this wonderful country of ours. I wonder why there do not seem to be many Pakehas in this building, only a few; maybe they are part Maori and part Pakeha. I suppose that's it. Hello, my turn now. ‘Yes come on there, snap out of it. Don't loiter, step up. What's your name, John? Address? Age?’ ‘Age twenty-two.’ ‘Twenty-two my eye. Come on lad what's your age. You're not twenty-one yet are you?’ ‘No sir, I am twenty-two.’ ‘That sounds like something to me but I'll believe you lad. All right, on the dotted line. Right, hop it now. Next please. We'll let you know whether you make it or not, my lad.’ The scene has changed again and all that I see is dust and clouds of it. Tramp tramp tramp, we're marching. Halt, attention, stand easy, tramp tramp tramp. More marching, more halts, attentions and stand at ease until I could go to sleep on my feet. Left right, left right, night and day, day in and day out. Right wheel, left wheel, left right, left right. Present arms, slope arms, present arms. All day long this goes on. Then leave, final leave whacko. I am at home and I am the favourite son; and somehow, wherever the boys are I am a part of them also: I am every mother's son of them. I am trying and yet not managing to make things pleasant for Mum, for she is doing her very best to hold herself up under the terrific strain of these last few days. I feel a great sorrow in my heart for Mum, I wish I had never enlisted now. No, no, what am I saying. Mum would never forgive me if she thought I felt like that. For upon that face, so beautiful and lined with care, is an expression of great pride, and a tranquility which seems to come from the very depths of her being. Now I am on board ship in the middle of a great ocean. It is nearly dark, and quite close to us there are other, darker shapes. They are other ships. Everything is quiet. I am writing to my girlfriend, to my brother, to my sister, and last of all to the most wonderful of all God's creatures, my mother. Time passes quickly on board; we are somewhere in this great expanse of water. Troops are trans-shipping; now they are all aboard their respective ships. The great liners move slowly apart, and the lads are singing ‘Now is the hour,’ as the evening sun goes slowly down in the west. Thousands of throats are singing a million regrets for loved ones left behind. When shall they meet again, who knows? The painfully sad music fades away with the breeze. It is still night, but now I am not on the sea, but in a valley. There are hundreds of us there, lying quietly, waiting for something to happen. There are hundreds of us in a hundred different theatres of conflict, waiting this night, for what? A silence of approaching doom is in the air and in the earth, and in everyone of us is the fear of the unknown. We know it now, it is here, in that streak of lightning across the blackened sky. Now it seems that all the legions of hell are loose under our feet. And every mother's son rises to a man, to fight, to die, to suffer: for what reason, I wonder why. For that night which was turned to day by fire, blast, and flame, for that night mankind went back a thousand years. High above the sound of battle is a dream-like hypnotic sound of stamping feet. Stand, parry, guard, thrust, where did I hear those words. Somewhere in the dimness of time, ka mate, ka mate, ka ora ka ora. Stand, guard, thrust, parry. Tenei te tangata puhuruhuru nana nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te ra. Upane, upane, kaupane whakawhiti te ra, a ha ha. The sound of battle seems never to wane. Smoke envelops everything. Now I am on a hill, and at the top of the hill are a handful of men. We are surrounded by our foes who have been hammering at us for days, it seems for years. Our force is gradually getting smaller but we fight all the harder to retain our position. The hill is a shambles. I am there, and I am doing my damnedest, but every time I strike a blow at the enemy, I go right on through them. It is very uncanny. I seem to bear a charmed life. The scene on the hill is now one of desolation. A most astounding thing is being enacted there. There are only two men left; one is down, and the other is standing but fatally wounded, hit by rifle fire. This man is only a boy in years, but he has the toughness of the true seasoned fighter. They are coming up the hill now, he has thrown his weapon at his foes. He still will not give in. He is fighting them now with sticks and stones. No wait, there are others there helping him, but they are not in uniform: they are naked, but for the piupiu which they wear around their waists. They seem to pass through the enemy as I did. I know who they are. Alas, at last they have him down, but they