EDITORIAL SWAN SONG.
LAST OF "TRENCH JOURNAL."
I met the editor as I entered, and he broke the news to me. "We are preparing our swan-song," he announced. " The sub-editor is writing compliments about the staff and enlarging on the arduous duties of subeditors generally." It was a peculiar little editorial office I was in. It consisted of a bell-tent containing a table, two wooden forms, a pot of paste, two or three pencils, a typewriter, and various scraps of manuscript. The confusion indicated that something unusual was about to happen.
.The " Gazette" was going to press for the last time. One of the most pathetic things in the world is the winding-tip of a newspaper, and even a humble "trench" magazine has its pathos. On the various fighting fronts to-day famous little publications are finishing up a long and successful run. They have been produced, in most cases, in the firing-line, and, overcoming innumerable difficulties and laughing at death and destruction, they have struggled on and lightened the. task of our soldiers by their plucky re-appear-anne each week.
Journalists have been sought out to serve the occasion from all ranks and conditions. Typewriters, papers, pencils, and some kind of offices have all been spirited from somewhere. Editors have been killed, and their places have been filled by their, sub-editors. . In ono little magazine in France not one of the original editorial staff Jived to read the last words of the paper they brought into being. Men came and went, but the paper was preserved somehow. ; And now these little papers arc all being scrapped. The editor is writing his last editorial. " Aunt Vera," a motistached young gunner, is giving his last advice on love affairs to imaginary correspondents, and doling out his beauty secrets to fictitious "subs" for the last time. The typist is making his final complaints about the illegibility of the sub-editor's handwriting, and "Autolycus" is asking his last pertinent question in the " Things we want to know " page.
Editorial offices in the shane of dugouts, bell-tents, and broken-down huts are being stripped for the great dispersal, for tlio "Squib," "Rocket," or "Patrol" will go to press no more. There is the natural joy at the thought of departure, but there is jilso, in those little editorial offices, n tin fee of sadness.—"W.S.," in the "Daily Mail."
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EDITORIAL SWAN SONG., Ashburton Guardian, Volume XXXIX, Issue 9584, 11 April 1919
EDITORIAL SWAN SONG. Ashburton Guardian, Volume XXXIX, Issue 9584, 11 April 1919
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