go to the trenches when the battalion went into the line. The transfer
was effected, and he made a start with real soldiering. No amount of
discipline could transform him from the free-from-care,
do-as-you-please individual into the polished soldier. One evening he
was posted over the gas-alert in the front line trenches, when a shell
exploded a few yards in front of him. The explosion caused his hat to
disappear and the concussion projected him into a dug-out. Only the
solidity of the wall prevented him from going further; as it was, the
force with which he was hurled against the side of the dug-out made a
deep impression on the damp wall. He lay in a motionless heap in the
corner of the dug-out. A N.C.O. rushed along the duck-boards, thrust
his head into the dug-out, and anxiously inquired of Bill as to
whether he was hurt. Bill by this time had partially recovered from
the shock. His small steel-grey eyes gradually opened. The N.C.O.
again asked if he were hurt. Bill's eyes rolled, his lips moved, and
then he blurted out, 'Oh, no, only my feelings!'
Bill is not a man to make a fuss about anything. He has no time for
red-tape in any shape or form, it is true, but whatever work is
assigned him is always done satisfactorily. Whether he is any less a
soldier or his efficiency as a fighting force impaired because of his
failure to meet the rigid requirements of an exacting military
regulation is a matter concerning which there might be a difference of
opinion; but this at least stands to his credit: he knows no fear, is
the life of the unit, and the battalion to which he belongs would
sustain a distinct loss by the removal of Bugler Bill, &c.
A TRAGEDY OF THE WAR
From strife they now march back to smiling farms,
Recoiling from the crash and smoke and roar.
Meadows, all verdant, faerie fields, whose charms
Serve for a space to make them as before.
And peaceful pictures of the days of yore,
With thrilling thoughts of those they left behind
Flash thro' the mental vision, and a score
Of letters brightly occupy the mind
Without a care, or woe, or doubt of any kind.
Anon they journey from this place of rest
By night or early dawn back to the brink
Of that volcanic crater where the best
Sit tight, scarce caring if they swim or sink.
Silent they bear it, as they quietly think
The end approaching to their life at last,
And face each other, with a smile or wink
Outwardly stoic, tho' their hearts beat fast
As, thumping down, great shells come racing in and past.
Erase such thoughts from out the o'er-wrought brain,
Think rather of this freshness, and the sight
Of nature in her harvest dress, refrain
From plunging into the eternal night.
Such contrasts seem the only choice by right
Of those who battle for the joy of life.
Out on this troubled spot where Armies fight,
And peasants labour just behind such strife
Shorthandedly, unhelped, save by a child or wife.
So come with me down hedgerows, down the glades,
And thro' the cosy glens, till far away
We come unto a hill-crest--lights and shades,
Bright coloured landscapes far below us lay,
Blue mists and fields of yellow corn and hay,
In rows like soldiers, now the tired eyes see,
And poplars guard the distant dim roadway,
Whilst near the wind sighs thro' the acorn-tree,
Till one feels hushed, serene, contented, almost free.
And here, tucked back behind a leafy lane,
Low in a pocket of some sheltered ground,
An unpretentious farm, so snug and plain,
An invitation in itself; when found,
Only a whining howl like dingoes' sound,
Reminds one that there is a war near by.
The tools of peace see littered here around,
Weapons by which men learn to live, not die:
A plough, a drill, and there a binder standing nigh.
'_Bon jour, m'sieurs_,' a little hunchback cries;
A wizened, twisted human form divine;
She flashed a look of welcome from her eyes,
From which the soul of ages seem to shine.
'_Entrez_,' she welcomed, and her face looked fine,
As proudly bustling o'er her clean stone floor
She bade us linger, eat, and drink her wine.
Refreshed with food and drink, we loiter more
Within such cool retreat, delaying '_Au revoir_.'
And soon the human tragedy in course
Of progress thro' that little home becomes
Clear to the senses, and to us much worse
Compared with our Australia's peaceful homes.
For, oh, the pity, as one's vision roams
From there to here, and back on wings again;
A rush of feeling and emotion comes,
Whilst hearing this contorted piece of pain,
The stirring times of all their troubled lives explain.
For she to whom Fate seemed at first unkind,
Now lives an angel in a higher sphere.
This pained and twisted cripple seemed to find
Pleasure in living for her kinsfolk dear.
Hard work an honour, in her duty clear
To wives of brothers in the fighting line;
Women and children gather round her here;
For round their hearts her nature did entwine,
Her beaming face proclaimed 'See, Anglaise, they are mine.'
And all around these chubby children play,
Dirty, but happy, fed and cared for well,
With ne'er a troubled thought the live-long day,
For they know little of adjacent hell.
The hunchback warns us we are not to tell
About the 'Allemagne' whilst they are nigh,
Since all have known him in the past too well.
'Let them forget it as we often try.
_C'est la guerre_,' she said, and quickly brushed her eye.
And then she whispers, as we loiter near,
The story of their young lives years ago,
When, snatched from cradles, with a frenzied fear,
Their mothers hurried on before the foe;
Their men defend and screen them as they go,
And fight a rearguard action with the brute,
Who cares not for their agony or woe,
But only for the blood-streams and the loot.
And now she sees us watching one poor little mute:
'Ah! this one?' and she pointed to the dot
Who sat alone, and smiled to vacant space,
'Waits for her mother; very hard her lot;
For years now has she waited in her place.
"Where is her mother?" I can never trace
Somewhere beyond across "the no man's way."
Some day, perhaps,' she cried, with yearning face.
The tiny mite, tho' happy, could not play,
Except with little restless hands all day.
'Sometimes the shell come here right by,' she said.
'The other day, when I what you call wash,
A big boom quickly pass above my head,
And fall out in the field with a big crash.
But, oh, those children, they so very rash,
They know so little of the dreadful doom.
I come in time to save a fearful crash,
And catch them with the nose-cap in this room--
The nose-cap, unexhausted, from the boom.'
And then we start, inclined to say farewell.
We try to brighten up the little maid
Who sits alone, perhaps in faerie dell;
For she doth seem not in the least afraid.
She, smiling, takes the pennies which we lay
Within her hands, tho' distant is her smile;
And for a space she seemed with them to play,
But drops them ere we're scarcely gone, awhile
We wander back, half dumb, hard, thinking for a mile.
G.P. CUTTRISS and J.W. HOOD.
[Illustration: "She, smiling, takes the pennies which we lay
Within her hands...."]
RECREATION BEHIND THE LINES
[Illustration: The Horse Show]
The military authorities have ever recognized the importance and value
of recreation in connexion with the training of men. They realize that
'all work and no play makes Tommy a dull boy'; and the provision that
has been made for recreation and amusement for the 'boys' commands the
deepest appreciation of both rank and file. The Australian is
unaccustomed to the rigid restrictions of an inflexible military
régime, and a temporary relaxation contributes much towards
eliminating that feeling of 'fed-upness' to which he is so susceptible
under monotonous and trying conditions, and certainly assists in
making him a less dissatisfied soldier.
The sporting instinct is so ingrained in the average Australian that
amusement and athletics have become part and parcel of his life, and
his efficiency as a fighting force has been increased in consequence.
His well-knit, muscular frame, and cheerful, free-from-care
disposition, and love for clean sport, have won for him a place in the
estimation of those who know and understand him, which is the envy of
many. Australia has given to the world champions in almost every
branch of sport, and the traditions which have been established on the
football and cricket fields and in athletic circles in years preceding
the war are being upheld and added to by her sons 'somewhere in
France.'
A General's task is by no means an easy one. He has to safeguard
against dissatisfaction, which invariably is the primary cause of
breaches of discipline. He requires to be tactful in the handling of
his command, gain the confidence of the men, and enlist their
undivided support; yet every consideration must be subordinate to the
supreme task of winning the war. His methods must be such as will
exact prompt obedience and beget respect, without imposing undue
hardships and punishment.
The Third Division is exceedingly fortunate in having Major-General
John Monash, C.B., V.D., in command. He is a popular and painstaking
officer, a born leader, a strict disciplinarian, possessed of tireless
energy. He has not spared himself in his efforts to establish and
maintain a high standard of efficiency amongst all ranks. The G.O.C.
set himself to put his men right and succeeded. He has a wonderfully
comprehensive grip over every branch of activity, and woe betide the
officer or man who is indifferent to or negligent of the duties
entrusted to him. Any proposition calculated to benefit the men has
always been favourably considered, and he has frequently been an
interested spectator of various games that have been played just
behind the lines. As a result there is little if any disaffection
among the men of the Division. Major-General Monash has encouraged by
approval and assistance various forms of recreation and entertainment.
The splendid fighting record of the Third speaks eloquently of his
capable leadership and the rousing and prolonged cheering which greets
him when presiding over or addressing an assembly of his men leaves no
doubt in the mind as to his popularity.
[Illustration: Off to the Horse Show.]
For a few months after our arrival in France, a cinema afforded
nightly entertainment. It was well patronized by the troops. The
building used had seating accommodation for about seven hundred, and
generally long before the hour of opening a queue of soldiers would
assemble. There was no pushing or scrambling for tickets. The
Australian good-humouredly submitted to the queue system, and
patiently waited his turn. Mr. Frank Beaurepeare, of swimming fame,
successfully managed the picture show, and eventually got together a
few vocalists and comedians, who were organized into a pierrot group.
These men were relieved from other duties during the comparatively
quiet periods. Eventually a couple of talented Tommies were added to
the group, which came to be designated the Coo-ees, under the
direction of Mr. Dixon, the capable and energetic successor to Mr.
F.B. Beaurepeare. In addition to performing every evening, the Coo-ees
frequently gave out-door concerts during the day or in the men's
billets, after the evening entertainment. A nominal charge for
admission was made, and the proceeds were used to augment the
Divisional Funds, which are used for the benefit of the men. These
entertainments were given within easy range of the enemy guns. On
several occasions shells fell in the vicinity of the hall, but few
casualties were reported.
In addition to affording amusement, the Coo-ees did invaluable work
during engagements. They either acted as stretcher-bearers or
dispensed refreshments to the troops as they went forward to or
returned from the trenches. They were located at dressing-stations
or at R.A.P.'s. It is generally hoped that the party as at present
constituted will be available after the war for the purpose of giving
entertainments in Australia such as they gave to the tired
war-hardened troops 'somewhere in France.'
[Illustration: 'Sweet and Low' by the quartette party always brought
forth rounds of applause.
Costumes were procured, and the programmes submitted were highly
creditable and greatly appreciated. The quartette party was
exceedingly popular, and never failed to please the 'boys.']
[Illustration: 'Try it a little softer.' Taff Williams, Musical
Director]
Periodically horse shows and sports were arranged by D.H.Q.
Substantial prizes and valuable trophies were awarded the successful
competitors. The day's proceedings would be enlivened by band music.
Impersonations of the world's mirth maker, Charlie Chaplin, and
Australian 'sun-downers,' were decidedly clever and afforded much
amusement. Horse shows always attract large attendances, and any
vehicle going in the direction of the show grounds was practically
commandeered by the tired but interested troops. They have a
partiality, however, for 'M.T.' lorries. For weeks prior to the event,
men would spend every available minute polishing chains, cleaning
harness, painting vehicles, and grooming horses. Every unit has its
admirers and supporters, and all events were keenly contested.
[Illustration: Sir Douglas Haig, G.C.B., G.C.V.O., and Sir A.J.
Godley, K.C.B., K.C.M.G., at the 2nd Anzac Horse Show.]
In addition to horse shows and sports organized by D.H.Q., the
brigades and battalions within the Division arrange for fête days
whenever opportunity offers. The manner in which these are carried out
reflects the highest credit upon those responsible for their
organization, and they have materially helped to bring about a better
understanding between officers and men. Games appropriate to the
season are played at the back of the lines. The ground selected for
football or cricket may be shell-marked, and the materials used
roughly made and incomplete. Football matches between different units
have been as keenly contested on the muddy and broken fields of
Belgium and France as those that have been played on the specially
prepared grounds of the Homeland. The Australians have held their own
against other units in both cricket and football.
For those who find such games too strenuous, indoor games are provided
by the Australian Comforts Fund, the Y.M.C.A., or the League of Loyal
Women of Australia. A circulating library is usually connected with
the Y.M.C.A. or Church Army huts, so that practically every taste is
catered for. An institution is justified in its existence by what it
produces. Judged according to this canon, the various organizations
which cater for the amusement and recreation of our fighting men have
infallibly demonstrated their right to be, and should command the
practical support of all who are interested in the well-being of our
fighting men.
FOR THE CAUSE OF THE EMPIRE
Irrespective of the state which sent us forth, and despite our
denominational and political differences, we are undivided in our
admiration of those who, in the enthusiasm of deathless devotion, have
made the supreme sacrifice for King and country. Words are inadequate
to express the tribute which we would pay to the memory of our brave
dead. We are beginning to value heroism more truly, and have not been
blind to the valour of those who have fallen in the effort to uphold
the honour and flag of the Empire. The story of their deeds makes the
heart beat faster. Many have discovered that the most glorious use to
which life could be put was to give it away. When the smoke has lifted
and the noise died down, the confession made and the true history of
this war written, then we shall see their heroism in the right light,
and more fully appreciate their sacrifice in the interests of justice
and honour. It matters not where they died--in hospital, on troopship,
or on the battlefield; their presence in the Army was sufficient
evidence of their willingness to bear their share of the cost in
sacrifice that had to be made before the end could be achieved. They
died as few men get the opportunity to die, fighting for all that is
most worth while--for God, and right, and liberty--which is just
another way of stating that they gave their lives for the glorious
cause of the Empire.
The general impression is that the Empire consists of an aggregation
of people, in possession of vast territories and enormous wealth: that
it consists of Great Britain, Canada, India, South Africa, Australia,
New Zealand, &c. Many cannot think of the Empire but in terms of
territory, money, and men. The British Empire, like the Kingdom of
God, is invisible. These material things are but the practical
expression of great forces and unalterable principles such as freedom,
democracy, justice, and faith, which lie at the very base of our
national life. It is for the retention and general enjoyment of these
things that we are fighting. We are not fighting for France, Belgium,
nor even for the Empire, as it is generally regarded, but for the
enforcement of those standards of justice and honour which have made
us the greatest nation in the world. It is not a war of retaliation
nor aggression, but a war to redress wrong, to succour the weak and
down-trodden.
There is not lacking evidence that beneath the material aspects of
this conflict there is a tremendous spiritual battle in progress, the
issue of which will determine the value of these national assets. We
cannot think that our comrades have given their lives merely to
enlarge our borders or to increase our wealth. They have died for the
cause of the Empire, and the cause of the Empire is synonymous with
the cause of humanity, democracy, freedom, civilization--of
Christianity.
The cause of the Empire is the cause of God. The highest standard of
civilization finds expression in the readiness to make sacrifice that
others might benefit. This standard has been splendidly exemplified by
the 'boys' from Australia. This is the standard of the Empire as
against that of Kultur, which is the suppression of the weak, the
slaughter of the innocent, and the elimination of the small. The
sacrifice has certainly been considerable, the price involved very
great, but not too great. We are prepared to pay even a higher price
rather than lose our heritage or forfeit our right to the enjoyment of
the priceless privileges of freedom and justice. We cannot help the
dead, but we can honour them, and we can best honour them by taking up
the arms which they have laid down, filling the gaps which their death
has made, and resting not until peace with honour shall have been
established on firm and enduring foundations.
War is certainly an ugly business; it is hell; but better by far than
the loss of liberty and civilization under the heel of Prussian
militarism; and we would pay our humble tribute to the memory of our
brave comrades who have freely given their lives for the cause of the
Empire.
To those who have lost--the wives, mothers, and sweethearts--we extend
our deepest sympathy, and trust that their deep sorrow will be tinged
with pride in the knowledge that their dear ones died the noblest
death that men may die.
OUR HEROIC DEAD
Our heroic dead, though war hath laid you low,
And cruelly robbed you of this earthly life,
You did your best against the fiendish foe,
And gave your all to put an end to strife.
Our comrades still, sleep on; your names will live
Long after this terrific war hath ceased.
No cannon's roar, no hurtling shell, no bomb
Can harm thee or disturb your long last sleep.
Down in your soldiers' graves you rest from toil,
Without the knowledge of the Hun's fierce hate.
The shell-struck, blood-stained clods of Belgian soil
Will open to your souls the Pearly Gate.
There is no place on this earth's troubled face
So sacred as the ground which shields your heads,
Fit resting-place for those so true and brave,
Who for THE CAUSE the fullest price have paid.
Australia's sons the sacrifice supreme
For honour, truth, and freedom gladly made;
And though the price as high again had been,
We'd have paid it, bravely, for the Nation's sake.
Comrades, sleep on, till God's great Spirit comes
To clothe you with the life which never ends;
And o'er this shell-swept, bruised, and bleeding land
Victorious and enduring peace descends.
THE SILVER LINING
War in itself is not a blessing--neither is the surgeon's knife. If it
were a choice between a slow, painful death from a malignant cancer,
or an operation, which would give pain for the time being, but which
ultimately would bring relief and complete recovery--invariably the
choice would be in favour of the operation.
War is hell, but its prosecution as an effective means in arresting
the development of the cancer of mad militarism was as essential as
the use of the surgeon's knife to remove a malignant growth.
War is an ugly business--it is carnage and horror. The thought of man
butchered by his brother, the thought of both sea and land stained
with human blood, spilled by human hands, is too horrible for
contemplation. Yet peace at the price we were asked to pay would have
been, in its effects, considerably worse than war.
There are accruing to us individually, and to the Empire, blessings
which possibly no other event (certainly not undisturbed tranquillity)
than this unprecedented conflict could have created. There are
compensations that are apt to be overlooked. To realize appreciably
the compensatory effects in connexion with this conflict, it is
necessary that we turn from the purely sordid and sad aspect to its
spiritual and constructive side. The question, Has this war produced
anything that would approximately counterbalance the arrest of
industry and progress, waste of life at its prime, the desolation of
hearts and homes, the devastation of property, and the incalculable
measures of sorrow and suffering?--is permissible, and we forget not
the atrocities on both land and sea, the deliberate violation of
individual and international laws, and the fact that there is hardly a
street without a loss, and scarce a heart without anxiety.
Throw this immeasurable pile of war-waste and colossal suffering into
the scales of thoughtful contemplation, then heap into it as a
counter-weight the blessings that have accrued, and the effect upon
our minds must necessarily be to lead us to become more hopeful and
less ungrateful.
The Empire has awakened out of her sleep--she is purging away the
dross that has accumulated round her life, and at last as a nation we
have found our soul.
The war found us in a muddle, both from a military and moral
view-point, but out of that muddle a miracle has been fashioned. In
addition, the Empire, even to its remotest outposts, has been
consolidated, and the people over whom King George reigns are bound
together in indissoluble bonds sealed with blood. Russia is now freed
from the shackles of tyrannical oppression and autocratic domination;
and the right to existence of the smaller nations has been powerfully
endorsed.
There are other factors than those stated above which contribute no
inconsiderable weight towards counter-balancing the load of hardship
and heartaches that this war has heaped upon us. Such will be the
theme of many writers when the smoke has lifted and the peoples of
this earth again repose in the embrace of world-peace.
We have, so far, only briefly considered the beneficial effects of
this war upon the Empire. When we come to consider what the war has
done for the individual, particularly those who are actively engaged
at the battle fronts, the difference between the weight of suffering
and the weight of blessing will be very palpable, even to the most
superficial mind.