The watchman and southron. [volume] (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, 1917-11-24

WHAT'S a billet? A barn without q
roof A cellar without a light A
warehouse alive with rats and vermjn.
What's blighty? A few DAYS in Paris
or London that make you half mad
with dread of going back to filth, and
wet and mud and the smell of dead
men who have gone before you? But
the Y. M. c. A. hut-thats home-if
you can get in!
I've sat in my billet, without a
light with cObble stones and a blank
et Tor my bed when l was too tired
TO sit up-and thanked God for the
nut that my pals could get in even if
L had been too late.
In that hut jammed to the door
there would be lights.-and men writ
ing home. II there was no man at
the piano and the boys around him
singing, the phonograph would be gos
ing and the boys smoking and listen
ing. And i'm winter fires-always
fires. / used to wonder where the Y.
Nj. G. A. men got the wood. But they
always had it-that's the way the Y.
M. c. A. men have.
THE other day at the club a man
let out a joke about Y. Nj. c. A. sec
retaries lodging the draft. had a
mind to knock him down. Dodging
danger? Let me tell you that for
three years, the Y. NJ c. A. workers
have marched right along with me.
Their list of casualties in proportion
to their number was as large as ours
sometimes I didn't wonder that
Fritz calls God his own personal
property.
Can you imagine what it means to
lie sent from billets to the trenches?
From comparative safety, however
dirty, IL almost certain death or in
jury--and trench filth? Well the lasi
thing you pass as you march into the
reserve trenches, is q Y. M. C.. A. cof-
Zee stand. It's the last touch with
civilization, the last hand to feel and
Defriend you. And when you come
out again, whole or wounded, there it
stands waiting for you. coffee steam
Ing, bread sliced. And If you have to
stop first at the advance dressing sta
ton, well. some one will bring you
cup OF coffee from the stall, or you'll
find 1t there when the doctors get
through with you.
And Sunday i'm the trenches-in
Dillets you parade on Sunday morn
ng. Then you're tolled off-the C. of
Z. men-Church of England march 20
service by Episcopal chaplains. The
K. C's, Catholics, have their pa
Tres. But you can't parade in the
there comes your Y. Nj
:. "A. secretary-right i'm the trenches.
mind you, where Fritz may land one
my minute and send Mr.. Secretary to
come along with the rest OF
he goes from dugout to dug
'ut, kind word, real word, to each
title group of men. He doesn't car
" Bible-he lives it, and the sui
enest looking fellow. the man who
has about decided that there is no God
n the trenches, listens.
And he comes again between Sun
lays. Jack he'd say, have you
written your mother this week? No?
Well, you write tonight
And you do-because if YOU say
YOU have no paper. he hands it to you
No stamps? He'll take your letter
put
I'm billets, where the big huts are
during those days when you come out
OF the trenches for a rest-ah, that's
when you live. You stand in line to
get into the hut. There's nothing
within reason you can't get at the hut,
from q mans welcome to creature
There's cafeteria with
food that doesn't taste like army ra-
tions. II you have the price you pay.
III you're broke, you get it just the,
same. And no man lies to Y. NJ. c.
A. chap--you'd feel like a cad if you
did, and your pals would send you to
coventry IL they caught you ut the
trick.
IF you're worried about your peo-
pie and you won't have time to hear
before you go back to the trenches,
you tell the Y. Nj. G. A. chap and he
writes to find out why your wife or
your sister has not written. Is any
body sick? Do they need help? If
they do. ne notifies the Y. Nj. G.. A.
branch In your own town. Why, IL