Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 261, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 October 1916 — TOMMY ATKINS ENTERTAINS ALL LONDON WITH HIS CHEERINESS [ARTICLE]

TOMMY ATKINS ENTERTAINS ALL LONDON WITH HIS CHEERINESS

Wounded Men, Just Back From France, the Most Optimistic, But They Won’t Discuss Their Hurts or Adventures—There is Much Rivalry Between the Canadians and Australians < and Sometimes They Settle Doubts With Fist Fights —Theaters Reflect Hopeful Attitude of People.

London— Notwithstanding the wellnigh total darkness of the nights and the number of wounded seen upon the streets, London life is not without its lighter shades, even in these crucial days of the great war. One reason for this is that the wounded soldiers are about the most cheerful lot London has ever known. Most of those encountered along the Strand, in Piccadilly and other promenades of the West end are from Canada, Australia or New Zealand. The wounded English Tommy is more often found in the suburbs, in the neighborhood of his old home. “ It would seem decidedly out of place to sympathize with these often permanently crippled men in hospital togs, for that is apparently the last thing they desire. As a matter of fact, they deeply resent it as a rule. In crowded tram or tube cars women often rise and offer seats to wounded soldiers, only to have them politely but very firmly refused. Nor will the men ordinarily talk of where they “got it.” “Oh, somewhere out in No Man’s Land,” they’ll say. One chatterbox of a Tommy went so far as to add: “I was ’opping along from one dugout to another w’hen I ups and stumbles over something ’ard. I guess it must ’a been a bomb. Anyway, it blew me bloomin’ foot off.”

A popular young Canadian officer in mufti and on crutches recently swung_ his way with no little difficulty into the lounge room of a hotel in the Strand. His left leg was shattered from the knee down and hung stiff and helpless in steel braces. “Have something, Livvy?" asked one of his fellows in khaki. “Sorry, but I can’t tonight, old man,” replied Livvy; “you see I have got a crippled friend to look after.” In came the friend, an even younger officer with right leg gone at the knee. “We tossed a coin,” explained Livvy, “to see which one of us wofild look after the other, and I lost.” t

But He Came Back.

In this same hotel, which is a sort of headquarters for the officers from across the sens, a report was circulated one night of the death of a young flying corps captain. He had often been in the “club," and only a few days before had “swanked” quite a bit about the easy life he was living. All he had to do was to take new machines across the channel and turn them over to the aviators at the front; in this way he spent about every other day in London, much to the envy of the other fellows “over there” who were longing for the sights of town. But now Gil was gone and a company of his friends drank a silent toast to his memory. Three days later Gil created consternation at the club by appearing very much alive and as hale and hearty us ever. “Why, you old cheater,” shouted one of his friends, “go back where you belong or pay us for that very expensive

‘round’ we had the other night. What right have you to be living, anyway?” Gil admitted the obligation entailed by his return from the grave, paid it handsomely, and is still flying new machines cross-channel for the “wingers” at the front. Another young Canadian of the flying corps told of a joke he had played on the folks at home. He had not written for nearly a month, when along came a cablegram: “No letters for weeks. Is anything wrong with the boy?” Promptly he had cabled .back “collect “Very serious matter. Boy absolutely broke. Send much money.” "That,” explained “boy,” “ought to stop them worrying for a while.” Instances of the lightness of heart with which the soldiers go into the war are many. In embarking for active service the Canadians are given pay books in which their allowances

are entered from time to time. The book also serves for Identification purposes, and the last page Is set aside for the making of .a will. Some of those that have turned up lately have proved grimly humorous. One said: “I give everything I have to the Home for Stray Cats, London, provided they don’t take in any more black cats.” . f “In case I should die —(cheers) —I will everything to my mother (loud and prolonged cheers).” Both were held to be valid.

Australian Band Good. At a re-enforcement camp “somewhere in Fiance,” the Australian contingents have a fine brass band they brought with thgmefroin home. The band lias become famous In the vicinity, for whenever the Australian group is called up, no matter how small It is, the band always is there to give the men a musical sendoff. Usually this occurs at 4 a. m., a fact which adds materially to the renown of the band. Part of the line of march Iles beside a general field hospital, and invariably the nurses, or ’ “sisters,” as the soldiers call them, turn out to wave a parting salute. “Save me a nice bed, sister!” called out one of the Tommies a day or two ago. “I’ll be back in a few minutes!” Oddly enough, he was.

The London theaters reflect the spirit of the times. Serious plays are all but forgotten, “revues" and musical comedies holding the boards at all the better houses. Of course, there are no chorus men In the productions —a new evidence that cruel war has its alleviating circumstances.

Some of the London papers have recently complained that the British hen has taken on a holiday mood and is distinctly not “doing her bit.” The price of eggs accordingly has risen to an-equtvalent-of^G^eents-a-dozen. lonials are again to be called upon to help out, and it is admitted now that much depends upon the Canadian chicken. * ® There, is a rule in London that except Tn emergency cases, military ambulances must not exceed five miles an hour. This slow pace, designed for the comfort of the wounded, sometimes

proves irksome to them. One badly shattered Tommy lifted his head from the stretcher a few days ago and hailed the chauffeur, "i say, would you mind driving a bit faster; this ain’t no bally funeral.” There is also the story of Tommy Dodd, the most cheerful and indomitable little fellow in'his command. Tommy was badly laid out a day or two ago with four or five nasty shrapnel wounds. He was arranging some barbed-wire standards along toward evening, and in the enthusiasm of his work got a bit -nearer- -“W-hix*- Bang Corner” than he should. A shell burst low overhead and went down in a cloud of dust. "Looks almost like a Blighty for me, sir, don’t it?” he said to an officer who ran to his rescue. Then the stretcher men came along to bear Tommy away to the dressing station. Tommy gave a grim little smile as they straightened up. “Home, James,” he sighed. 1 "" ' 1

Rivals in Fist Fight.

Soldier stories of amusing happenings at the front are many. There is considerable rivalry among the Canadians and the Anzacs —the men from Australia and New Zealand. The English think they are both such good soldiers there is little to choose between them. This incident happened nt a canteen some time ago when the

Australians first came to the western front. Several Canadians were within when they espied the wide-brimmed campaign hats that distinguish the Anzacs from ell the other Soldiers. The Canadians gave their fellow cor lonials a hearty welcome and an equally hearty invitation to “have some-

thing.” These fraternal details having been attended to, a Canadian turned to one of the Australians. “When did you fellow’s come over?” he asked. “Just got in this morning,” “Well, what are you going to do?” This was too good an opening for the Anzae. “Oh,” he said in a “swanky”, tone, “we came over to finish what you fellows started.” “Humph,” replied the Canadian, “it’s a wonder you didn’t first finish what you started yourself down at Gallipoli.” Then the trouble began. It was a Donnybrook affair for a time, but eventually peace was declared with renewed and mutual respect for colonial fighting ability.

Deadly Night Raids. Both Canadians and Anzacs delight in the nocturnal raids made almost every night on the close-lying German trenches. On one of these recently a Canadian lieutenant worked his way unseen to an enemy dugout and suddenly peered over the top. It was a nasty, rainy night, cold and damp, and a group of Germans were seated about a little stove.

“How many of you felows down there?” called out the Canadian in. a raucous voice. “Nein,” came back a startled asd ambiguous reply. “Well, share that among you,” shouted the Canadian as he hurled a bomb into their midst and threw himself flat on the ground to avoid the effects of the explosion.

There is one chaplain at the front who insists upon living up near the firing line. He has a nicely fitted-up little dugout that he has labeled “The J’icarage.” Recently two men belonging to a draft fresh from home —Cockneys they were—happened along this particular trench. ■ . —"Look here, Bill,” cried one, “blimey if ’ere ain’t a bloomin’ vicarage.” Out popped the padre at that with half his face lathered and a razor in one hand. “Yes,” he said, “and ’ere’s the bloonain’ vicar. What can I do for you?” William H. Gannett of Augusta, Me., is building a one-room house in a large tree on his estate.