Canadian Forcsliij Journal, September, 1917 



1309 



Stories From the War-Front Forests 



One of the mills of the Canadians 

 behind the trenches in France runs 

 day and night, and is rapidly eating 

 up the neighboring wood. The noise 

 of the circular saw mixes peculiarly 

 with the constant throbbing in the air 

 caused by the discharge of the heavy 

 guns. A short distance from the saw- 

 mill are the remains of buildings 

 wrecked by enemy shell fire. A 

 thousand feet an hour is the average 

 output of the mill, and it will be doing 

 better than this very shortly, as soon 

 as the new machinery arrives. 



Timber operations within range 

 of German guns very naturally have 

 their own peculiar inconveniences. 

 Of course there is alw^ays the risk of 

 the mill and its workers being blown 

 to atoms by shell or by bombs from 

 aircraft. Such dangers are part of 

 the ordinary business of the day in 

 these parts. The trees with which 

 this particular mill is dealing have 

 been "strafed" by the Boche inter- 

 mittently for months past, which 

 brings another problem to the workers 

 in the mill. Chunks of shell are em- 

 bedded in many of the trunks, and in 

 the course of months these chunks 

 have in many cases become over- 

 grown and difficult of detection 

 through superficial inspection, con- 

 sequently there is trouble when such 

 a trunk comes under the saw. But 

 in spite of this and other difficulties 

 the mill constantly turns out its 

 thousand feet an hour, producing big 

 balks for road mending and for the 

 building of dugouts, lighter stuff for 

 pit props and trench revetments, and 

 timber of every kind which can be put 

 to any use in the business of the war. 



An Iron Cross Winner 

 A journey of many miles from 

 here into one of the fairest parts 

 of France, into a part where the 

 peasant even yet runs into the road 

 to stare at the spectacle of soldiers 

 in khaki, reveals still more of the 

 Canadian foresters at work. They 

 have a most interesting body of 

 assistants — Boche prisoners. The 



German in the French woods seems 

 happy in his lot. They seemed 

 tractable enough, and went about the 

 work with at least a show of interest. 

 All were sturdy fellows; some elderly, 

 but the majority in the prime of life. 

 One wore the ribbon of the Iron Cross. 



They were all in German uniforms 

 of field-grey, but the head-covering 

 was most varied. A good many had 

 the round cap of the German infantry, 

 others wore trench helmets, one or 

 two had the woolen "comforter" cap 

 such as was sent out to our own men 

 in the winter, a few wore ordinary 

 civilian cloth caps. Here and there at 

 a short distance were the soldiers 

 of the guard, from English infantry 

 battalions. The guard was not 

 numerous. One man with a rifle is 

 capable of looking after a power of 

 his fellows who cannot summon such 

 a weapon among them. 



A Prisoner's Meal 



Work was suspended punctually 

 at midday, and the company trooped 

 off to dinner. It was served out hot 

 under the trees by the prisoner-cook. 

 An imperial officer accompanying us 

 spoke a sentence to the man in his 

 own tongue and learned that the pri- 

 soner was a cook by trade. "I 

 speak half a dozen Indian tongues, 

 but I believe it is the first time I 

 have tried to speak German for 

 seventeen years," remarked the offi- 

 cer. Having duly received their por- 

 tions in their tins, the prisoners 

 squatted in groups under the trees 

 and jabbered away to one another 

 volubly. More potatoes were put 

 away in that picnic of Germans in a 

 French wood than many people had 

 consumed in London during the 

 previous couple of months. 



Another long journey through most 

 beautiful country and they reached 

 a third Canadian mill. Save for the 

 villagers the Canadians have the 

 district pretty well to themselves, 

 and here, again, they are rapidly 

 letting dayhght into the woods. 



