New Zealand at the Front 1917; Pages 150 to 165

WHERE SUBALTERNS FORGATHER Books won't win Wars.

THOUGH we had come back into what the powers that be facetiously call - " rest," and should have been as happy as the proverbial sand-boys, Doughty was in a most pessimistic and cynical mood. There were two causes contributing to this state, one being that he had been strafed by the Major for messing up the Company on a Battalion Parade, and the other that the French laundrywoman had somehow or other lost his week's washing, and the shirt he was at that moment wearing was in consequence somewhat time-expired.

"Doughty's got indigestion through high living," put in Clarkson looking up from the corner where he was endeavouring to stop some rat-holes just under his pillow. "Get it off your chest, old son" suggested Douglas, "Your face at present is as upsetting as a Minnie."

"This war," went on Doughty, with whom the memory of the strafing apparently still lingered. *'has killed textbooks, if some fool persons would only realise it. No, I don't suppose you would, Smith, as your intellect is not above that of the 'form fours' order."

Smith had picked up a boot and was apparently contemplating its capabilities as a missile, but after a moment's consideration he dropped it on the floor, whereupon Doughty again took up his story.

"In the old days, before Kaiser Bill started on what he thought would be a non-stop run to Paris, the little ' one pip ' was given an armful of pretty books bound in red and told to run away and read, mark-, learn, and inwardly digest them. In their pages, said the wise men who wrote them, he would find everything necessary to a soldier from winning a Victoria Cross or taming a pack mule to dictating terms of peace to an enemy. Only stick to the rules, get them off by heart and he was bound to come out a winner.

Which book would you suggest for finding the winner for the Lincoln Handicap ? " put in Douglas.
Doughty ignored the interruption.

Now the people who wrote these - may they rest in peace in the War Office- or somewhere else! considered that the war ought to be played like a decent, honest game of chess, with proper lunch and tea intervals. This was all right if the enemy played according to the rules we had laid down, but that is just what he didn't do; the Hun was no sportsman, and he didn't even allow time for the luncheon interval. First of all he didn't fight on the level like a decent soldier should, but he went underground like a rat, and we had to follow him. Then he sent over bombs, and although the 'one pips ' opened all the books and searched from cover to cover, there wasn't a single mention of such souvenirs in the whole caboodle. It was the same with gas, not a mention of it in any single index, not even -in the vocabulary of stores ; but the gas was there all the same, and in pretty good quantities."

"Looks to me as if we'd got some here now," suggested Thompson.

"Now when a man," went on Doughty after glowering at Thompson, " won't play chess according to the rules, there's only one thing to do, and that is to put the book of rules in your pocket and bash him over the head with the chessboard; and that is just what our boys did. Some stuck their books in their valises for reading as ancient history after the war, and others gave them away to French mademoiselles as the very latest things in spicy English literature, and then we sailed in to tackle Mr. Boche in a sort of catch-as-catch can, which, I take it, is to get hold where it hurts most."

"Wouldn't I like to play that sort of game with the Adjutant !" murmured Smith, who had that morning been hauled before the C.O. for being late on parade.

"It's strange," continued Doughty, who had now got well into his stride, "how some people get fixed in one idea. Often, when an officer gets to be about forty years of age, and, as the result of high living and low thinking, has come to the last hole in his Sam Browne belt, he seems to get a notion that there is only one way of doing a thing, and that is the particular way he favours. He has been brought up on textbooks, believes in them implicitly, thinks only in their words, until they absolutely become a fetish with him.

There is, too, the even, worse case of the officer who does not worship them .s a whole, but gives his adoration to the one that takes his own particular fancy - this being often the only one whose contents he knows much about. As the Major is so fond of saying, when he sees Smith's fancy ties or socks, he's lost his sense of proportion, which, I take it, when interpreted into the vulgar language of the average brainless sub., is that he has gone dotty on some particular stunt or other."

" Not so much of the brainless sub., old man." exclaimed Smith, who was shifting about rather uneasily in his seat, " unless you want a vulgar thick ear from the vulgar hand of a vulgar sub."

To this Doughty made no reply, but after considering Smith gravely for a few minutes in somewhat the same manner as a Presbyterian elder would an illicit whisky still- -a compound of sorrow forgiveness the cynic continued:

" To the production of Army Training Manuals there is no end, and this must continue so long as there are comfortable chairs and people to fill them. Now these manuals are as the, law of the Medes and Persians which altereth not, and must be obeyed by any who would climb the dizzy heights of Army fame. What does the book itself say ? ' The principles given in this manual are to be regarded as authoritative.'

Accordingly, if on service you cannot contain the whole of their wisdom in your head, you must carry them with you in your kit; but as the War Office only allows 35 lb. for an officer, it follows that, even if he scraps the whole of his personal kit, and trusts to the generosity of his brother officers for the occasional loan of a clean shirt and soap and towel, he must still leave behind him the Manual of Military Chiropody, the Manual of Military Etiquette, the Soldier's Book of Dreams, his unpaid tailor's bills, and a few similar valuable works.

Imagine the awful position of a young officer who, when ordered by the General to attack according to the principles laid down in section six, chapter three, of the Manual of Stone Throwing, has to admit that he has left the book on the piano in his billet, but that be can do it according to section ten of the Manual of Bow and Arrow Fighting, or, if the General so prefers it in the manner laid down in AO.H/31075/X/F. 2, dated 1st April as amended by Routine Order M-X, 42/30769/X. 2, dated 5th November.

"You should never on Regimental Duty, old man" put in Douglas at this juncture. "A brain like yours should be left on the Staff.

"Perhaps," suggested Mills, who had been turned down for a job as R.T.O., "Doughty, like myself, has a soul above that sort of thing."

Don't fall into an error of that description, my boy." Doughty again had taken up his parable. "You have no soul of your own; it is now a Government article, properly labelled by the Ordnance as follows : Soul, military, part worn, subaltern's, for the use of, and marked with a brand of religion officially approved by the War Office. There is no general class for souls, no entries in a nondescript class, no section for all comers ; you're Church, Chapel, or Holy Roman as the old ' Sah-Major' says; and if you cannot decide for yourself the powers that be will decide for you. It's an excellent system, and saves the poor tired brains of such heroes as Douglas, worn out with the mysteries of forming fours, and the trouble of thinking.

" If you don't believe me," went on the speaker, " open your shirt, Douglas, and bring into the light of day the little piece of jewellery that, in conjunction with a piece of string, a generous Government has given, you to hang round your neck. You needn't be shy; we know you intend to have a real proper wash to-morrow."

There were signs of restlessness in Douglas, but these were suppressed by Clarkson by the simple process of sitting on the interupter's head until he announced his intention of remaining quiescent.

" Well, having looked, what do you find ? Name, Number, Regiment, and such mystic symbols as C.E., R.C., and P. VVhat are they ? Well, guns are destructive, accidents will happen even in in the best-regulated trench warfare - and if it does occur that you get scattered, at any rate the piece to which the tally is attached would be buried according to the rites and ceremonies of the religion to which the War Office had allotted you. Isn't that a grand example of paternal care ? I regret to find that some of you are still under the impression that your soul is the padre's particular job.

Don't fall into that error. Didn't the poet say that every man (and the War Office) is the pilot of his own soul, and there can't be two pilots on the one ship ? Moreover, the Chaplain is a busy man. Doesn't he have yards and yards of War Office forms to fill up ? Doesn't he give a hand in censoring letters, and, when there are any, in guarding the fair heroines of the Y.M.C.A. ? Doesn't he too, if he's any time after all these duties, fill it up in learning to ride on one of the pack ponies ? Verily on his return home the ladies of the congregation will be surprised at the accomplishments of the dear Vicar."

"There's a lot of eyewash about the reading of Training manuals." The remark came from Mills, who never read a book of any description if he could possibly help it.

"Of course there is, my boy." Doughty was off again. " _And that's why we don't get much of either in the Line. Eyewash exists in inverse ratio to danger - where life is held cheaply eyewash hardly exists. There the realities of life and death alone count. But when you come to ease and safety it is found in profusion. It's everywhere in the time of peace, can hardly ever be found in the front line of trenches, but springs again into life as you come back through the Staff Offices to the Base. You may take it as an established fact that it's the conjunction of time to spare with the hope of decorations and rewards that breeds eyewash.

The man who is fully occupied preserving his own life and taking those of the Huns has no time to think either of eyewash or rewards, but the one farther back with no scalps to his credit sees the necessity of making a lot of work for other people -and magnifying in the eyes of the powers that be the importance of his job. Accordingly, Colonel X., in the midst of a terrific bombardment, is urgently called up on the 'phone to furnish a return as to the number of men in his unit that would like an issue of cucumbers once a month, or as to how many men obtained Sunday School prizes prior to joining the Army.

This all means eyewash for someone down the lines to apply to someone still farther down, but by the time Colonel X. has finished giving his sulphuric opinion on the matter -in his case it means a mouthwash."

"I wonder, Doughty," put in Smith at this juncture, " that with all your knowledge you don't write an Army book yourself."

" My lad of wisdom," replied Doughty, without a moment's hesitation that is just what I should like to do, what I would do, were not the War Office too jealous to give me a chance. Mine would be the Book of Books, the most popular Manual in the Service, and its appearance would herald a new era in military education. It would be written not only for the officer but for the man in the ranks, and its title would be 'The Manual of How to Take Care of Yourself.' The basis of its teaching would lie in the fact that in war absence of body is better than presence of mind. It would be compiled under my editorship by a band of experts, every man a past-master in the art on which he wrote. Is there any Army Manual at the present time that can tell you how to feed yourself when there is no food; obtain a comfortable sleep when there is no bed, or hide yourself when there is no cover ?

All this my book would do. The highest ranks of the poaching fraternity would teach you how to slide down a rabbit hole, or disguise yourself as a cabbage; a salvage officer would tell you how to 'find' things; habitué's of the Embankment would lecture on 'How to Sleep Warm,' and Aberdonian professors on 'How to Grow Fat on Army Biscuits.' Yes," continued Doughty, rising, " my book would be the Manual of Manuals."

"You're not Irish, are you, Doughty?" put in Smith quietly at this point.

"Irish ? No; why do you ask ?" queried the astonished Doughty.

"Well, I only thought you were," came the quiet answer, " because you've got such a good opinion of yourself."

"NIL SiNE LABORE."

UP THERE The Maori-French Alliance

"WELL," said Private Puripeef, looking pointedly at an old-time comrade who had been lost in Great Britain for over a year, " t'e best holiday I ever get was t'e time we go up Nort' to help t'e French Army. You know t'e time t'e Messines stunt, Nve work werry hard to make t'e two communication trench each side of Messines, an' t'e plenty other work too.

W'en Messines smell worse t'an t'e rotten shark, we go for t'e spell on t'e right, Vere Fritz shoot more shell t'an t'e time we catch Messines. I can't understan' t'e Hun. He t'e plurry Porangi, I tink. Ven we dig t'e new Waikura trench an' work more hard t'an before.

But fas' as we make hini, Fritz plow him down again wit' t'e high explosive. My word, Fritz get werry wild wit' t'at, trench. W'en we come home to t'e hole in t'e ground, t'e Major say, 'Pai Korry, you do t'e good work. Each man done one t'ousand kupick feet. Soon we finish.' T'e next night we go out to finish him. Were t'e Waik-ura trench ? We can't find one end.

Fritz plow him off. Ven t'e Major swear, an' t'e Captain swear, an' t'e Platoon Commander swear, an' all t'e men call Fritz t'e poriro, like t'e way t'e Ossie talk.

Ven t'e Colonel come along to have t'e look, an' lie say, Yes. Fritz t'e poriro alright." T'en we carry more hurdle, more angle iron more wire. Some place we make t'e new trench an' in some place we patch t'e old one, an' we work like t'e cow- ewerry day t'e same. Some time Fritz won't wait till we
go home, but he plow up t'e trench an t'e Maori at t'e same time. We lose, plenty good men. I tell you
Vat t'e pas pon time. But t'e plurry limit come when Fritz shoot t'e aeroplane so t'at he fall into t'e trench.

All one night we dig werry hard to get t'e aeroplane out because he block up t'e trench. An' ewerry little time, Fritz shoot t'e big shell over to Vat place because he tink p'r'aps t'e aeroplane not dead yet. t'e ting make me wild, t'e Maori work hard to dig up t'e pakaru aeroplane, but t'e Infantry steal t'e aeroplane compass in t'e evenin' before we come. - Everry night we work t'e Fritz shell whistle tip in t'e sky. T'e old soldier, like me, know by t'e way t'e shell whistle, how far he go. But one night, t'e new gun shoot. T'e first shell say 'pooree BIFF,' an' I make- my nose bleed on t'e duckwalk at t'e bottom of t'e trench. But t'at shell never bang till he go five mile behind. All my mate laugh, an' I look like t'e fool, so I get werry wild, an' I jump up an' say, 'Fritz, you t'e dam liar.'

" T'en w'en we tink we dig in t'at trench for t'e duration of t'e war, t'e Cheneral say, ' You have t'e smoke-oh now. Ven we go back an' roll about in t'e grass paddock for two day. We get werry tired too -no work to do. T'en t'e other Cheneral come an' say, 'You t'e best Pioneer in t'e New Zealand Army. I know you never tired, so you finish your smoke-oh wit' t'e French Army !

" On t'e 15th day of June we get t'e issue of champagne in t'e cask, an' I'm more happy Van before.

" Another ting, plenty of riwai, spud, up there. One Pelgium farmer up there not t'e Pelgium farmer at all. He t'e spy. W'en t'e soldier make t'e strong bivvy for t'e French Colonel of t'e big gun, t'e spy come an' cut t'e long grass behind in two place like t'e hand wit' t'e front finger pointing to t'e bivvy. t'e spy do t'at so t'e Hun aeroplane photo show w'ere t'e bivvy. But t'e Colonel see t'e hand an' he get werry wild. He cut all t'e grass, so Vat no hand left, an' he say to all t'e civilian, ' Allay weet.' T'at t'e French language for ' Go to 'ell.' So t'e civilian go there quick an' leave all t'e riwai behind in the ground ' ready for t'e kai.

Now, t'e New Zealand Army give each man two or t'ree old spud in t'e bag for t'e ration for one week. But t'e French Colonel up there just like t'e Maori Chief in t'e old time w'en he give t'e land to t'e pakelia. T'e Maori no pinch off two or Vt'ee acres, but he wave his hand from t'e mountain to t'e river an' round by t'e line of hllls and he say, 'Pakeha, all t'at land for you. T'e French Colonel all t'e same. He wave his hand from t'e broken-down church to t'e railway line -in' round by t'e canal, over acres an' acres of riwai t'at t'e Pelgium leave behind, an' be say, Maori, all t'at pomme-de-terre, t'at riwai, t'at spud, for you. So we have t'e new spud everry day, for t'e breakfas', t'e dinner, t'e supper an' t'e afternoon tea.

" Werry near I get t'e medal up there. T'e French Cheneral say, 'Ewerry Maori who get t'e wound, get t'e French medal.' All t'e time we work, w'en t'e officer no look, I hold up my hand, but no luck.

It too quiet, an' Fritz can't see it. T'ree of my mates get t'e medal, an' t'e trip to Blighty, but we come back before I get mine. I tink I ask for t'e transfer an' go back up there.

" Yes, plenty fun up there. Behin' t'e camp t'e big two up school. Ewerry kind of soldier go to t'at school. T'e French, t'e Pelgiurn, t'e English, t'e Scotchman, t'e Irish, t'e Welsh, t'e Dink, an' t'e Maori, all there.

Perhaps the Hun there too, but I can't see him. It t'at you call t'e International Two Up School. T'e Police Sergeant tell me t'at name. T'c first time I speculate, t'e Pelgium got t'e school. He got my money too. I tink if '-Nehemia, t'e King of Anzac, up there he buy t'e motor-car werry quick.

Plenty music pp there too. T'e Ngapuhi tribe live wit t'e Pelgium Army. Ewerry night w'en have t'e kai, t'e Pelium band come an' play t'e music. T'at tray bon band. T'ey make t'e bully beef taste like t'e roast meat in t'e Wellington Hotel. Plenty t'eatr too. I see t'e Pelgium soldier t'eatre an' t'e French soldier t'eatre. T'em soldier sing an' act better t'an t'e theatre in London.

I can't understan' w'at t'ey talk about, but I know t'ey werry good. T'en we have t'e Scotch music too. I hear t'e bagpipe band of t'e Scotch Guard. He sound like one t'ousand koauau, Maori flute, playin' at t'e same time, but better, because t'ey squeeze t'e werry loud noise out of a bag wit' t'e elbow. T'at music make my back werry itchy an' my knee go up an' down.

Ye Scotch piper look like t'e old Maori. He wear t'e piupiu his waist an' t'e shawl round his body.
T'e bandmaster of Scotch bagpipes t'e champion of t'e world. He come to see our doctor who t'e Scotchman.

There were two Major from t'e New Zealand Field Ambulance, t'e Scotchman too, an' one Officer from t'e Dinks.

W'en t'e four Scotchmen hear t'e champion play t'e bagpipe music of t'e Fatherland, t'ey go mad an' dance t'e Scotch haka.

" Yat haka t'e werry funny Ving. It like t'e half caste between t'e Maori haka an' t'e Pakeha Quadrille. Ewerry now an' t'en t'ey shout werry loud an' have t'e Ladies' Chain, an' t'e swing partners. All t'e Maori werry glad to see t'at new haka.

" T'en we have t'e sport too. We play t'e Rugby football match wit' t'e Welsh Guard. All t'e British Army play t'e Soccer. No bon. But t'e Welsh Army play t'e Rugby t'e same as t'e New Zeland Army. So we have t'e game. T'e Welsh an' t'e Maori. T'e Welsh Guard drum an' fife band come an' play t'e music for t'e match.

Toujour t'e bon music up there. T'e Welsh Team t'e werry big men an' werry strong too. Wen we start, t'e 'Welsh score t'e first try. I tink, 'Hullo, Maori. Look out.' But t'e Maori back werry fast, the combination too good, an' we make t'e good -win. T'e forward werry near have t'e' fight, but w'en t'e game finish we have t'e drink together an' t'e trouble napoo.

W'en t'e Welsh an' t'e Maori t'e bon camarade. W'en t'e Welsh go home, he say, 'Maori, you t'e good man for t'e Rugby. Taihoa we have another match. I tink so. Yes.'

* * * * * *

"You do any work ? asked Kaanga Kopiro, a new arrival.

" Work! " replied Puripeef indignantly. " W'at t'e 'ell you tink we go up there for - to smoke t'e T'ree Castle ? We work all t'e time. Y'e French Cheneral say to me, 'Monsieur Puripeef, you tray bon for t'e travail.' Vat t'e French language. It mean I'm the best man for t'e work he ever see."

" I verry sorry," said Kaanga Kopiro apologetically. " I never mean it t'at you t'e lazy man, but I thought you say t'e Cheneral tell you to go up there to finish t'e smoke-oh."

" Yes," replied Puripeef, somewhat mollified. " But t'e Cheacral make t'e speech like t'e Maori Chief. W'en t'e t'ing napoo, t'e Maori Chief no say 'Napoo.' He say, 'T'e potato is cook or t'e cake is dough.' He make t'e figure of speech. He speak wat you call it ? " he asked, turning to L/Cpl. Makonoki, who had been to London.

" T'e Aleck-ory," replied the latter promptly.

" You t'e fella" said Puripeef gratefully.

"My word t'e educations t'e good t'ing " Anyway he resumed, - up t'ere t'e best place to work. I suppose different now, But t'at time, only two or Vree shell Plenty sleep at night, in t'e week no gas shell. I can't tell you w'at kind of work we do. T'at t'e secret between t'e Maori 'n' t'e French. Perhaps, w'en war finish, t'e French President tell TIMI KARA, an' TIMI KARA make t'e speech in t'e Parliament about t'e way t'e Maori help t'e French Army - UP THERE."

P. H. B.