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Chapter II.
France.

I was indeed glad when we arrived at Marseilles on that morning of April 11th, 1916.

Our ship was the first to carry members of the New Zealand Division to France, and we had the General Commanding and all his Head-quarters Staff on board.

There was a gale blowing, and hundreds of Diggers lost their hats overboard, that part of the harbour where we tied up being awash with them. By the way, in referring to our boys as the "Diggers," it was not until after the Somme stunt, later in 1916, that the New Zealanders got the name of "The Diggers," which was conferred on them after the Maori Pioneer Battalion had beaten all records in digging the lengthy Turk trench in very fast time.

I did not hear the term applied to the Australians until much later in 1917, they being known to everyone in France as the "Aussies."

The three days and nights, after leaving Marseilles, in a third-class box-compartment, with ten men where there was only room for eight, was an unenviable experience, to say the least.

One man was forced, when sleeping time came, to improvise a bed by slinging a blanket from the parcel rack above our heads, while another contrived to lie on the floor between our feet. Even those of us who were lucky enough to get seats, as can well be imagined, suffered page 29terrible discomfort, more especially from tired necks, for there can be few things as trying than to be forced to sit bolt upright for so long a period of time.

However, there was a war on, when comfort could not be guaranteed, and though it seemed a never-ending journey, there were many incidents and places of interest en route to sustain us until our arrival at Steenbecque, a small township in the north.

We noticed at once that there was almost an entire absence of young men along the line of route, and also that almost all the population were dressed in black.

We were often met at the stations by ladies with urns of steaming hot coffee, sometimes "avec," a most thoughtful gesture that was keenly appreciated by every one of us. We passed so near Paris that the glare of the city's lights could be plainly seen, in spite of the greatly lessened illuminations, the restrictions of which were intensified later on.

Our early days in the little villages of Tannay and Thiennes afforded us many humorous incidents in our endeavours to attain a smattering of the language, as it was most important to be able to parley enough to be successful in our efforts to eke out our ration shortages. My very first billet in France was in an attic over a boot-maker's shop, and directly opposite the church at Thiennes, whose jangling bells gave the place an old-world atmosphere, as, at six o'clock every morning, they tolled long and loud calling the faithful to prayer, the clip-clop of the latter's sabots fitting well into the picture; the while we page 30peered, in sleepy fashion, across at the lighted vestry.

It was from the old bootmaker that we learned our first steps in the beautiful French language, and it seemed difficult for the dear old chap to understand why it was that we could not grasp such a simple thing as, "Il fait beau temps" or "Le ciel est bleu," but we couldn't, and he would just stand and stare at us in amazement.

His practical illustration of the meaning of the word "beaucoup" I shall aways remember, as he took a few brads from the supply on his bench and informed us that they were "un petit peu, hein?" and when we nodded, he placed a large number of the brads in the palm of one hand, and proceeded to stir them round with the fore-finger of the other, emitting "Alors! beau-coup, beaucoup, beaucoup, compris?" and we "compreed." Under his expert instruction we could not fail to make headway, but in spite of everything, progress at first was inclined to be just a little bit slow.

As in most things, some were destined to make more progress than others, and so were always in demand whenever an intricate problem such as "how you would like your eggs done" or "if there was a billet available," had to be solved.

I made much use of the few French songs treasured in my repertoire, and it was a constant source of wonder to the locals that I could sing in good French, and yet couldn't converse in the language.

One madame would insist in parading me page 31round the neighbourhood to let all and sundry observe the phenomenon, though to me it was no problem at all, as I had learned all my French songs off parrot-fashion, i.e., phonetically.

About the end of April, we took over a Tommy Rest Camp at Morbecque, a beautiful little village set in a lovely rural district not far from Hazerbrouck.

Things were evidently very quiet on the Western Front, as the well-remembered communiques used to say so frequently, for we were not over-burdened with work, and could often find time for long walks into the country surrounding the larger towns of Hazerbrouck and Aire. The spy scare reached as far back as Morbecque, when a strict watch was kept on the church spire, from where it was thought messages were signalled to an enemy 'plane flying over, nightly.

Every Friday it was my duty to proceed, with a G.S. waggon and limber, by way of Hazerbrouck, Borre, and Pradelles, to draw rations and hospital comforts at railhead at Castre. It being April, we were too early to see the lovely country-side at its best, but this we did on passing that way during the summer of 1917, when the chest-high crops, ripened to a rich yellow and shot through and through with red poppies, and the bluest of blue cornflowers, made a wonderfully pretty picture.

Our days at the Rest Camp passed pleasantly enough, until it was time for us to go up and take a nearer view of the "shooting-gallery" as the Yanks used to say, later, when they heard the call.

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The 20-kilometre march from Morbecque to Armentieres was a great soberer to all ranks, especially when we were getting close to our destination; and, with all lights out, we were halted many times along the road to allow the passage of men and guns going up to where the line of constantly bursting star shells and cannon flashes lit the horizon for as far as the eye could see. We arrived at Madamoiselle's home-town at 2 a.m., and almost everyone lay down full-length on the broad of their backs in the middle of the cobbled roadway, until billets were allotted.

Those early days in Armentieres were a source of wondering amazement to us, for here we were, right up against the front line, with thousands of soldiers strolling up and down the Rue de Lille and other main streets of the town, where patisserie and souvenir shops did a roaring trade, and girls sold the Continental Daily Mail in the subsidiary trenches without, apparently, any danger whatsoever. It was May 12th when we arrived in Armentieres, and next day we took over from a Suffolk regiment in the brick-works at Chapelle Armentieres.

Both officers were killed instantly.

What came to be looked for as almost a daily event in Armentieres was the appearance, about 11 o'clock each morning, of an enemy aeroplane flying low over our trenches.

The "Mad Major," as he was popularly named by our boys, would fly so low as to make it difficult, apparently, for our anti-aircraft guns to get a shot at him, and there was no doubt he saw all he set out to see; but even so I think everyone admired his great courage.

While we were at the brick kiln with Major A. A. Martin, one of our team contracted scabies, and in consequence we were all segregated at the Ecole Professionelle in Rue d'Erquinghem where we were detained for a month, during which time I had charge of the town's incinerators, wherein all the refuse, both of the civilian and of the military population, was disposed of.

The big school was shelled several times while we were there, and was such a good mark for the German spotting balloons that we were glad to get out of it, and were lucky not to be among the many fatalities.

The ecole boasted a fairly large concert hall, page 34and here the Division put on a picture programme three nights weekly.

On one occasion along with Bowy Atkinson, an Engineer corporal with a very fine baritone voice, I sang there at a concert given by the 4th Otago Regimental Band, conducted by Sergt.-Major Reg. George

The following evening, Alexander Watson, the famous elocutionist, gave a recital in the same hall.

One of the best remembered incidents of those early days was when one of our huge captive balloons broke away and drifted for miles over the enemy's lines. Our artillery did its best to bring the dirigible down, and the sky all round it was one mass of puffs of smoke from the shell-bursts; but, with the interested gaze of almost everyone in Armentieres drawn to it, the balloon continued serenely on its way, unharmed, until out of sight.

This incident turned out to be the subject of a first-class argument as to the merits of German marksmanship compared with our own, when Gen. "Blinky" Johnson's men were regretfully awarded second place.

This unsolicited and wholly inexpert judgment, of course, was quite beside the point, as the attack in this particular instance would be undertaken by the British anti-aircraft batteries, and it is highly improbable that our New Zealand gunners fired a single shot.

However, from Chapelle Armentieres one evening, Major Martin and I had watched the German gunners pick off, one after another, the figures of four saints adorning a church spire at page 35Houplines, another of Armentieres' suburbs.

It was almost uncanny to note the expert way in which, with successive shots, those four figures were picked off.

Of course this target was stationary, whereas the balloon was on the move; but against this the latter was a huge affair, and possibly a 'plane firing tracer bullets would have been a more efficient method of disposing of the breakaway. They were beautiful summer evenings during those three months from the middle of May until the middle of July in 1916, when we moved out from Armentieres, and for some weeks ran a Rest Camp at La Strade, near Steenwerck, later returning to Armentieres to take over a hospital in the Rue de Messines.

The estaminets, of course, did a roaring business with the price of biere bock at one penny a glass—a cost, by the way, that was soon increased to threepence a glass—so that once again the Australians and New Zealanders, with their much higher pay, had spoiled things for the poorly-paid Tommies. The same thing had happened in Egypt, and was to happen everywhere we went in France and Belgium.

How the Tommies must have hated to see us coming into the sectors where they had been able to get what they wanted fairly reasonably for, as I have said, no sooner did we arrive than prices went up, and the poor Tommy went without, because he couldn't afford to pay. The estaminets of Armentieres were all packed one evening when a sudden "strafe" sent everyone into the streets amid flying plaster and bricks.

The cause of this untimely upset was a glar-page 36ing instance of idiocy on the part of someone who should have known better. Though it was broad daylight, a Scottish regiment marched in, in full regalia, with kilts swinging and bands playing.

The "spotters" in the German balloons, ever on the look-out, must have laughed at the foolishness of such a proceeding and, after sending word to their artillery, they no doubt enjoyed to the full the havoc their guns played with the population of Armentieres that evening.

In no time ambulances were working over-time, while all hospitals were soon filled to overflowing; and all because someone had not used a little commonsense.

The long-talked-of "Big Push" started on July 1st at Fricourt, and we could hear the incessant rumbling of the guns in Armentieres. From then until it was our turn to take a hand in the big offensive, which, it was confidently expected, would end the war.

It was about the middle of August when we set out on the long trek southward, and in the ensuing three weeks we certainly put in some very solid route marches. The seemingly endless cobbled roads between long lines of tall poplars made the trek a very tiring one, and blisters in the most tender parts of one's anatomy did not tend to make things any easier, especially with full packs up.

But I doubt if, individually, any of us ever felt fitter than during those long arduous days of marching that took us through to Arques, where Lord Roberts' body had lain in state, Ebblinghem and Blaringhem, to Pont Remy sid-page 37ing, where we entrained for further south; and later, through Arraines, Allery, Hallencourt, Bettencourt, Picquiny, Soues, and Rainville, to Dernancourt, where we slept in some scattered low-roofed huts, which apparently served for all divisions about to go into the line at that point, and which was only a short distance from the shattered town of Albert.

Two incidents of that great march I shall always remember, one being when, ravenously hungry after a week or so on reduced rations, we pulled up near a farmhouse where, I am almost ashamed to admit, I ate eight fried eggs at a sitting. Even so, I could not foot it with my pal, who went on until his score was thirteen, which seems now to have been an extremely indelicate as well an unlucky number; but you must remember we were both very healthy, as well as being very hungry.

The other occasion was when we struck a house in a small village where we were able to secure an upstairs room with two beds, which was available as a billet. As there were five of us, three slept in the larger bed, and two in the smaller one.

When I say "slept," I err, because there were others in those beds besides ourselves, and our efforts to awaken madame (though what she could have done that we couldn't I am unable to explain), would have brought out the fire brigade, had so small a village been able to boast of one.

One of our chaps, now headmaster at one of New Zealand's leading High Schools, could speak a little French, and Alf's shouts of "Anzacs, An-page 38zacs," in his attempts on the French pronunciation of "insects," brought a thrill of exultation and, even at this distance, strikes me as being terribly funny. These and other like incidents brought a welcome diversion from the strenuous three weeks' march; and even on the road, with one and all assisting to while away the hours by whistling and singing all the popular choruses of the day, it will ever live in my memory for the spirit of camaraderie it engendered amongst the boys during those hot summer days of 1916.

Those meals by the wayside, when the wasps seemed to like the excellent Chiver's strawberry jam quite as much as we did, were always appreciated.

What a treat to be able to get rid of the increasingly burdensome pack, and to stretch out full-length on the broad of our backs in the shade, even though it was always hard to get going again for a while afterwards, until our stiff joints and tender spots were warmed up to the job.

At Allery we borrowed a piano from a resident, and gave a concert on the steps of the Town Hall, during which a French poilu and his bride, who had just been married by the Mayor inside, received what must have been, to them, a surprisingly vociferous reception from the hundreds of assembled Diggers, as they walked arm-in-arm from the hall.

M. Leclercq and his daughter Yvonne were refugees from Arras, and those of us who saw the piano safely restored to its owners, spent a very happy evening with them.

Our host had all sorts of French tongue-page 39twisters for us to attempt, and his humorous song about Napoleon avec Marie Louise, with its innumerable verses, had only to be heard to be appreciated. It is almost impossible for a Frenchman to say our word "these," as he seems incapable of beginning any word with the tongue between the teeth, and I'm sure our host thought I was a bit of a wizard to be able to get my tongue round the following nonsensical twister: "The sea ceaseth, and that sufficeth us, and thus dismisseth us with its blessing."

As a matter of fact, I have met very few English folk who could handle that particular jingle with any facility, and to poor M. Leclercq it was the last straw.

A great surprise awaited us shortly afterwards, when our musical instruments turned up in the old historic town of Picquiny, where, much to the amazement of the civilians, we gave a concert from a lorry in the streets one evening. I also conducted a concert at Brigade Head-quarters in Belloy the following night.

Good-bye was said to our packs at the previously mentioned wayside camp at Dernan-court, and we moved on through the final stages of the journey past Albert, with its well-remembered church spire supporting the depending statue of the Madonna and Child, through Fri-court, Mametz, and Montauban, from which Green Dump ran up to Longueval, and on past High and Delville Woods to Flers, where the Division went over on the morning of September 15th.

Poor France! The whole countryside showed every evidence of the terrible conflict that had page 40been waged over it, being everywhere blasted and torn, with not a tree left standing where there had once been beautiful woods.

The lee side of every little rise in the contour of the ground had served at sometime or another as a suitable spot for a dug-out, and everywhere around lay the sheets of tin and corrugated iron that were so useful as a protection against rain. The limestone content of the earth, in which were hewn the miles of trenches that once contained living men, but which were now discarded as the advance developed, during the two and a-half months that it had been exposed to the elements, had everywhere caused these great gashes in its surface to turn green with mould, and the whole portent of the place was one of gloom and despair.

Near Fricourt we halted close by a battery of 15-inch guns, the shells from which could easily be seen and followed, both from behind and side on, as they hurtled high in the air, for all the world like huge footballs, on the eight miles' journey to their objective.

Standing directly behind one of these guns I was deafened for about 24 hours by the tremendous concussion, and I saw a horse fall dead from the same cause, as it was being driven along in front, at the moment a shell was discharged.

The huge craters made by the mines which signalled the commencement of the Big Push on July 1st, were easily detected, and explored, as were several spacious German dug-outs, expertly constructed and outfitted, nearby.

Further on, in the pitch blackness of night, the terrific din of the constantly flashing guns page 41created an almost unreal atmosphere as shells, apparently of every calibre, screeched overhead, each with its own peculiar whine, some striking a high-sounding whistle, and others with a long-drawn-out deep moaning sound, while in between these two, whined shells, the noise of which ranged the whole gamut of the musical scale, with quarter tones added. Occasionally we could detect, high overhead, one of the big footballs from Fricourt, with its distinctive "uddle uddle uddle uddle uddle" in a perfect crescendo and diminuendo, as it approached, and continued on past us, seeming, by its peculiar sound, to be working its own passage on its long 8-mile journey to destruction.

The awful effect of this continual racket of whistling, screeching, whining, moaning, and rattling of shells, with the almost incessant flashes of our gun-bursts on either side, and often quite close, together with the intermittent bursting of enemy shells, for all these steel presents were not going the one way; gave one a feeling of insignificance, as of a microbe in a spot that may well have been a cross between Dante's In-ferno and The Valley of the Shadow.

But all this has probably been said in a much better way than I could describe it, so I will only say that eventually I did reach High Wood, where Major Martin conducted an aid post in a very exposed position. It seemed inevitable that he would be killed; and I was not at all surprised—though, of course, greivously sorry—to learn that he had been so seriously wounded that he died next day.

It was a thousand pities that this brilliant page 42surgeon who, by the way, was the author of that well-known war book, "A Surgeon in Khaki," could not have been at the Corps Dressing Station at Becordal, where his expert use of the knife would have been of much more value to the sadly over-worked staff of doctors, who were quite unable to cope with the large number of stretcher cases awaiting attention.

Flers was literally the end of the world for us, and it seemed impossible that many would come out alive; but the spirit of the troops was wonderful to see, and enough acts of bravery were done to warrant a liberal distribution of V.C.'s.

Truly wonderful work was done by the stretcher-bearers who, though often tired to the point of collapse, would re-form and go out again and again, to trudge through the extremely heavy going, often sliding headlong with their precious cargoes into deep shell-holes, which the rain and thin mud had filled, so that their presence was not detected.

It was superhuman work, and no praise could be too great.

If I have singled out the deeds of the stretcher-bearers first, it is of course because I saw more of their work than I did of any other unit; but everyone knows of, and gives unstinted praise to, the actual fighting troops, and none with more sincerity than myself.

It was on this occasion of the New Zealand Division's attack at Flers, that the tanks were used for the very first time in France, and coming upon some of them in the pitch darkness the night previous to the attack, we were at a loss page 43to know what they were until, getting a look at one in the early dawn, we saw that it was His Majesty's Landship "Duke."

We suffered heavy casualties during those twenty-three momentous days in the line, and lost approximately one-third of our total strength; but undoubtedly the death roll would have been much higher had it not been for the heavy rain which turned the whole sector into a sea of mud, in places several feet thick. In consequence, many of the big shells sent over by the enemy failed to explode, and merely buried themselves into the mud. How we cursed that altogether too affectionately clinging mud, for to walk a hundred yards made one more tired than would have several miles under ordinary conditions.

It was impossible to find one's puttees, and these had to be cut off with a knife.

However, as I have said, though it was a terrible hindrance and caused so much discomfort, that same much-maligned mud certainly saved us a much heavier casualty list.

I'm sure I am right in saying that our quartermaster's store, which in this instance was a bell tent, was the only habitation above ground in Green Dump; and my assistant, Bob Dyson, used to perform the solemn ceremony of sprinkling a few drops of precious rum round it every night in an endeavour to keep the shells off. Whether or not it was this "rum" precaution which saw us safely through those twenty-three days, cannot be asserted with any assurance; but in spite of all the odds against us, we were not among the many splendid chaps left behind when page 44the time for evacuation came.

I don't remember that we ever had much to sing about, under the trying circumstances, but I have been reliably informed that one pitch-black night, when General Russell was riding by our tent, with our quartermaster, Capt. E. M. Finlayson, he heard someone singing the well-known ballad, "I hear you calling me," and inquired who it was.

On being told, "Fin" says that the General remarked that anyone with a voice like that had no right to be so far up.

That this incident was substantially true is fairly evident from the fact that very shortly after we left the Somme area, the General gave orders that never again were the entertainers to be put into the line.

One of our chief worries at the Green Dump address was that on two sides of our tent were stacked dozens of boxes containing hundreds of Mills bombs, and we could not help wondering what a direct hit would do to them—and us. Those twenty-three days seemed endless, but at last, on the 4th of October, we got word to move out, and at Bray, where we camped on that first evening, I well remember sitting in the midst of a crowd of our boys and singing all their requests for perhaps an hour or more.

Of our orchestral members, our first cornet-tist—Joe Bayley, of Auckland-was killed out-right, and several others badly wounded and, in consequence, lost to us.

From Bray we went by train to Longpre, where we detrained at three o'clock in the morning in heavy rain, and completed the other fif-page 45teen kilometres to Huchenville on foot.

It teemed throughout the whole of that march, and with everyone so "done-up" after such a long spell in the line, hundreds of Diggers fell out and lay in the long wet grass at the side of the road, until ambulance cars could be sent back to pick them up and convey them to their billets.

Coming further north, we stayed at the small village of Outtersteen, where I had a billet which the Great War Cartoonist, Capt. Bruce Bairns-father, had once occupied; and Madame Charlet, whose church-organist husband was at the front with the French army, had a number of the artist's original cartoons, including several of herself.

In November we returned to Armentieres as part of what was known as "Frank's Force," and received a most cordial reception from our civilian friends.

One of the most popular of these latter was a quick-witted madame with a ready answer for everyone, who did a great business in her egg and chips cafe right opposite the hospital gates. Though she was what might be termed "a hard case," she knew where to draw the line, and was known to all as a thoroughly chaste, as well as charitable character; and so, in relating this incident of the War, I trust it may not be regarded, especially in view of these enlightened times, as being in any way indelicate.

To come quickly to the point: before we left Armentieres on our three months' trek to and from the Somme, it had become very evident that madame was in a way that may be tersely page 46described as "certain," and when it was remarked within her hearing that it seemed more than likely madame would soon have two extra little mouths to feed, she was quick to assure us: "Not on your life, Digger, un, un seulment," but the assertion failed to shake our considered opinion.

When we returned to the town on this occasion, no one seemed more pleased to welcome us than our friend at the egg and chip cafe in the Rue de Messines, who, standing at her door, and scanning the ranks until she espied a certain N.C.O., held one finger aloft as she shouted, "Sergeant, un, un," her radiant smile beaming from ear to ear. The laugh that went up from the boys, who were all in the joke, was taken up by the happy father who appeared in the door-way holding the precious baby, and it is only fair to someone, to say that the latter was the very living image of its dad.

During November I conducted several concerts in and around Armentieres; on one occasion we entertained the 3rd Dinks where they were quartered at the old Civil Hospice in Half-past Eleven Square.

We also performed for Auckland and Ar-tillery troops in a shell-battered warehouse in Houplines, and at a dilapidated tissage factory not far from the Armentieres station, we had a great night's fun, the highlight of which was Capt. "Jockey" Grant's singing of "Everybody's doing it," and "Syncopation rules the nation," when he appeared in a most original costume, the large part of which consisted of a gas helmet, gum-boots, and a Sam Browne, with an iron page 47cross "nuggetted" on his chest.

Always a most popular officer, that night set the seal of comradeship that was never to be broken.

During the last ten days of the month we were detailed to proceed nightly, per ambulance car, to assist the 56th Divisional ("Tommy") Concert Party, by playing an overture and entr'acte at their performance in the town of La Gorgue, which was reached by way of the Rue d'Erquinghem, through Bac St. Maur, Sailly, Nouveau Monde, and Estaires. Theirs was the first concert party we had heard in France, and we were all thrilled by their won-derful performances, especially those of their great comedian, the famous Harry Brandon. The long journey to and from the theatre nightly was whiled away with the new songs and choruses we learned from those clever Tommies, a prime favourite being "A Broken Doll," which was then brand-new, and "Sergeant MacAdoo" (or "Hoch hie, oui, oui").

General Russell told me years afterwards that it was his visit to this 56th Divisional Concert Party that decided him that we, too, must have our entertainers; the only thing that puzzled him being where we were going to get performers to compare with those cf the 56th. He described himself as being very agreeably surprised at the excellent talent we were able to unearth in our Division, and it was then he gave orders that the selected entertainers for the concert party were to be detached from their units and kept out of all "stunts" in future, as, he said, they were of more value to the N.Z.E.F. page 48elsewhere than in the line.

Early in December we were moved in to Estaires, where I found a comfortable billet in the home of M. et Mme. Seynaeve-Roussel, a kindly old couple who kept a hat shop in the Rue du Rivage; and I shall always remember the amusement I gave them in my all-too-persistent efforts to get my sluggish uvula to work on the correct pronunciation of "Chapelleries en tous genres," the caption stencilled on their shop window, and which, though it is so extremely difficult for us to say, simply means "Hats of all kinds."

Oudelle, the little maid, and Fox, a sprightly fox-terrier, completed the household, the entree to which was open to me at all times just like one of the family, for whose unbounded kindness I was, and am, sincerely grateful.

It was in the mairie, or town hall at Estaires that I first heard that popular war ditty which begins, "And when I tell them how beautiful you are, they'll never believe me," when it was performed during one of Lena Ashwell's enjoyable shows in 1916.

In the square, too, we heard Lord Derby's very fine recruiting band when it came over to give the boys in France a treat, and one of its brightest numbers, which I was successful in getting orchestral parts for, so that we were able to play it very often afterwards, was that beautiful lilting intermettzo "Aisha" by Lindsay.

Early in the war the Germans had taken the then mayor and some of his councillors and shot them against the stone balustrade in front of the town hall in this same city square.

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It was here in Estaires that our unit orchestra was added to, with a view to forming a Divisional Concert Party, and several prospective stage performers were also attached for rations at this time.

The announcement through D.R.O.'s that leave was available to Paris, was received with enthusiasm, though only those interested in the arts, and who could benefit educationally, could get it.

I was fortunate enough to be included in the small allotment of four from our unit, and I have a faint recollection that from the time that such important notification was received, until the hour of departure, our joy was truly un-confined.

General Russell had arranged that all members of the Division on leave to Paris should stay at the Hotel Bristol, which is in a good central position, and quite near the Saint Lazare Station.

We were met at the Gare du Nord by a New Zealander in the person of Miss Ettie Rout, who was carrying out the self-assigned task of enlightening all Digger soldiers arriving in the gay city in matters pertaining to their welfare.

At Pepiniere Military Barracks we attended a compulsory lecture, given by a Canadian doctor, Capt. Walker, whose timely warnings, couched in pithy phraseology, acquainted everyone of the many pitfalls to be avoided in Paris, while his statistics and illustrations seemed realistic enough to convince the most foolhardy.

In recalling the many persistent rumours current at the time, that the Russians had passed through in their thousands by way of Scotland, page 50to take their place in the line on the Western Front, I can only vouch for the fact that there were Russians in France, for we met plenty of them at Pepiniere Barracks, where they changed hats and walked arm-in-arm with us in their endeavours to be friendly, though whether they were ever there in sufficient numbers to be assigned a place in the line, I have no knowledge.

What a thrill it was to walk the famous boulevardes, the Place de la Concorde, the Tuileries, etc., and though many of its treasures were safely stored underground, lest they should be endangered by the hostilities, there was plenty for us to see and admire at the Louvre, Pantheon, and all the other art museums and places of interest in Paris.

Spurred on with enthusiasm, no doubt created by his having been in such close proximity to so many of the exquisite art treasures he had seen, one of our number, himself an art student, sought out, and was actually received by the great Rodin, probably the world's most famous sculptor then living.

Now a director of one of New Zealand's leading art colleges, I imagine Wilfred Nelson Isaac will always cherish happy memories of the time, many years ago, when he bearded, and was so kindly received by, one of the world's greatest masters of sculpture.

It was mid-winter, and the days were not long enough to enable us to see all we would have liked, but we managed to cover quite a fair bit of ground in the few days at our disposal.

A most interesting morning was spent at the historic palace of Versailles, there to admire the page 51great beauty of its gardens; and though the famous fountains were not playing, the many photographs obtainable pictured for us the wonderful scene in all its artistic magnificence. Wandering through the many interesting rooms of the palace itself, one felt an instinctive urge to linger awhile in the impressive spaciousness of the Hall of Mirrors, where so much of France's history has been written.

A trip up the elegant Eiffel Tower, now doing duty as a T.S.F. station, as the French name for radio has it, and from where one gets a marvellous view over the Champ de Mars in one direction and of the Trocadero in the other, was well worth while, as was the breath-taking trip round the Big Wheel.

The theatres, of course, claimed our attention each night and, among others, we saw the great Gaby Deslys and her American partner, Harry Pilcer, starring in a revue, with a beautiful dancing act at the Folies-Bergere.

At the Alhambra Theatre, where, eighteen months later I was to have the opportunity of singing, we saw, for the first time, Grock, the great French clown in his screamingly funny musical act. But in spite of these and other very excellent entertainments, it was at the magnificent Opera House that I was to receive my greatest thrill in Paris.

The great beauty of this opera house was a revelation, and just to walk in the foyer and mingle with the superbly dressed audience, was a sensation to four heavily-booted Diggers, to say nothing of the pleasant surprise awaiting us at first view of the lovely auditorium, with its page 52many rows of red-velveted boxes and exquisitely painted ceilings.

Of the three operas we attended—"Manon," "Aida," and "La Tosca"—each very different, it was the beauty of Massenet's music in the first, the magnificent spectacle of the huge cast of over 300 performers in "Aida," and the amazing realism of Baron Scarpia's acting in "La Tosca" that made these performances memorable above everything I saw or heard in Paris. The great Battistini was still singing, but we did not have the luck to hear him, though we did hear two very wonderful Belgian baritones-Ms. Note and Alberts, who, though both were elderly, had magnificent voices. Ferdinand Annseau and Giovanni Martinelli were two very fine and experienced tenors; while the work of Destin, who sang magnificently in "Aida," was outstanding among the women heard. At a charity matinee at the Edward Seventh Theatre we heard Polin, a popular stage star, sing "Madelcn," the now well-known marching song.

We sat with Lt. Dave Kenny, who was soon to be in charge of the Divisional show, and when everyone joined in the lilting chorus of the song, the only words we could get were the three final "Madelons," and did we let it rip!

It was on the last day of our leave to Paris that we had the good fortune to meet a Canadian millionaire, Charles Henderson, who had a contract running army supplies from Switzerland to the war zone.

We were a bit dubious when he spoke to us, thinking he might be one of the usual touts for doubtful amusements, until the liveried atten-page 53dants at "Henry's" bowed low to him. Saying he would like us to meet his wife, he bought some beautiful flowers, including marvellous fresh roses tinted artificially green, brown, and blue and, packing us into a taxi, set out for the Champs Elysee, where he had a magnificent flat.

Mrs. Henderson was a very beautiful creature, and both she and her lovely daughter entertained us warmly. At the Hotel Meurice, on the Rue de Rivoli, where we dined later, we sat at a table next Lord and Lady Ayrshire, who were doing Red Cross work in Paris during the war. We did everything in style that last day on leave under Charles Henderson's guidance, and strange and mysterious were some of the exclusive haunts we were permitted to take a peep at. All the same, I'm sure we spent more time in the taxi than anywhere, as we were rushed at break-neck speed from place to place in our host's endeavour to show us as much as possible in the few hours remaining, before he drove us to our train, which was just steaming out of the Gare du Nord as we got on the platform.

All good things come to an end; and so, with everlasting memories of our first visit to France's capital city, we arrived back in Estaires just in time for Christmas dinner which, good though it was as a result of the cook's skilful camouflaging of army rations, yet remained quite a bit below what we had been relishing for the past week in Paris.