"DADDY!"

Thames Star, Volume LII, Issue 13808, 25 September 1918, Page 4

"DADDY!"

We always used to call him "Dad dy," from,the first—not to his face, of course, because he was an officer, our platoon commander, in fact, and '' we were the men of has platoon.

But I have an idea that he knew of his name, and was secretly ratliei proud of it. The name suited him; he was always something of a father to us, ready at any time to .talk things over and give advice. He never tired of seeing to our comfort no matter at wihat cost"to his own.

A man from the Antipodes tells the tale. In the old days of training in England, after a long wearying route march in the blazing sun, when we would rush for the canteen, "Daddy was always to be seen iA the cookhouse, still wearing his pack, superintending the preparation of our dinners-.

I never saw him tired. He was a big man, strong <as a horse. Before the war he had owne4 a big sheep farm in New Zealand, and he had all the bluff geniality of the man fix>m oversea*. ,

He knew little of soldiering before he came to England to take a commission in "Kitchener's Army." But he took to it as a duck to water. He was a crack shot himself 4 and iv those early days when provision for shooting was scarce, he rigged up a temporary-rifle 5 range, and taught us to shoot in our spare time. There was no compulsion about it. "If any of you fellow want a shot this evening," he would say, "I will be on the range from 6 o'clock till dusk." And we all went.

It was when we went to France that "Daddy" found Ms true element; He was one of those people who seemed literally to enjoy vmn When we were out of the trenches taking a brief rest behind the line he was never happy; he was; always impatient to get back. -■■ .: : ,;. ;,'.. '

He had come all the way from New Zealand to fight the BocW be said, not to idle has time away doing nothing. He looked upon the trenches as a. second home. He was for bombs and arranging litifcle raids. "Let's haye a strafe," was his favourite expression. ; WIRING IN THE BNEMtf.

There was no malice in him. He sang no hymns of'hate and swore no oaths.

He had a perfect passion for! patrolling, and used to walk about No Man's Land at night as though, it were a. parade ground. One day it was reported'that the Germans had cut passages through their barbed wire defences—an ominous sign of attack. That night "Daddy" came along the trench carrying a roll of wire. "Come for a stroll," he asked the sergeant, and together they climbed the parapet and disappeared into the dark.

Hour after hour passed, and there was still no sign of "Daddy" and the sergeant. When I came on sentry at 3 a.m., "Daddy's copped" in this time," said my fellow sentry, putting into words the anxiety, that was gnawing at our hearts.

At last two weary figures loomed up over the parapet, and scrambled into the trench. The good 'news spread along the line like wildfire. What they bad been doing we did not know, and they were foo tired to tell us. The next day the mystery was explained. A report oame through that the passages which had been so carefully cut in the German wire had been as carefully joined up again.

It wa« an amazing thing to hare done, and no one but "Daddy" could harre done it. The Germans must \ have been utterly bewildered; there ! was no attack. DADDY'S GOING. But such splendid courage and in difference to danger could only have one end. It was several months later that our platoon was detailed to formi part of the first ■wave of an attack. "Daddy" could scarcely restrain his excitement. "Here's o\ir chance at last," he said, "let's make the most of it."

When the time came to advance he olimlbed the parapet, and made for the German trenches, revtolver in hand. We followed as best we could, but we could not keep up with himl,. and he would not wait.( We found m him later in the German trench, shot *, through the heart, with four dead Germans lying round him. *: \ It was a glorious death; just such * a on© as he would have chosen as - in fact, he did choose. We could ' scarcely believe it at first; we felt stunned. Then an overpowering raga took hold of us, and w© saw to it that day that "Daddy's" death wa« amply revenged.

He lies in a little cemetery under the walls of a bartered church in Flanders, together -with many otieri like himself —<a splendid type ot British, officer.