A BAND AT THE FRONT.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 145754, 13 February 1917, Page 4

A BAND AT THE FRONT.

EXPERIENCE OF COLDSTREAM 1 GUARDS. When the band of the Goldstream Guards made its pilgrimage through Flanders last year Herbert Corey sent the Globe, New York, a- stirring account of their visit. lt The men was glad to see us, sir,” said one of the baud. “Even the Canadians, sir. Took it very well, sir, they did. AVe cheered ’.am up a bit—not that they needed it.” “AVhat kind of a time did you have ?” asked Herbert Corey. “Perfectly rippln’, sir.” AVith complete conviction: “Per-feok-ly rippin’!” At the beginning of the war the British AA’ar Office would not be bothered by bands. AAhir was a serious busiinoss—demned serious, what?—and there was no place in it for music. The Tommies persisted in a regrettable lighting and dying, marching and starving aud suffering, they insisted upon enjoying themselves. They got phonographs. They organised sing-songs. The man with a tin whistle became a social favourite. “Let me take the band out to Flanders,” asked Captain Mackenzie Rogan. “Do them good. Be a bit of a treat for them. A ,r er,y tiresome here in London.” One fancies the captain is a favourite, even in the AA 7 ar Office, which has no favourites. Five generations of Rogans have served with the British colours. The first began with Marlborough -when tho army swore so terribly in Flanders, and the fifth is Captain Rogan’s son (since wounded at the front). “Take half of them,” said the War Office to tho captain. Perhaps the War Office wanted to save the other half. So Rogan and his 32 went upon a musical pilgrimage'into the very hottest part or Flanders. The men were ' tremendously glad, to see them. They gave two concerts almost every day. 1 Nothing but military expediency ; kept j them from playing. Sometimes the Gormans interfered. One night the Coldstreamers played in a warehouse the Germans had shelled. The British engineers had put a temporary roof on and turned it into a sort of kincma About 2000 men jammed in that night. Rogan mixed his programme, as he always did. He suits all tastes, Rogan does. Then he swung his bandsmen into an old English melody. “Now sing,” he ordered. It was a wonderful chorus, Rogan I said. The 2000 male voices in the gloom . of the hall, the twinkling lights, the great band, the love and pity of it j all “What’s that,” said Rogan. I Rogan knew perfectly well. A shell ; had hurst not 50 yards away. Some | spy had told the Germans of tho even-1 ring concert, and they were fooling for j the theatre with their big guns. A | shell exploding in that theatre might i kill a hundred men: another hundred might be stamped to death crowding through the one narrow door. Rogan tapped with his baton..' The band stopped short, the men stopped singing'. “You know what has happened.” said he: “go out quietly.” The band swung” into the lilt of the melody again, niid 2000 men filed, two by two, through the door, singing as they went. It was a pretty bit of courage in these bandsmen. Somehow one does not expect courage from bandsmen, and equally somehow they always show it. One remembers the little band that played “God Save the King” while the Titanic sank, and a score of other bands that have died well in their traditions. Last out of the theatre were the Coldstreamers, and last of the hand was Rogan, whose exit was greeted with a shell exploding 30ft. away. Thirty .; c the audience were killed that night and 50 wounded. So the Coldstream Guards Band made its musical pilgrimage through France. Sleeping on straw, shelled by day and by night, bombed by aeroplanes, with death and dreadful wounds _on every ■ side, and persisting in regarding this as a delectable adventure only possible to very fortunate men. Only seeing that it was all “Per-feck-ly rippin’.”