WORDY WAR IN THE TRENCHES.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 144850, 30 November 1915, Page 4

WORDY WAR IN THE TRENCHES.

TOMMY AND “BOSHY” ENGAGE IN REPARTEE. HYMN OF HATE'AS A STAR TURN. A most diverting picture of life in the trendies is drawn in the current number of Cornhili. The writer is Boyd Cable, his them© is “A Hymn ot Hale,” and ho describes tho kind of conversation which goes on between tho German and the Allied trenches over a distance of a short stone’s throw.

“The troops continue in excellent spirits,” said a recent official dispatch. That is the text on which the story of “Tue Tower Bridge Rifles” exchanging verbal shots with the enemy is based; A voice from tho German parapet: * ‘Hullo, Tower Bridge Rifles 1 Pleased to meet you again.” The Englishmen were too accustomed to it to be surprised by this uncannily prompt recognition by the enemy of a newly relieving regiment of which they had not seen so much as a cap top. “Hullo, Boshy,” retorted one or the Towers. ‘‘You're xnakm’ a mistake this time. Wo ain’t the Tower Bridges. We’re the Kamchatka Tghlanders. 1 “An’ you’re a liar if you says you’re pleased to meet, us again,” put m another. ‘Ti you’ve met us before I lav you was too dash sorry for it to want to meet us again.”

“Oh. we know who you are all right,” replied tho voice, “and we know you’vo just relieved the sth Biankshircft, and vre know who’s going to relieve you. and when.”.

“ *E knows a blooming heap.” said a Tower Bridge private disgustedly. Then, raising his voice, ho asked, “Do you know when we’ro coming to take some more of them trenches o’ yours?”

A FEW TO GO ON WITH. This was felt by the listening Towers to bo a masterstroke. But in a moment came tho retort. “You 'Can’t take any more,” said tho voice. “You haven’t shells enough.” “Anyhow,” replied an English corporal, “we ain't short of bombs. ’Avo a few to be goin’ on with,” and ho and his party lot fly.

Then a bit later. • ■'Hi’, there! Where’* that Soho harbor’s assistant that thinks ’o can talk Hcnglish?” demanded the Towers'* .spokesman cheerfully. That annoyed tho English-speaking German, as, of course, incidentally it was meant to do. ‘l'm here, Private Petticoat Lano,” retorted tho voice, “and if 1 couldn’t sneak better English than you I’d b© shaming Soho.”

"You’re doing that, anyway, you bloomin’ renegade dog-st.ealcr,” called back the private. "W’y didn’t you pay your landlady in Lunnon for the mdgin’s you owed when you run away?” ".Schweinhund!” said the voice angrily, and a bullet slapped into the parapet in front of the taunting private.

After a while in good English, “We’ll make .von learn German when we’ve taken England,” “Oh, it’s England you're takin’ now,” said Private Robinson. “But all you'll ever take of England will he same as you took before—a tupenny tip if you serves the soup up nice." “I got ’im,” said tiro Corporal three minutes later. “One bloke was looking with a periscope, and 1 saw a little cap an’ eye come over the parapet, ’B copped it right enough.” THE ORCHESTRA. After a while; “Now, then, tvhere’s the orchestra?” demanded someone, and the orchestra, one mouth-organ strong, promptly struck up a lilting music hall ditty, followed by “l\ly Littlo Grey Homo.” Then the Germans sang "l)outschland nber Alles” in full strength and harmony and then “The Watch on the Rhine.” Private Robinson and the rest of tbo Towers recognised the song, and capped it in great gleo with “When we’ve wound up tho watch on the Rhine,” a parody which does not go out of its way to spare German feelings. . “ ’An ’ow d’you like that, ol’ sossidge scoffers?” demanded Private Robinson loudly. “You vait,” bellowed a guttural voice. “Us vind you op-quick!” “’Ark!" said Private Robinson in eager anticipation, "1 do believe it’s—-s-sh! There,” triumphantly, as again tho word rang out—the ono word at the end of tho verso . . . England. 1 ” “It’s it. It’s tho ’ymn of ’Ate!” Every man sat drinking tho air in eagerly. Hadn’t every regiment heard about tho famous hymn, and longed to hear the tune? And here it was being sang to thorn in full chorus by tho Germans themselves. Oh, this was luck. The mouth-organist was listening as if afraid to miss a single note. “ 'Ave you got it. Snapper?” whispered Private Robinson. Snapper, with his eyes vacancy, began to play tho air over softly and doubtfully. . “Let’s kid ’em to sing it again, said Robinson. A loud “Encore” rang from tho trench. “Was yon know vat we haf sing? asked a Gorman voice "It’s great, Dutchie. Sing it again.” “You haf not understand," said the Gorman angrily. Then a clear tenor in tho German trench gave it in English. The Towers hugged themselves over their stupendous luck. “BEATS SATURDAY NIGHT." Before the last, sound of it had passed the singer had plunged into tho next verso, his voice soaring and shaking with an of feeling. Tho whole effect was inspiring, .wonderful, dramatic. One felt that it was emblematic. tho heart and soul of the German people poured out, in music and words. His Majesty's Regiment of Tower Bridge Rifles wore most, obviously not impressed with fear and trembling. Private ’Enery Irving, clapping his hands sore and stamping his feet in the trcnch : bottom, voiced the impression exactly. “It beats Saturday night In the gallery o’ the old Brit..” he said .enthusiastically. “That bloke.

—Mirny—*e ought to bo doin’ the star.' part at Drury Lane.” Each evening after that and later on when marching to the reserve billets the Towers mad© a particular point ot singing the “Hymn of Hate,” and the wild yell of “England!” that came at tho end of each verse might almost have pleased any enemy of England’s instead of aggravating them intensely to the extent of many wasted rounds.

’lto of the ’eart, an’ ’ite of the ’and, Hto by water, an’ ’ito hv land. *Oo do we 'ite to beat the band? The answering roar of “England!” startled tho horse of a brigadier. “What on earth are those fellows singing?” he asked one of bis officers. He was told, and rocked with laughter. “What an extraordinary- people”! was tho comment of a French staff officer. And the best hit of the whole joke is that this particular regiment is English to tho backbone!