New Zealand at the Front 1917; Pages 93 to 112

As we first saw him, Jack was a fine, upstanding young Frenchman with fair hair and dark eyes and a set of strong white teeth that flashed engagingly whenever he was pleased. He took to us at once - nothing peculiar in that, you will say.

As far as one could judge, his work on the farm was purely nominal. On certain days he assisted with the butter- making, and periodically disposed of odd kitchen scraps; but though he was to be met with here, there, and everywhere about the place, and at all times and seasons, he never appeared to have any definite occupation. That worried us.

He was soon a great friend of all the boys in spite of an absolute lack of linguistic ability on both sides; but the centre of his affections was undoubtedly a certain young Corporal whom we will call Nick. And in justice to Jack and his taste in soldiers, we may say that his choice had fallen on a proper man enough.

Our only quarrel with Jack was that he had not joined the Colours. No one cared to ask him why, and he never volunteered a word on the subject; but we couldn't help wondering. We had a feeling that it ill became a son of France to do nothing for his country in such stirring times. However, the bustle of approaching departure soon took our attention, and interest in his movements began to wane.

One dark morning we fell in on the road, shouldered the old packs, and faded out of ----- for ever. When day broke there was Jack marching along with the company.

Arguments, threats, and entreaties were alike of no avail. He did not say much, but he made it quite plain that in his opinion there was only one life for a chap with good red blood, and that he might as well face the music with us as with any lesser warriors. That logic was unanswerable, and for eighteen months now, in hail, rain, or sunshine, good times and bad, Jack has been one of the lads, and has gone where we went, lain where we lay, and shared our rations like a soldier and a man.

He has never funked the trenches, but as an actual fighter he has never shown up to great advantage, though quick enough to resent any intrusion on his rights and privileges -especially in affairs of the heart, of which he has had a great number. What else would one expect in these wild days from one of his nationality, charming manners, and handsome personality ?

For route marches and special occasions he always swanks in a special collar and leads proudly on; to the undisguised admiration of all the ladies within miles, and the disgust of all stay-at-home young Frenchmen of his own former type. We do not claim that he is blameless. Who is? There have been times when he has disappeared with youthful heedlessness, and has been discovered only after much searching; probably flirting at a neighbouring farm or making friends with the cook at an adjacent camp. Somehow or other, whatever his faults, he has always managed to escape punishment, if not detection.

Of all our fearless hard doers he is the only one who has ever been known to march past a General of Inspection with his "shell dressing" tied round his neck. Even that is nothing to him. On one famous occasion, at a general inspection he left the ranks.

Yet not a word was said !

After all these months, Jack has become quite an institution among us; and there will be heavy hearts when he goes the way of all good soldiers.

One closing incident will throw much light on his general career and his proud position in the affection and esteem of the company. I remember a cold, wet morning when we were to march at 2.30 a.m. Packs were loaded in the mud and slush, sections numbered off, and all standing in the streaming rain, ready to move.

Suddenly the voice of the Sergeant was heard in the dark- : "Where's that damn dog ?"

A. H. BOGLE.

THE MAJOR

"S0 you haven't met the Major ! Well, we're passing his mess, and if you like we'll drop in. You really ought to see him before you go back."

My friend led the way into a building bearing on the door the inscription in chalk, "X" Mess."

A shout of laughter greeted me. On entering a darkened room we saw at one end, standing on a high chair, a tall, rotund man draped in a coloured tablecloth. His features shone in the light of an electric torch directed by an officer in the corner. In his right hand he held a half-loaf of stale ration
bread. Upon this he gazed with an expression of beatitude. Our entry caused a sudden subsidence of the applause. Lights were turned up and casting off his disguise the Major -for such he proved to be jumped down from his pedestal.

"Go ahead!" cried my friend familiarly. " Don't let us interrupt the show. That's one of the best stunts you've done."

"No, no," replied the Major hastily and turning to me he added, half apologetically, " I only do this sort of thing occasionally to amuse the boys. Stops them from getting the wind up, you know. Don't think we're lacking in war seriousness round here, though - far from, it, let me tell you." He looked austerely at the others, who murmured approval.

My friend attempted an introduction, but the Major, without dwelling on such formalities, promptly invited me to have a "spot."' My ready acquiescence seemed to please him. The conventionalities of life at the front having thus been satisfied, the Major picked up the butt of his cigarette from the mantelpiece, borrowed a match, and relighted it.

"Find a pew and sit down," he said. "Don't think you'll keep us up," he went on, as I involuntarily glanced at the time. "Supper isn't ready yet, and I can't be bamboozled into going to bed by daylight, just because they chose to move the clock hands on an hour."

We gathered in a half-circle and exchanged a few commonplace remarks. The Major occupied a dilapidated arm-chair at one end of the table, and from time to time abstractedly turned the pages of a scientific journal, ornate with diagrams of flies, and other insect life.

"I have heard, Major," said I, by way of opening up the conversation, that you have been at the front for a considerable time, and have had exceptional opportunities for studying the war in its various phases." He looked at me earnestly for a moment, and replied, " So long that I have nearly forgotten what the back looks like. But no matter; it has been an experience; one might almost say an education."

" They tell me," I went on, " that few men work more industriously, and yet you show very little sign of the strain following the hardships of a long and arduous campaign."

The Major smiled, holding tip his hand with a gesture of self-depreciation.

" The secret of that," he said confidentially, " is to train oneself to preserve one's equanimity under even the most adverse circumstances."

A low boom, followed by a noise like the sudden dropping of a cartload of planking in an empty warehouse, compelled a slight interruption of my attention.

" Their 5-9 how. again," remarked one of the junior officers present.

" What rot ! " abruptly interposed the Major. " Why, that's a naval gun. You really ought to know the difference by this time," he added reprovingly. " They've been registering on D.H.Q. this afternoon" he said, turning to me." I quite expect those birds up there will get it in the neck properly one of these days, especially if they insist on motoring up to the front door and hanging out flags to show old Fritz in what part of the street they live.

" Too many planes nosing round these days for that sort of eyewash to pay," he continued contemptuously, glancing at his wristlet watch as if to time the prediction.

" The prospect of shell fire always makes me feel nervous," I remarked.

The Major borrowed another match and lighted a fresh cigarette.

" Yes, of course," he replied. " To those unaccustomed to the front such things are impressive, but with us it is different. We know how to interpret sounds; we know what they portend, and " - he reached for the bottle "we provide accordingly."

"I have often thought," I observed, that the state of one's nerves depends largely -upon one's digestion."

" Possibly," replied the Major. "Personally, I enjoy my food. My sole concern is as to whether I can get enough of it. My tastes are necessarily simple, and the Mess President will bear me out when I tell you that I can go all day on a light snack, such as a few hors-d'oeuvres, a truffled chicken, and a little foie gras, with perhaps an occasional paté de canard, such as we were sometimes lucky enough to strike down in the terrible Somme district. Naturally, in the evening, I am ready for something more substantial," he concluded.

" As an expert sanitarian," I ventured. "the question.. in these parts, of a pure water supply for drinking purposes must concern you."

"Not a bit of it," he responded. "I avoid water, as water, like poison. Always have done. A bottle of Chambertin, whenever procurable, will generally satisfy me. But," he added, as a soldier on active service, I am not too particular in the matter of drink. To my mind, all drinks, like food, are good; though some are superior to others."

" At any rate, your former experiences in Gallipoli must have taught you the value of simplicity in living" I inquired.

" Ah ! those were cheerless days," he admitted. "But even that was nothing compared with the awful time following the first battle of Ypres. Why, on one occasion, there, for a whole day I actually had no more than the unconsurned portion of the ration issued the day previously, washed down with tea stewed in chlorinated water! " The thought of such privations seemed even now to trouble him greatly.

" So you took part in that famous struggle ? " I asked.

" Obviously," he retorted, " or I should not have mentioned it."

" And what, Major, may I ask, do you consider your most notable exploit so far in this great campaign ? You will pardon the personal nature of the question, but I am intensely interested to learn all I can on the subject."

He puffed a large cloud of smoke into the air and reflected, no doubt unwilling, from a sense of modesty, to narrate the episode. Then, with a slight frown, and in tones more of pity than of anger, remarked :

" Have you not heard of the ' Anzac Cocktail ' ? That was my invention." A look of pardonable pride in the achievement flitted across his broad features.

A feeling of humiliation at my own ignorance must have conveyed itself to him.

" Don't apologise," he hastened to say. " You cannot expect to know all that happens at the front ; besides it wouldn't be good for you." he added.

Reassured by the tone of the latter remark, I ventured to ask what impressions he had formed of our French Allies. The Major brightened up at once.

"I have known the French for many years," said he, "and have spoken their language since boyhood.

They are splendid people, and from a military point of view their Staff work is top-hole. Unfortunately, as a nation they are not artistic, and they have only one joke. It is a great pity that so many of our troops will be able to form to better general opinion of the French other than that afforded by some of their daring' pictorials, or the impressions engendered by the atmosphere of a country estaminet."

"It is indeed unfortunate," I rejoined, " that the high literary merits of the nation cannot appeal to most of them."

" I am glad that you recognise the superiority of the French in this respect," replied the Major. " For my own part I regard people who cannot enjoy the works of Guy dc Maupassant and Georges Sand in much the same way that you.. for instance, would look upon those incapable of appreciating such writers as Oscar Wilde and George Meredith in our own language."

" The prospects of the war, Major?" I hinted. I would not dare put the banal inquiry as to when he thought the show might end, much as I should have valued his opinion on that point. He took a deep breath and puffed a huge cloud of cigarette smoke.

"We shall win".- he asserted solemnly. " But we must be prepared for further sacrifices, and provided," he added impressively, " that we really make a determined effort on all fronts to cope with these infernal flies. Lice do not trouble me," he continued. " With these we can deal effectively, but flies--! " With a gesture of utter loathing he slowly drained his glass, and thoughtfully pocketed my box of matches.

Declining the kind offer of further hospitality, I rose to go. " Good-bye, Major," said I and let me tell you how much I have enjoyed this little talk."

He jumped to his feet instantly, clicking his heels together with truly Prussian precision.

" So long," he shouted airily. " You know where to find me should you want any further information."

"I hope we shall meet again," I said. " But not at the front - too many shells about here for me."

He smiled ironically.

"There are more attractive spots," he replied. " But here, at any rate, we do not have to endure the stodginess which often characterises life under more comfortable conditions."

"We might meet in London," I suggested.

The Major raised his eyes as if invoking someone in some far-off celestial region as he softly repeated the lines :

K is for the Kind friends to drink.

With each I'd fain,

And L is dear old London,

We meet 'em all again.'

Not a bad sentiment either," said I " We must arrange to meet at my club."

" A club," gasped the Major in agonised tones. " Excuse me, sir, but no ; when I do return I must have life. Life-full, fresh, and unbounded --and that one can never find in a club, even in war time."

" Well, perhaps you would prefer the ' Premier Lounge ' ? " I asked, regretting my former error.

" A truce to your seductions," cried the Major. " And if you insist on leaving us," he continued, as I moved towards the door. " Bless you, and good night."

We stopped out into the darkened street, from time to time dimly illumined by the pale light of an occasional star shell, and as I took my uneven way over the pavé back to my billet, I carried the impression of that cheery face and figure, wreathed about by clouds of tobacco smoke. I understood more clearly now what I had often heard remarked : " That the best cure for the dumps was a visit to the Major."

H. A. R.

The cross-roads village had that morning been filled to overflowing with slouch hatted youth, who, in early misty dawn, left the Line for a blissful fortnight in rest. When the estaminets opened their doors at noon, they were filled instantly by crowds of thirsty souls, having money to spend and throats to moisten.

So healths were being drunk, old friends were being treated, and mutual acquaintances renewed their youth like the eagle. It had been a long and arduous time, this last turn in the Line; so the rough spins and strenuous moments, and the memories thereof, were abandoned with all the more fervour in this first day out. Calls, mostly impatient, on pretty Louise and dainty Julie, were frequent : the big glass jugs of amber juice melted away like snow in summer ; glasses rattled and clinked and struck resounding blows on the rickety tables. As two o'clock drew near, rag-time raised its omnipotent voice, and fun and turmoil waxed more boisterous than before.

Once more, above the clamour, rose the voice of the chance merchant. "

Murder on the old sergeant-major, and the bottom line goes for the old man."

" Ten francs half-way, digger; you're set. Come on, me lucky punters; yer come 'ere in wheelbarrers, and go 'way in moty-cars.

"The last spin, boys, the last throw, so plank it down, thick an' heavy. You pick an' I'll pay."

Jimmie Fordyce looked somewhat grimly at the dirty piece of canvas, with its six squares, and the dirtier hand shaking the leather cup containing the dice. Among the torn and greasy one- and two-franc notes, the small spangle of silver coins, and the rarer fives and tens, lay his last twenty-franc note.

He had started with a modest two francs, betting on the crown, and with some exciting ups and downs, had soon gone from bad to worse, losing all the money he possessed, with the exception of this last note. Now, with the gambling spirit dying in him rapidly, the remnant of his wealth lay, a superb aristocrat in a slum of grimy plebeians, on the fateful crown, for the last time.

A trifle bitter ran his gloomy and repentant thoughts.

" What a mug - what a fool he had been to chuck his money away like that!

"If only he had gone down to the big windmill and met Bill, as he'd promised, he would still have had it all. Blast these boards, anyway."

And beneath his breath he cursed his stiff luck.

As he gazed through the veil of cigarette smoke, while the last bets went on, a very ancient franc-note fell on the diamond square, one edge up-turned. Once a thing of beauty, pearl-grey, and rich crimson markings, a St. Omer note, it had degenerated into two very doubtful-looking halves. To restore the fragments once more to legal tender, a small oblong scrap of paper, evidently from some religious tract, bad been used. It had been pasted on the back of the note, and, quite plainly and clearly, Jimmie could see the words... in bold, black lettering:

" Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

The words seemed to be boring their way into his slightly dazed understanding, when "Up she comes, then, lads!

"Two lucky 'ooks, a lucky old spade and the old man wins again."

More grimly still, Jimmie turned away and- joined the jostling crowd making their way on to the cobbled roadway, and into the clear untainted air and pleasant sunshine.

Men that is born of woman hath but a short time to live and is full of misery.

In his deep, strong voice, the padre began the last service of all, and the slouch hats -with their gay blue and scarlet puggarees were reverently doffed as their owners drew in close to the graveside.

It lay just off the cross-roads - the little Fernleaf Cemetery. Round about it spread a huge field
of ripening wheat, shimmering gold and green in the hot afternoon sun-shine. Poppies, big and vividly red, grew in rank profusion along the cemetery fence and rioted in among the few graves. The air was strong with the rich scents of late midsummer, and the whistling of the birds came
sweetly from the roadside poplars.

In the blue expanse above, flecked by a few scraps of white cloud, crawled a tiny black speck, the low droning note of which but added a more musical note to the summer sounds. A few black dots ranged themselves along beneath the speck, and after awhile, from very far off, came the sound of the distant bursts.

Then all was still again, save for the deep voice reciting the solemn words, and once or twice a restless movement from an-long the bareheaded listeners.

Presently a faint gentle breeze rustled across the yellow wheat and quivered the heads of the poppies; on it came, over the low graves, and fanned gently at the white surplice over the padre's khaki.

A few men, passing along the track that led in from the roadside, stopped, and gazed at the little group within the low wire fence.

"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

And a spadeful of dark soil crumbled into the narrow trench ; yet nobody noticed the sudden start of Jimmy Fordyce, standing with the passers-by off the little track.

The battery trumpeters stood erect, the gunners replaced their hats and stood stiffly to attention, while the flag of England was held outstretched over the grave. Mournfully at first., but swelling soon into triumphant harmony, came that final requiem of all good soldiers, the " Last Post." Louder and louder it throbbed out, majestically wailing notes ; every hand went to_every brow in a last farewell salute to the honoured dead; then gradually the echoing strains died away on the vanishing breeze.

It was over.

Those who had come to pay their last respects turned quietly to go; two or three remained to fill in the grave. As the onlookers at the fence moved away, one voiced the question:

"Who is it, cobber ? "

"Sergeant Billy Fordyce, killed at the guns last night."

"God! my brother !".

And none stood in the way of the man who scrambled madly to the mound by the narrow trench.
Instead, they stood aside and among themselves

"Stiff luck !"

John K Jameson.