CAMEOS OF WAR.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 1125, 19 December 1914, Page 1

CAMEOS OF WAR.

A MUSICAL MELANGE.

Passing the other nigh-i through a street in the " slums," a band of ragged bairns started to sing:— " Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the

waves, Britons never, never, i*.sver shall ba

slaves." Still marching and swinging along, the next item-on the programme was: — "Shall we gather at the river. The beautiful, the beautiful river, Gather with the saints at the river,

That flows from the throne of God?"

Sly eyes filled with tears, and in my throat a lump rcse, and I thought of the gallant dead, far away, who, for King and country, had gathered t.t the river! Then, sweet and clear, like the sound of victory, they closed their gratuitous entertainment with: —

"God Save Our Gracious King!" —J. Cooper Calder, in '' Scotsman.'

# ' » * * • : MARK. TAPLEYIN THE TRENCHES. To Bernhardi and his kind the man

behind the gun or on the horse is only an unconsidered bit of mechanism—lesr, thought of than the horse or the gun. But there is one person who recks oven less of Bernhardi than Eernhardi of him, and whoso personality has nevertheless a more decisive element in this war than all the precepts of Potsdam. And that is the British soldier. I should liko to send Bernhardi two little shilling books of extracts from British soldiers' stories and letters, and to hear what he has to say about his. "rotten infantry," collectively referred to as '"' the Kaiser's crush." Or, better still, to have, seen him alongside that joyous band M heroes who intq.-'tbe trenches-'shouting, "Early doors ninepence this ■'■ way!'' or beside a man who .remarked- that a shrapnel' had saved him the trouble of using a can-opener, or the gay youths who stuck up a placard, /' Business as usual," in front of their earthworks. How he would have oeen shocked at the men who argued excitedly about the Rangers or the Celts while "ironical I cheers " greeted the bursting of his sacred shells I How irreverent that likening of a night under fire to " Brock's benefit at Bellevue, and you would have thought it was hailing!" Tliey are real literature,-these letters-,' in their faithful expression of that say insouciance which the British soldier unconsciously acquires as the best, nay, the only protection of high highlystrung nature against horrors which, being unspeakable, need not be spoken about, "It was about 10.15 when we turned out," writes a corporal, "and the Colohcl'g orders were that we had to take a bridge if every man I was killed (I thought. that sounded a wee bit healthy)." There is a letter ! from a driver, too, in which he tells how his horse, "poor Dick,"' was "Mowed up.", and how being "fed up with rabbits " he " went to a farm and borrowed three chickens." which beats Defoe. 'And how far'this attitude, is from being thV index' of callousness is shown by such pictures as that of the German" lancer officer lying dead with a crucifix in his hand and a lady's handkerchief over his eyes. If there is. a

single German 'soldier wfee, having been in action in this war,, can eelio the spontaneous exclamation of a-,British soldier—" This is the best summer holiday I've ever had!"—then we may have cause for pessimism.. * But it is only among the pick of the French troops that one can find anything corresponding to that gay and whimsical gallantry—Mark Tapleyism raised by ?ressureto the tenth power—to which, firmly believe, the British people mainly owe their position among the nations. . Thank God it is not failing us now. *•' • • m A MORSE MESSAGE. Snip is standing in the pad'dock disconsolate, his back turned to the wind, ■his forefeet beat the ground impatiently ; occasionally he breaks into a frenzy of pa'asion, and kicks the fence malici-! ously, all because his yoke-fellow Victor has taken the King's shilling. The other day a military gentleman strode briskly into our village and halted by the,paddock, then he addressed Victor in friendly terms, looked at his" teeth, pushed probing fingers into his_ flanks and ran cunning fibers adown his legs. •Quite /satisfiW 'with liis investigations, bralnd >upon him", • and set him off at a canter; as for Snip,. he scarcely, looked his_ way. The farmer came along .with <vonder in his eyes. - " I'm going to trke this horse," said the gentleman. "I presume you are. the owner?" "I am the owner!" answered the farmer, somewhat nettled at this sudde" ; -'it-break of martial law. There is no huckstering in the service of the King; the officer handed' Victor's master a cheque. "Well, are you satisfied?" said he. The fanner smiled. "It's the busy time,' 'he remarked, folding the order carefully, ' "I would rather have my horse." "That's whit you all say," remarked the officer, looking around for further booty. Daisy, the crofter's mare, was grazing close by. She also underwent a careful scrutiny and passed muster. The crofter hastened to the , scene. "Nae use! Nae use!" exclaimed' he. " Daisy is hauf blin' o' the richt 'e'e, I an' she's had the glanders; the beast | isna fit fur oirytliing but the knacker's yaird; luck here, an' I'll show ye " "Your name!" abruptly demanded the officer, with fountain-pen in hand. There was a minute's silence, then,a flutter of paper. "Nae doot it's a fair price," soliloquised the crofter, "but hoo inbleezes am I tae.get in ma corn "■ . No answer was forthcoming, and he walked away pondering! "What gart ye sell Daisy " queried his wife, waylaying him. " Wheesht, wumman!" exclaimed the crofter, "if I had' refusit tae sell her, he cud hae shot-ten me deid on the spot. Nae dootij it's hard tae git robbit, and the loss o' Daisy is a sair loss, but, baud ye'r tongue; we've gotten a guid price, an' the mere wis only fit for German sausagers." So a small cavalcade of horses has disappeared from our village, and Snip is the chief.mourner. Day by day, in his spare hours, he gallops around the field', with tail erect ,and whinnying loudly. At this moment he is rearing at the wire fence. I can read his message as it passes along the trembling wires. Dash; dash dash dash. Dot dot dot dot; dot: dot dash d'ot dot. The rest is somewhat confused, but I can clearly read that he is damnim* the Kaiser. You will excuse him: Snip is an old horse, and' not generally given to profanity.—" D.8.F.," in "Glasgow Herald."-