SIDELIGHTS ON THE WAR

New Zealand Tablet, 18 November 1915, Page 15

SIDELIGHTS ON THE WAR

GENERAL. As a result of the recent Zeppelin raids in London (says the -Glasgow Observer), involving in some instances grave destruction to Catholic edifices, the Cardinal ; Archbishop of Westminster has ordered the Rector of each mission to take out a special insurance against damage from air-bombs at an annual premium of ten guineas. - Mr. Ambrose Willis, who has just been gazetted as a subaltern in the London Irish Rifles, is the son of a.convert Anglican - clergyman, and since 1912 has been actively engaged in the work of the Catholic Reading Guild. an UNQUESTIONABLE -MIRACLE.’ Major Wilkinson, in the course of a letter to- his sister, Miss Wilkinson, a resident of Laugport, graphically describes some of his experiences of trench life on the French front. He says of Neuve Chapelle.: ‘ The most awful sight is the church and churchyard, everything most sacred to the poor people being utterly blown to pieces and desecrated. The tomb-stones are smashed, and the long-buried dead exposed. It is heart-rending. (Our Tommies have re-buried a lot of human remains.) Yet in the midst of all this desolation stands a huge crucifix in the churchyard, with two Jack Johnson holes in.the front and one behind—not injured in the slightest by the tempest of fire that had swept over it. It is an unquestionable miracle, which has been repeated over and over again in other churchyards.' A POPULAR CHAPLAIN. Writing to a Yorkshire priest, Private James Kelly, of the 9th Durham Light Infantry, gives evidence of the camaraderie which exists between the Tommies and their chaplains. ‘Our chaplain (he says) is Father Evans, S.J., who looks after us well. Pie is -a very nice man ; besides, he’s a big fat man, with a big jolly face —one you could nearly ask for the loan of a “bob” if he hadn’t been a priest! He comes and hunts the shy ones of us. There was not a Catholic among us who was not at Communion this morning. We go to Communion pretty frequently—generally twice when we are out of the trenches. So we are now ready to go to anywhere. lam pleased to tell you that a Catholic has never yet drawn out of anything we have had to do, no matter how dangerous. We get evfery chance to practise our religion, our Adjutant, Captain Harter, being a Catholic.’ A NEW ZEALANDER’S TRIBUTE. A stirring tribute to the elan and gallantry of the Irish troops in the battle of Suvla Bay is contained in the following letter from Captain Thornhill, of the New Zealand Forces in Gallipoli, to a friend in Dublin : After describing some of the engagements which he has been through, the officer continues; ‘I have just returned after an exciting time. Your Irish fellows are the talk of the whole army. To me the last few weeks have been one long nightmare. . . . But I must make you wise in regard to the doings of the Irish. Most of them, I believe, are “freshies.” The Empire can do with a heap more “freshies” of the Irish brand. Their landing at Suvla Bay was the greatest thing that you will ever read of in the books by high-brows. Those who witnessed the advance will never forget it. * Bullets and shrapnel rained on ’em, yet they never wavered. Officers got it here, there and everywhere, but the men never wavered. . . . The men were splendid. The .-way they took the hill (now called Dublin Hill) was the kind of thing that would make you pinch yourself to prove it wasn’t a cheap wine aftermath. How they got there heaven only knows. ‘ This is how a chap named Enright (two fingers and a thigh .bone broken) described it to me: „

• ' ‘ “We readied the top of the hill to find Turks galore on the other side. We made a bayonet charge (I bet they did), and the Turks,-,after putting up some show, bolted. It was getting dark, so we returned to the top of the hill, and spent all night making trenches. But fit was not too hot.” ' '

‘ It was up there on that shell-swept hill that Enright and many more of them got it. A game that the Turks have taken •to recently is blowing bugles and raisingn Cain generally, with a view no doubt, to frightening them.' They did , that when attacking- trenches held by one of your lot I think it was the Inniskillings. They came right close, too. Then the ‘‘Skins” (if it was the skins) got right into them with the bayonet. That was all right.’ ;- r SAD CONDITION OF POLAND. Cardinal Bourne has, communicated, to the press, at the request of the General Committee for the Relief of the Victims of the War in Poland, Vevey, a copy of a letter which the Polish Bishops have addressed to the archbishops and bishops of the Catholic world. The letter is signed by six archbishops and twelve bishops, whose dioceses cover the whole of Poland. The Polish bishops write in part as follows; ‘ Poland, that great Catholic country, is, in con-sequence-of the present war, passing through unspeakable sufferings, and is for the greater part completely devastated, sunk in a destitution so terrible that the world perhaps has never seen its like. Not only have millions of soldiers since a year been fighting on her territory against one another not only have the cruel exigencies of modern warfare brought about the complete ruin of hundreds of towns, thousands of villages, and over 1000 churches not only are all . food-stores utterly exhausted throughout a vast region, but over and above all, the unhappy Poles are forced to fight against themselves in three hostile armies, so that many a time brother against brother, son against father, kinsman against kinsman, friend against friend—they mercilessly take each other’s lives. That Poland, which for centuries was the bulwark of Christendom, and which in the hardest moments never ceased to be the most faithful and true daughter of the Church, in spite of the immense calamity which by inscrutable designs of Providence has been visited upon her, has even to-day not wavered in her Faith. She is, however, in extreme need of moral support in order that she may bear with unshaken faith and firm hope the sufferings still in store for her, and of material aid in order that she may save hundreds-of thousands of the children from the disease, misery, and starvation now falling upon countless victims.’ ■

TRIBUTE TO IRISH SOLDIERS. A Dublin staff officer who has returned wounded from the Dardanelles told an interesting story of his experiences in the course of an interview with a representative of the Freeman. He spoke of the admiration excited by the fine appearance and well-trained condition of the divisions of the new army, which included the Tenth Irish Division. The war-worn members of the Expeditionary Force looked on the arrival of these new forces, he said, as heralding a striking blow towards the finish. - About the sth or 6th of August these new troops departed for the advanced base in torpedo boat destroyers, lighters, and transports, etc., and in the ensuing twenty-four hours reports came that the landing had been successful, and that they had advanced considerably. The wounded then began to pour in on the advanced base, and about the 12th of August it appeared to everybody that the casualties were very large. All the Irish regiments of which the Tenth Division was composed seemed to have’ suffered very badly, the Dublins and Munsters particularly. , All the officers available were sent updo the firing line, and the interviewed officer joined one of the Irish regiments which had lost heavily’. ‘ The Turks/ he said, speaking of ■ his own experiences, ‘ were occupying a ridge of hills two miles inland, from which they bom-

the troops who were entrenched. • I had been , ' in France in the firing line during last winter, and from my previous experience I never thought that a hail of bullets, bombs, etc., could have been so tremendous as it appeared to be at Suvla. The Turks appeared to be very well supplied with machine guns, to the use of which the hills lent themselves very much, as it seemed an impossible task to pick them out so well were they concealed. In spite of this, the Irish Division, who were on the extreme left of the line, advanced slowly and steadily. In all, during the, time I was there, over 800 yards was gained. Sometimes we were only 200 yards from the Turkish trenches. One day we fought over half a mile of country, the fighting being more or less hand-to-hand with the bayonet. We had to dig in. I was wounded just below the right hip, "'but held on for three days after receiving the wound. ‘ During the time I was on the staff,’ he continued, ‘ a great tribute was paid by the officers of every creed to the devotion and courage of the Catholic priests. One priest, an Irishman, Father Leighton, of the 13th Division, was one of the most heroic men

I ever saw, performing his duty with courage and coolness in face of the greatest danger!’ The officer continued to say that the 29th Division, in which his regiment was, needed no comment, as the world was cognisant of its doings. Ho also paid warm tribute to the gallantry and devotion of his servant, a young Limerick lad of about 18 years of age, who, he said, displayed wonderful courage and devotion to him personally during all the time he was at the front.

He gave one particular instance of the splendid behaviour of an Irish battalion. One battalion,’ he said, ‘ of the Royal Irish Fusiliers was advancing under artillery fire when a high explosive shell exploded in the middle of a platoon, blowing about five men to pieces. No shock or dismay was shown by the rest of the troops, who opened out into two lines, and continued their advance, displaying the coolness and steadfastness of veteran troops, though at the time they had scarcely been a week under fire, and their military training at the most did not exceed twelve months.’ Speaking of the Australian and New Zealand troops, he said they were recognised by all as most determined fighters, displaying great tenacity in holding the positions won by them. He said that the number of Irish names amongst the Australians struck on© forcibly. The Australian officers who were on the same hospital ship in which he returned home bore such Irish names as Fitzpatrick, Delaney, Egan, ITealy, Killeen, Mahony, and Rafferty; and these were examples of the names to be found in all the battalions of the Australian forces.

THE LATE SERGT.-MAJOR T. J. B. LAFFEY. Mrs. J. Laffey, Invercargill, has received the following letter, regarding the death of her son, SergeantMajor T. J. B. Laffey, from Chaplain-Captain MeMenamin. The letter was written at Gaba Tepe under date, August 31:

‘ My dear Mrs. Laffey,By the last New Zealand paper that I received I saw that official notice of Tim’s death had been sent to you, so I am now free to send you a word of sympathy in your great trouble. Though we expected tough fighting here, we had no idea that we would lose so many of our splendid men. The . fighting was fierce enough at the beginning but it was s child’s play to what we have had lately. My heart goes out to the poor mother's of New Zealand. May God comfort them, is all that I can say. As you will already know, poor Tim was killed on the night of . May 2, in a very big attack made by the Otago Battalion in conjunction with the Australians. It was a desperate affair, and though they were bady cut up, the Otago boys performed most nobly. Tim was wounded twice almost at the same time, and died - without any. suffering. I was talking to him only a few hours before and he was in excellent spirits, showing not the slightest fear, in the face of what we all knew to be a most hazardous undertaking. -

‘I, personally, was extremely sorry to lose Tim, because hejiad much influence for good with the Catholic men, and always gave such good example. I need not tell you how exact he always was with regard to religious matters, and you need not have the slightest' fear regarding the safety of his soul. He was at confession only a couple of days before the fatal attack. His loss was severely felt by the officers of his battalion, who placed .much reliance on him in the ing out of his important duties. May God rest his soul.

‘ lie was a son to be proud of when he was alive, and you have more reason to be proud of him now. He died nobly in a just cause and God will surely reward him for his sacrifice/

TRAVELLED 13,000 MILES TO FIGHT.

The following very interesting letter, written by Melrose Mailer, a Lancashire Fusilier, wounded in theGallipoli, and now in Stepping Hill Military Hospital, Hazel Grove, near Stockport, Lancashire, has been received , by Mrs. Fitzgerald, of Ballyauon, Midleton, wife of an agricultural laborer, in the employment of Mr. Michael Buckley, J.P. The letter has come to, be written by the wounded soldier to Mrs. Fitzgerald under extraordinary circumstances, and the incident is one worthy of mention. For months past Mrs. Fitzgerald has been giving regularly every week a small contribution of eggs for wounded soldiers in hospitals to the Ladies’ Committee of Midleton in charge of the collection of such welcome gifts. In common with other donors of eggs Mrs. Fitzgerald’s name and address are usually written on the eggs so given by her, as her humble war contribution. In this peculiar way the wounded soldier in the Lancashire Hospital got the name and address of Mrs. Fitzgerald, which were written on the shell of an egg that happened to form an item in the. rations served to him on a morning recently. The letter, which speaks for itself, is as follows;

‘ Dear Mrs. Fitzgerald, —These few lines to you are from an Australian Bushman, who has travelled 13,000 miles to do his duty to the mother country. After arriving here in February last, I enlisted in the Lancashire Fusiliers, and went to the Dardanelles, where we fought side by side with the famous Irish regiments, the Dublins and Munster Fusiliers. God bless them. I, as one soldier, will never forget the bravery displayed by these dear Irish boys. I have, indeed, something to long remember. I was myself wounded in a bayonet charge on the 4th June last, and that day I shall never forget. All the boys lighting for their lives, and we had a splendid gain on the day, killing many Turks. After two operations I have had two fingers and half the palm of my left hand removed. I was also hit in the breast, but luckily that was not serious. I have no regrets for my sacrificemany are worse off. I am only glad to be one Australian, serving as lamin an English regiment. I have no friends here in this part of the world, but my people are always thinking of me, and that is some satisfaction. I have secured your name and address off an egg, so excuse me for writing you these few lines. I enjoyed eating that egg, and I thought it only right that you should know it. If you feel disposed to write back to me, I shall be only too pleased to receive a line from you.’

THE SOLDIER AND THE CHILD.

Private Delaney, of the 9th Durham Light Infantry, in a letter addressed to friends in Sunderland, in which he praises the 7th D.L.1., tells the following story: —‘l was wounded at Ypres on April 10, and was lying helpless, when I heard the shout of a child and footsteps approaching. -The sounds'came nearer, and presently I saw a soldier carrying a child in his arms. Blood was streaming down his face, and he walked lame. He stopped and asked me if I was much hurt, and I said “Yes.” Carefully putting the child down by my side, he immediately w«yit back and returned with two Canadians. I was carried into safety.

Ho and I were with the Canadians five days. I got know that he belonged to the 7th D.L.1., and that iiis name, was Private J. Scanlon. The man was always with the child, and then the child died, and the soldier wept bitterly. Tie cried over it as if it were his own. I found out that the child’s father and- mother had been killed, and that the mother had left the child with him and given him a French medal. The medal he clung to and would not part with it. One Canadian offered him twenty francs for it, but he would not sell. I hope he is alive and well.’

FRENCH PEASANTS’ LOVE OF COUNTRY. I write this letter from a village in the west of France. It is situated in the region known as ‘La Vendee militaire,’ where the great war of the peasants, started in 1793, sprang into flame (says the special correspondent of the Catholic Times). This war of giants,’ as Napoleon called it, originated with the peasants; it was the protestation of those believing and deeply Catholic folk against the anti-religious laws of the Revolutionary Government, that closed their churches and sent their priests to the scaffold. The noblemen and gentlemen of the country— do Lescure, Larochejacquelin, Donissau, Charette, d’Elbee, and others—who subsequently took the lead of the movement and undertook the training of the peasant army, did so at the express and repeated request of the country folk. They did not start the movement, but they could not withhold from their peasant neighbours the support of their superior education and experience, and, as a matter of course, they were soon called upon to fill posts of responsibility in the Vendean army. Readers of history know how this war ended in a defeat, but not before these untrained peasants had held in check , for many months the formidable Republican armies. Now, given the action of time, the greater facilities of communication with the outside, the past is gradually receding into the dim distance, and within the last year the mighty struggle in which France is engaged has laid its grip upon the peasants of La Vendee; the tragedies of the past have faded in presence of the grim realities of the present. Yet, coming from Paris, where, although far removed from the line of fire, the heart of France seems to beat more fiercely than elsewhere, a visit to La Vendee is infinitely restful and there is nothing that jars in the attitude of its people. These descendants of the heroes of 1793-94 are severely touched by the war; the village that is close to the chateau from which I am writing has between 900 and 1000 inhabitants; of these, over 22 soldiers are, after one year’s war, killed or missing. The church that dominates the village is more crowded than ever, but black veils cover the picturesque white * coiffes,’ and many Masses for the dead are said by the venerable cure, a regular Vendean, who governs his people with kindly authority that no one dreams of resisting. The Lord of the Manor.

In the stately chateau, which the peasants are accustomed to look to in all the events of their simple lives, the widowed ‘ chatelaine ’ is alone. Her only son, a lad of 22, has been since August 1, 1914, on the line of fire. Between the lord of the manor, to whom the countryside partly belongs, and the humblest of his dependents there is no difference. ‘Monsieur le Comte ’ and his farmers and servants, enrolled in the national service, are fighting shoulder to shoulder close Mo the German trenches. The boy from the chateau 'wvas not a soldier by, profession, but he had become one by necessity, and since the mobilisation not a word of complaint, of murmur, of despondency has ever passed his lips. His good blood and good name do not prevent him from figuring as an obscure soldier iff the national army, but they give distinction to his service, and here in his home his example is not wasted. Between his mother, who patiently and bravely waits for his return,' and her poor neighbours the links, of affection, knit in days of peace, have become stronger. The people

feel that she knows and understands that -her .boy—an only one— exposed like theirs to the German bullets ; that with compulsory service, such as it exists in France, the hardships, perils, sufferings are the same for all. ‘ Monsieur le Comte' is a great man at home in spit© of his youth he is the centre of g thousand happy, tender plans and projects; on the line of fire he is an obscure little soldier, lost in the great crowd , of our fighting men. There is a pathos in the situation that makes us measure the cruel relentlessness of war.

French Country Folk’s Love of the Fields.

The women of La, Vendee pray hard, but they also work, and, in their quiet way, these are not a demonstrative people. - They fill the empty places, careful that the soldier at the front should know that his fields, in spite of difficulties, are properly looked after. The fields of France ! Only those who during the last year have lived very close to our wounded soldiers know with what passionate intensity our maimed and broken fighting men think day and night of their fields at home! Steaming the other day through the flat expanse of ‘ la Beauce,’ this most prosaic district suddenly became glorified by the remembrance of the pathetic love that goes out to it from many a hospital bed or from the lonely fighter in the trenches on the line of fire. I saw a Norman peasant, who was coldly indifferent when taken to see the sights of Paris, fire up at the vision of six stiff apple trees, planted in a row in a suburban garden. In an awe-struck manner he murmured : ‘On se croirait chez nous’ — ‘lt looks like home.’ A stolid farmer from northern France, rough of speech and short in manner, grievously wounded near Arras, is never weary of telling how, by working night and day, he managed to bring in the harvest before rejoining his regiment a year ago. This is the one feat he enjoys telling about; it brings a smile to his rough features and a pathetic wonderment as to how the harvest fared this ear in his absence. > v '

A Touching Story.

In the village from which I write, in the heart of La Vendee, I was told a pretty story. A young farmer, Jean , left home on the first day of the mobilisation in August, 1914, a day that is remembered as a tragic date in thousands of humble homesteads. Behind him, in his small farm, he left his wife and baby girl. The woman was a typical peasant of La Vendee—slow of speech, gentle in manner, strong in faith. She continued to do her best, with a loyal pride in the work that the absent soldier had loved. She labored at it unceasingly, cheered by the letters that came to her from the front and by the charitable assistance of her neighbors. Now an old man, now a kindly woman neighbor, now a young boy volunteered to help, but she continued to bear the heaviest share of the work, and the mere sight of her baby, wrapped in a shawl and carefully deposited under a big chestnut tree, seemed to give her extra courage. Meanwhile, the Vendean soldier was fighting where the danger was greatest and where the German bullets fell most thickly. He performed his task with the simple feeling of a tremendous duty to be performed, that characterises our peasant fighting men. In his case there was A Strong Feeling of Religious Faith underlying and sustaining his patriotism. The Vendeans of to-day are in this respect the worthy descendants of the heroes of the * grand guerre.’ His letters were not eloquent, "but to his wife they were more inspiring than any bit of literature. Then, one day, they ceased. Aimee grew paler and paler. She hardly dared stop the postman when he cycled round the village. Her step became heavier, but she went about her daily task as usual. Then, one hot summer day, she found herself more than ever surrounded by helpful neighbors. One offered to milk the cows, another to cut the wheat, another to care for the baby. Aimee looked from one to another. Suddenly she grasped the situation. * Jean is dead,’ she cried ; * this is your way of telling me.’ A few minutes later the village mayor, twisting a , telegram in his fingers; approached : * The soldier Jean - fell gloriously in the Argonne’! - .. i