: News from No Man's Land by Green James Birdwood William Riddell Birdwood Baron Author Of Introduction Etc - World War 1914-1918 Personal narratives Australian

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I A QUIET NIGHT ON THE WESTERN FRONT

We marched along, the sun was high; We marched along--the halt was nigh; We marched along, a little parched, It seemed we marched--and marched--and marched; We sang a song, a little dry, We sang a song, a halt was nigh. The whistle blew, ah! welcomed cry-- 'Halt!'--welcomed rest from wearied road, With opened tunic, laid-down load; Ah! welcomed rest with opened vest, 'Twere worth that strain to rest again!

London Rifle Brigade. 'A Route March in Northern France, 1916.'

I

A QUIET NIGHT ON THE WESTERN FRONT

We are getting near IT at last. We have started our march through the quaint Flemish villages, past canals where long strings of barges, painted grey, and bearing the marks of the wonderful Army Service Corps of the British Army, are being towed steadily forward.

Occasionally, we march through good French towns, with their fine churches and cathedrals. We hate the pav?. It is hard for marching; but we recognize that it is a great advantage to possess such hard roads to bear the enormous War traffic of great guns and heavy motor-lorries, proceeding constantly to the front. Our band cheers us up. We are proud of it. The tunes we like best are, 'Advance, Australia Fair,' 'Australia will be There,' and 'Bonnie Dundee.'

The women and children and a few old men come out to cheer and clap, and, occasionally, we see some woman in black turn aside to weep. Is she thinking of some brave husband or son who marched to the front just as gaily as we are doing, and who did not come back?

But what rouses the enthusiasm of those stricken people is the 'Marseillaise.' When our band strikes up the martial strains of that most wonderful melody, the old men square their shoulders and the boys march bravely alongside us, and the whole roadside seems to be vibrant with the fighting spirit.

I remember one little fellow with a crutch who, though a confirmed cripple, hobbled in front of our band for miles. It was a sight which made us forget that we were footsore and hungry. Away, behind us, are the memories of the long train journey from Ismailia to Alexandria. Only a vague recollection remains of our small fleet of transports sailing the beautiful waters of the Mediterranean. We do sometimes think of the reception we got as we steamed into Marseilles, with its statue of Notre Dame guarding the seas from her eminence on the hill above. Then the long troop trains and longer journey across La Belle France. A beautiful country, 'worth fighting for,' is the verdict of many a stalwart Australian from 'out back,' and from perhaps some little Bush township, with but a church, a blacksmith's shop, and an hotel. Further out, of course, there was a race-course, and divided by miles there were the stations and farms, but it was a land of magnificent distances. Here, however, there is intensive cultivation, and towns close to each other. A pleasant land of beautiful trees and rivers, and grass of greenness new to us. But we are getting closer to the desolation of war, closer to the valley of decision.

The brigadier, however, cancels everything. 'Sorry, padre, the men are going to be "gassed" this morning, but not by you.' They are, and they look very uncanny manoeuvring there in the fields with gas-helmets on. No one is harmed by the gas, and they learn that it is possible to live and move under gas. But I am sure they would have preferred my gas for once.

I am billeted with a very nice family here; and as the daughter is quite charming, I have many visits from the younger officers. I did not know I was so popular with them. Mademoiselle has learnt to speak English quite well.

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