Post by Dave Homewood on Apr 30, 2016 1:43:12 GMT 12
From The Star newspaper, New Zealand, 25 April 1916
A NIGHT AT ANZAC.
STANDING TO ARMS.
(By SKIDOO 23.)
7.30 p.m.— The sun has just disappeared below the horizon—the word comes round the trenches, "Stand to Arms!" Supports file into the communication trenches, the men in the firing line buckle on their equipment and quietly stand with bayonets fixed. A grimy engineer sapper trots down to the end of an advanced sap where he has a party working. "Spell oh, you chaps, stand to 'is on."
A subdued calm rests through the line, a sense of waiting pervades the ranks, the engineer fills and lights a well burnt pipe while his working party loll about. They are very tired, for eight hours' pick and shovel work on bully beef and biscuits with two pints of water per day to wash it down is not conducive to energy, so that every opportunity to rest is heartily, welcomed.
At eight-thirty the password is quietly passed from man to man; the order comes for one man in four to watch, the remainder may rest. The supports file out, the men in the firing line seek places in which to sleep and turn in "all standing," no part of the equipment may be taken off, so that the men may be ready at an instant's notice.
The engineer carries on with his men, and gradually the night settles down to the usual routine, watch on and watch off. All round the line are parties working extending the saps, tunnelling deep info the earth and making bomb-proof shelters, and there seems no reason why this night should not be as uneventful as weeks of previous nights. But to-night is to be fraught with alarms and morning will dawn on a scene of desolation.
The engineer has just asked the time from the officer on duty, it is almost time to wake up the relief party. Suddenly a movement is apparent up the trench, recumbent forms are becoming upright. "Stand to Arms!"
No reason is given, but each and everyone knows that something is afoot. The working parties are again stopped, and everywhere are whispered queries, while the more careful stack ammunition in handy position just "in case."
So passes a seeming endless hour, and as all is quiet, the troops are again allowed to lie down, but the order had hardly left the mouth of the officer on duty when an officer comes rushing along shouting at the top of his voice. "Stand to Arms! Stand to Arms! the Turks are on us!"
The words are like an electric current, the men loop to the parapets, the machine, guns on the right and left of us begin their steady rat tat tat tat, rat tat tattat that, and then there bursts on our startled ears a veritable roar of rifle fire.
The air is alive with whistling messengers of death, that thud into the parapets, that go shrieking overhead, it is impossible to make oneself heard in this inferno of sound. Yet everyone is cool and collected. The engineer collects his party from the saps and tunnels and brings them into the firing line, an officer calmly visits observation posts, muttering to himself the while, "very nice, very nice."
The engineer being a sort of free lance with access, on account of his being an engineer, to any and every part of the trenches, wends his way to the furthest advanced trench, where he knows there will be quite a lot of fun.
Our artillery has been getting busy, and now the star shells light up the space between the trenches with their weird green glare. By their light we see what appears to be thousands of Turks making towards us. They fall in all sorts of queer positions, and one realises that our boys are well on to the target.
Already the ground is strewn with motionless forms, but the rush is not yet stopped. Several of the Turks have got into our trench, a sharp period of bayonet works ensues, and by the time it is over quite a large number of Turks are on us. There is only one thing to do; we leap out of the sap and rush to meet the oncoming foe, but they suddenly discover that they have an important engagement in the rear and do not wait; we reluctantly return to our trench to indulge in random shooting wherever a shadow is seen to move.
All this has taken about two hours to complete, but they had received too severe a lesson to come again. It is now 2.30, and those who are inclined to sleep search out "comfy" spots, but the more venturesome, knowing there is only an hour to daylight are out collecting rifles and bayonets, and going through the pockets of their fallen enemies for souvenirs.
Away in the east appears the first tinge of light, and as it grows stronger we are all curiosity to see what we have accomplished during the night. "What meets our eyes does not fill us with gratification as you might think rather it is one of acute pity for the lives cut short, for the homes left desolate. Ah the misery of it, the shame."
A NIGHT AT ANZAC.
STANDING TO ARMS.
(By SKIDOO 23.)
7.30 p.m.— The sun has just disappeared below the horizon—the word comes round the trenches, "Stand to Arms!" Supports file into the communication trenches, the men in the firing line buckle on their equipment and quietly stand with bayonets fixed. A grimy engineer sapper trots down to the end of an advanced sap where he has a party working. "Spell oh, you chaps, stand to 'is on."
A subdued calm rests through the line, a sense of waiting pervades the ranks, the engineer fills and lights a well burnt pipe while his working party loll about. They are very tired, for eight hours' pick and shovel work on bully beef and biscuits with two pints of water per day to wash it down is not conducive to energy, so that every opportunity to rest is heartily, welcomed.
At eight-thirty the password is quietly passed from man to man; the order comes for one man in four to watch, the remainder may rest. The supports file out, the men in the firing line seek places in which to sleep and turn in "all standing," no part of the equipment may be taken off, so that the men may be ready at an instant's notice.
The engineer carries on with his men, and gradually the night settles down to the usual routine, watch on and watch off. All round the line are parties working extending the saps, tunnelling deep info the earth and making bomb-proof shelters, and there seems no reason why this night should not be as uneventful as weeks of previous nights. But to-night is to be fraught with alarms and morning will dawn on a scene of desolation.
The engineer has just asked the time from the officer on duty, it is almost time to wake up the relief party. Suddenly a movement is apparent up the trench, recumbent forms are becoming upright. "Stand to Arms!"
No reason is given, but each and everyone knows that something is afoot. The working parties are again stopped, and everywhere are whispered queries, while the more careful stack ammunition in handy position just "in case."
So passes a seeming endless hour, and as all is quiet, the troops are again allowed to lie down, but the order had hardly left the mouth of the officer on duty when an officer comes rushing along shouting at the top of his voice. "Stand to Arms! Stand to Arms! the Turks are on us!"
The words are like an electric current, the men loop to the parapets, the machine, guns on the right and left of us begin their steady rat tat tat tat, rat tat tattat that, and then there bursts on our startled ears a veritable roar of rifle fire.
The air is alive with whistling messengers of death, that thud into the parapets, that go shrieking overhead, it is impossible to make oneself heard in this inferno of sound. Yet everyone is cool and collected. The engineer collects his party from the saps and tunnels and brings them into the firing line, an officer calmly visits observation posts, muttering to himself the while, "very nice, very nice."
The engineer being a sort of free lance with access, on account of his being an engineer, to any and every part of the trenches, wends his way to the furthest advanced trench, where he knows there will be quite a lot of fun.
Our artillery has been getting busy, and now the star shells light up the space between the trenches with their weird green glare. By their light we see what appears to be thousands of Turks making towards us. They fall in all sorts of queer positions, and one realises that our boys are well on to the target.
Already the ground is strewn with motionless forms, but the rush is not yet stopped. Several of the Turks have got into our trench, a sharp period of bayonet works ensues, and by the time it is over quite a large number of Turks are on us. There is only one thing to do; we leap out of the sap and rush to meet the oncoming foe, but they suddenly discover that they have an important engagement in the rear and do not wait; we reluctantly return to our trench to indulge in random shooting wherever a shadow is seen to move.
All this has taken about two hours to complete, but they had received too severe a lesson to come again. It is now 2.30, and those who are inclined to sleep search out "comfy" spots, but the more venturesome, knowing there is only an hour to daylight are out collecting rifles and bayonets, and going through the pockets of their fallen enemies for souvenirs.
Away in the east appears the first tinge of light, and as it grows stronger we are all curiosity to see what we have accomplished during the night. "What meets our eyes does not fill us with gratification as you might think rather it is one of acute pity for the lives cut short, for the homes left desolate. Ah the misery of it, the shame."
