concerts of the Machine Gun School, which, as I learnt last night, if it docs its work strenuously, docs not take its pleasures sadly. Many of the audience had come out of the firing line to do their course of machine gun training. "Shrapnel Charlie" was a delight to (hem with his dirge of life in the trenches and in billots,"with the "H n’y a plus!” of the Flemish peasant as the refrain of his song.

FETE WITH FAIRY LAMPS. The audience yelled the chorus with a zest that sent the echoes billowing forth in great waves to whore the high roof of the great lecture hall was dimly , discerned through, a cloud of blue, tobacco smoke. We had all the local talent of these entertainments of our army in the field. In war much is improvised. Our army in the field has developed an astounding array of talent in tho direction of entertaining at tho “smokers” which are arranged by the different units from time to time. The other night a cavalry brigade at the chateau where its headquarters are situated actually gave an open-air fete with fairy lamps contrived with candles stuck in coloured wine glasses. Naturally the Territorial battalions—especially those from Loudon—arc strong in talent. If a general wants an expert at any particular branch out hero ho always sends round to a Territorial battalion to look for. it. I heard of a brigade the other day that wanted a clerk, and on applying to a London Territorial battalion was promptly supplied with a bookmaker s clerk, who turned out a treasure.

The star accompanist at many entertainments out hero, for instance, is a private of the Artises' Rifles, who is a really remarkable pianist. He accompanied last night with most refresting vigour and a pretty wit in the wav of impromptu variations. It was a merry evening. There was ragtime sung by a hefty young corporal in shorts, the choruses of his songs bellowed from hundreds of pairs of healthy lungs. There was a French item in the shape of a valse chan tee, very charmingly sung by tho French interpreter. One turn, contributed by a soleranfared Yorkshire private, was quite in tho manner of the professional music hall. A small, intensely serious man, he played on the hones with considerable dexterity and won thunderous' applause. Then he brought down tho house by enticing bono-like clicks from two pairs of canteen knives, and wound up his performance by executing tho same feat with two tin spoons. MR. KENNER LEY RUMFORD.

■‘Mr. Kcnnerle.y Romford,” began the chairman, but his voice was drowned in a tempest of applause. We bad ‘'When the Swallows Homeward Fly” and ‘‘The Yeomen of England” from a familiar form whom one scarcely recognised in the khaki of the Red Cross, but sung with all the old charm, and< encores that stimulated the enthusiastic audience to fresh demonstrations. ■ A London Territorial transport sergeant, a very martial figure with .jingling snurs, who. I believe, forsook the law for the army when the call came,- recited Kipling with a sonorous voice and great dramatic effect. He made one realise, despite much that has been said on the subject, that Kipling goes down well with soldicns. ‘‘SIR H. TREE IN TRENCHES.” I must not forget the lance-corporal who gave us what used to be called, I think, a ‘‘drawing-room entertain-, ment,” in the style-of the late George Grossmith, except that the , unique pianist supplied the music. This lancecorporal is a proud possession of the Machine Gun School, and his services are greatly in demand at these affairs. He imagined some of London's theatrical stars a-t the front. Sir Herbert Tree in the trenches was a gem of humour.

The lance-corporal’s imitation of bullets whizzing through the air was instantly taken up hy the audience, who sent back at him the most accurate reproductions of the sound made by every kind of bullot that' takes the air in Flanders —the smack of the close 1 shave, the whistle of the ricochet,- the whinny of the “stray.” There was also an imaginary interview between a brigadier and Mr. Fred Eminey’s old lady who had “a sister to assist ’er,” with ono or two little homo touches that delighted the audience. A very spruce subaltern of the ]sth .Hussars, striding, tho stage, in field.

boots and spurs, and with a swagger' cane, sang that classic of which the chorus puts the familiar question, ‘‘Are we downhearted?” The answer that came back at him from the darkness of the hall was reassuring, not to say deafening, in its vigour. One song particularly last night went home. A Scottish subaltern. standing close to the piano, sang very simply that dear old song about the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond. Ho sang it with a sincerity that held the audience, and the chorus rolled back with a fine volume of sound that emphasised the charm of the familiar words. There must have i been Scotsmen in the crowd, for that' chorus went better than any other. These entertainments are not discouraged by the authorities. They bring officers and men together; they take the men’s minds off their work; they give them that relaxation that everyone requires, whether he bo fresh from the trenches or permanently employed behind the firing line.