The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1917-11-16

civilization, the last hand to feed and
petr1end 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, we'll, some one will bring you a
cup of coffee from the stall, or you'll
find 1t there when the doctors get
! through with you.
| "And Sunday in the trenches-in
billets you parade on a Sunday morn
ing. Then you're tolled off-the c.
of e. men-Church of England march
to service by Episcopal chaplains. The
R. C.'s, Catholics, have their padres.
But you can't parade in the trenches
and there comes your Y. M. G.. A. Sec
| retary-right in the trenches, mind
you, where Fritz may land one any
minute and send Mr.. Secretary to
kingdom come along with the rest of
us-and he goes. from dugout to dug
out, a kind word, a real word, to each
little group of men. He doesn't car
ry Bible-he lives it, and the sui
| lenest looking fellow, the man who
has decided that there is no God in
the trenches, listens.
| And he comes again between Sun
days. Jack, he'd say, have you writ
/
you write tonight
| "And you do-because il you say
you have no paper, he hands it to
you. No stamps? He'll take your let
ter out.
'In bil1ets, where the big huts are,
during those days when you come out
of the trenches for 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 mans welcome to crea-
ture comforts. There's a cafeteria
with food that doesn't taste like army
rations. If you have the price you
pay. If you're broke, you get it just
the same. And no man lies to a Y.
Nd. G. A chap-you'd feel like a cad
| if you did, and your pals would send
you to coventry If they caught you
at the trick.
! eff you're worried about your peo-
pie and you don't have time to hear
before you go back to the trenches,
you tell the z. M. C. 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, he notifies the Y. M. G. A. branch
in your own town. Why, a Y. M. G. A
man helped me to get my passage
home. The hospital people are driven
to DEATH. When they turn you loose,
there's another poor devil waiting to
take your place. The city whirls
around you-you can't find your way.
Getting passage home looks like gil
gantic task. Money means nothing to
your shel1-shocked brain, but there's
always Y. M. c. A. man. sound of
body and brain, honest and ready to
send you on your way. If your moth
er, your wife, your best gal comes to
you in a hurry mean when you're
In the hospital, it's a Y. M. c. A. man
who meets her and gets her to you
straight.
/ ooh, what's the useI can't tell you
what they do for US. But I remom-
Der once-I'd worn one pair of seeks
twenty-eight days. I'D left my best
pal in No Mans Land, his sightless
eyes staring up to sky as cold as
the water in our trenches. My nos
trils were willed with the stencil of
those who had died before we came
to the front line. I sat in dark that
was thicker than a black London fog
and into our dugout, shortly two
men, came a Y. M. c. A. man carrying
an electric torch. He stuck a piece of
candle into the empty. hole in our ia
|
night for you to write home-nothing
else doing Then he went on. He
/ had to-A lot of other men were ours
ing in their dugouts In that street. And
I swear that as he went out, / caught
the CLEAN of a halo around his head.
1 I wrote to mother-but I didn't tell
her about the days job, the upturned
face Of my pal-the b1ackness In my
dugout and soul. You can't whine
when you write by a Y. M. G. A can
/ die"
I had gone to see Jack because
thought he could tell me the right
size for socks, the best things to send
in comfort kits.
| I came away to write to you. about
Y M. c. A. Its secretaries are stand
ing next to our boys, in billets and in
trenches. They are marching with
our brothers and sons, the men we
love- straight into the. face. of Fritz.
They can give what neither surgeons
nor Red Cross nurses, comfort kits
nor Christmas boxes can give-fel-
lowship with man and God.
What are you doing to send more
Y. M. c. A. secretaries to France, TO
build more Y. M. c.. A. huts in the
camps at home and abroad?
/ What are you giving that your SON
may nave sure, unfa1l1ng tie between
the trenches and you?
If you have not done your bit for
| the Y. M. C. A. do it now. Go to your
local branch and say-.Here I am.
What can I do-what can I give for
your men and your huts at the front ?'
| The local men will organize you,
men or women, for the work.
/ And If you have no local branch, if
your town is too small to support a
| Y. M. G. A. and. you cannot go to the
nearest town write little note, to the
National War Work Council of the
Y. NJ G. A., 124 East 28th Street,
New York City; tell them you have
a Jack, Jimmy, a Harry in camp,
and here Is your mite for the Y. M.
C. AS care of him. Jack, or Jim or
Harry may not be Of your blood. but
is he not your brother-your son in
arms-fighting for the safety Of your
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