THE LATEST BOOKS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 12289, 11 April 1918, Page 7

THE LATEST BOOKS.

PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED.

"The Lost Naval Papers,’’ by Bennett Gopkfiton. (Loudon: John Murray).

This is a story that may yet prove to contain more truth than fiction when tho curtain is ultimately lifted and tho light is allowed to flood the arena, of war events. It is then only that certain happenings will ho seen clearly, and the- full inner history of war secrets be disclosed. The story of “The Lost Naval Papers” had its beginning in articles which appeared, in “ The Cornhill Magazine'” in Ifllfi. It is a detective story in which the famous Scotland Yard plays a big part. German agents were trapped by some faked notes, and the author remarks that it is significant that on May 25 two copies of his faked notes were shepherded through to Holland and readied the Germans and that on Mny 31 was fought the Battle of Jutland. “Can the brief space between those dates have been merely an accident?” says the author. “I cannot believe it. I prefer to believe that in my humble way I induced the German Fleet to issue forth and risk an action which, under more favourable conditions for us, would have resulted in their utter destruction.” Tho fact that a certain prisoner charged with espionage, was found guilty and shot, is evidence that the story has an actual foundation. However, it is for the reader to satisfy himself. “An Airman’s Wife.” (London; Herbert Jenkins), The annymous girl who tells the story was brimful of the joy of life when she and her airman Bill married, and they were the happiest couple in Britain, bring a perfect love-idyll, till Bill went on duty to Franco. They were happy even after that, he in his Huu-strafang “ stunts,” and in his thought of and letters to his wife, she in reading his letters, thinking of him and answering his thoughts. Each of his daily letters set out here is a chary entry of the work of his squadron and himself interspersed with fervid assurances of his amazing love, for his Aimee. Ho tells of many chases of enemy aircraft; there are some thrilling episodes; his friend Grahame’s account of one day’s work woulj have been exciting even without the emphasising of lurid language and under tho circumstances the language is forgiven even by the “Odd Man ” of the Cloth. The outstanding impression in these letters is of the youthfnlness, the joy of the job displayed by tho fighters of to-day; thoy strafe the Hun, but they do nob trouble about hating him, that they reserve for tho dispenser of “ hot air.” Hear one little happening. “One day Hyatit going up picked up a single machine and later saw five Huns. Thinking he had tho assistance of the scout ho had picked up he dived at the five. Hardly had he started than the scout fired at him from behind. Ho turned round and climbed and disscerned black crosses on the scout. It was a Hun. Getting under the Hun, he put his gun up, emptied his drum, and saw the Hun go down and into a pond. Then Hyatt came hbme.” Anther episode: “ Six of us attacked six balloons and we destroyed live. One fellow failed, his gnu jammed like mine did that day, yon remember. I had eleven bullet "holes in my machine, and some of the others were nearly as bad.”—One of the least fervid of Bill’s intimate outpourings—“l am intensely happy in my surroundings. It is, first, because of our love and then because I know you, love, are happy and contented in your surroundings.” These two were the ideal happily mated lovers. When tragedy comes the story strikes a. spiritual ijote that will find a respouse in the, heart*! of very many to-day. There is a recognition of something greater even than the two things that the poet! says, “ greater than all things arc.” A poignant page of life. “ The Man with the Club Foot,” by Douglas Valentino (London: Herbert .Tonkins). A daring young British officer, receiving a curious message from abroad which Tie considers has some reference to a brother who disappeared some time before in Germany, takes the serious risk of appointing himself a, search party of one for the purpose of finding the lost man and if possible rescuing him. Ho knows Gcrmaji and Germany well, and has the amazing luck at the outset of accidentally dropping on a ready-made alias, but these, facts do not prevent him from having some hairs-brendth escapes when ho is pitted against the chief of the Kaiser’s secret service, the powerful and mysterious man with the club foot. There is not a. dull page in this record of adventure. To add to the interest there is a lovely and spirited girl, who take's a prominent part in the working out of the drama. And few will road without a thrill of tho 'heroism of a captured British private who gets a chance of showing his mettle and shows it in the face of death.,' “Tho Old Front Line,” by John Masefield (London: William Heinemaun). Never an inch of the area over which tho British fought either advancing or retreating and spilt their blood' in the cause of freedom but is hallowed ground and will remain hallowed ground. Some spots, of course, will stand outi of the ruck, just as soma nerves win the V.O. The Ypres salient is one such, the “Old Front Line” is another. Mr Masefield, who has already described Gallipoli, here describes the line held by the British before the Somme Rattle began. He places it on record, ere it is obliterated, ere the war which moves so swiftly is a ‘‘romance in memory.” “ Centre Way,” Peel Trench, Munster Alley, and (hose other paths to glory will,” lie says, “ bo deep under the corn, and gleaners will sing at Dead Mule Corner.” From this lino our men started the biggest battle in which they were over engaged, treed a tract ef France seventy miles long by fourteen to twenty-live miles broad, and first gave the enemy a knowledge that he was beaten. “It is,” lie says, “ a. difficult thing to describe without monotony tor it varies so little. It is like describing tho. course of the Thames from Oxford to Beading . . . whatever country the river passes it remains water bordered by shore. So our frontier trenches wherever they lie arc only gashes in the earth fenced by wire beside a greenish strjp of ground pitted with shell-holes whirl) is fenced with thicker, blacker, but more tumbled wire on the other side. Behind this further wire is the parapet of the enemy front-line trench which swerves to take in a. hillock or to flank a dip or to crown a slope, but remains roughly parallel with ours from 20yds to 500 yds from it for miles and miles up hill and down dale. All the advantages of position and observation wore in the. enemy's bands, not ours. They took up their lines when they wore and our side weak, and in no place in all the old Somme position is our line hotter sited than theirs, though in one or two places the sites are nearly equal. Almost in every part of the old front our men bad to go up hill to attack.” One might expect a monotony. “If.” says Mr Masefield, “the description of the. old line ho dull to read it should be remembered that, it was dull to hold. ’ But tho description is not monotonous; no*words of a poet dealing with a subject of such human interest with the importance of which he is impressed could be that. And bo impi esses by the plainness of his nnn'ative. There are many illustrations and a map. At the conclusion ' Mr Masefield gives a short and vivid ; sketch of the groat scene when the j “ men of the first wave climbed up the : parapets, in tumult, darkness and the ’ presence of death, and having done with all pleasant, things, advanced aerovthe No Man's I.and to begin (lie Battle