Chapter II: Foreword

For reasons known to the men of the Australian Imperial Force, I am always interested in meeting others who wear the green badge on their arm. A good soldier is always as proud of the colours he wears on his shoulder as the colours he wears on his breast. He knows that each brigade and battalion possesses a soul of its own, and he is proud to belong to his battalion and to worthily wear its colours. For these reasons I ask the privilege of dedicating this book to the officers and men of the First and the Fourteenth Brigades. Sister brigades they are, from the Mother State; with them I campaigned, and for them I have a proud affection.

Heroes of many a fight,--for those two Brigades will stand out specially in Australian History, the story of the Landing at Anzac, the Battle of the Lone Pine, Pozières, Fromelles, Bapaume, and Bullecourt. Some of the men drafted from the First to the Fourteenth shared in the perils of Gallipoli, and all are associated with the fighting on the Western Front.

For them all, I wish that they may fight on to the certain and glorious victory, and have the luck to return to Australia, the land of sunshine and opportunity—there to help in building up the Commonwealth in harmony with the principles of freedom for which they are fighting.

In spite of necessary suppression, or vagueness of names of localities, my comrades of the Fifty-fifth Battalion, to which I was attached, will recognize many of the incidents described, and I can only hope that reading what the padre has to say may cheer them in some lonely places, or help them to be happy though miserable in some indifferent billets.

JAMES GREEN.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE
I. A QUIET NIGHT ON THE WESTERN FRONT 11
II. NOTRE DAME DE DÉLIVRANCE 29
III. NEWS FROM NO MAN'S LAND 43
IV. THE BOMBER 67
V. ROMANCE AND REALITY 79
VI. THE GOD OF BATTLES 97
VII. THE CHIMNEY-POTS OF LONDON 121
VIII. HORSEFERRY ROAD 135

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!

H. H. V. CROSS,

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