THINGS TOMMY WILL NEVER TELL.

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LX, Issue 17076, 1 September 1917, Page 8

THINGS TOMMY WILL NEVER TELL.

By A WOUNDED PRIVATE

( wSunday Herald.")

(Srange as it may seem to the cultured critic, the- following article reaches us from the bed of a wounded private. The hospital where he now lies is somewhere

in Shropshire.)

The moon poured its radiance on "No Man's Land" bathing it in a primrose softness that was all enchantment. \t seemed as though the gods themselves had "staked a claim" for a midsummer night's gala amid the blood and clay of this Flemish battlefield.

Not a single shot had bi-oken the silence of our sector all day, and the long, dark ridge of broken ground some SO yards distant might have been just an innocent sanitary' trench for all the signs of habitation it was giving; but the warm western winds of the early afternoon had brought with them news, none too softly whispered, of great doings down the line. And we knew, each man and officer among us, that our turn would come again all in good time.

Meanwhile it was good to be alive. The madness of an old-time summer night danced in our veins 3 and walking through the s'--ling heut of the trench, the temptation assailed me to rise out of its depths and take a walk along the moonlit terrace above, for my cigar— almost tlie last of a treasured storeburned well, End ita fragrance sank deep into my.soul..'

THE TRENCH PHILOSOPHER

But at this juncture I met the philosopher. He was squatting alone on th.-i ftrestep in an attitude of profound thought, and his ,companionship appealed to me just now. He seemed quite in tune with the night, and a thin cloud of smoke ascended spirally from the howl of his pipe. He looked up at me with a smile, and I could not help noticing the unmistakable stamp of quality in his fine features. "I was thinking," he saia, laconically. "And smoking, I think," I broke in. ,"Tlie two generally go together," ac replied. "You always were rather a genius," 1 retorted. "I think," I added, "that you will take back quite a store of new accomplishments when you return to Blighty-" "I don't know that I sahll take much apart from my Graven Images," he replied, sadly. . "Graven Images!" I echoed weakly. "My dear fellow, don't forget we're fighting on the -Western front. "Were j you on the 'Egyption front now -" MILESTONES ON THE WEARY TRAIL. Pausing a moment as though to reorganise his thoughts, he pressed down the weed in the capacious bowl of his pipe, and pulled both hard and long in silence. At last he took his pipe from his mouth, punctuating his remarks with the stem as he spoke. "Passing scenes and events," he said,

"monientary thrills of pride and exhilaration, exquisite flashings of the imagination, and the df.rk depression of fear and foreboding, aii serve to build up images to which, the memory pays homage in many and various rorms.

"Day in, day out, from reveille to last post, these images rise up like milestones along tie weary trail of the war, leading us ever nearer the greatest dawn of all, the dawn which will never seek the west —the dawn of peace. And we, the young men of Britain, grown older and ever so much wiser, seared, perhaps, with the flame of battle, broken, perhaps, beyond earthly repair, will take back with us into the sunshine of civil life a squad of images that will make the world of peace to ua a dream of paradise. ■

" We will worship them every hour of every peaceful *da,v, -with joy-and sadness, reverence and respect, pride and enthusiasm. "We will parade them :n many and various places. We will worship them belore our mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, and as for the little children playing at our knee we will clothe them in the raiment of fairyland." •

HIDDEN IN THE SOLDIER'S

HEAR-1.

He paused a moment to take a reflective pull,at his pipe, and beneath the light of the moon 1 saw the enthusiasm in his face die.aw-ay"-before a look of. pain—almost agony—and bis voice had a ring of sadness', in. it when he con-

tinued

" But there are 'some images, old man, which we will hide away in our hearts from tie light of day, as the leper hides his.-foulness'from the eyes of man, for they are grim, grey things that were born in the valley of death itself. The sunlight is no place for them. Hqppiness, in their presence, v/old fade away in a' cloud of heartbreak that kncws no silver lining. Perhaps in the silence and secrecy of our chamber .we may drag ih'-.m fortH at the end of a day that has not gone well, and pay oar tribute of a ghastly hour to the memory of some departed friend. "The fire will have lost its. warmth and the pipe its savour, -while the very moon will, have gone behind the clouds for the time being, but the morning will come, and beneath its raoiant sunshine they will fade away, back into the shadow-land of their birth, and a smiling squad will take their place, filling our hearts again with the fragr,

cense of their benign presence. Those axe the images—graven for ever on my heart —of which I was thinking when you approached.", ' - Silently he rose and gripped my hand, and there was something big and noble in that silence that will never fade from my memory.