SHEER PLUCK.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 125, 28 May 1932, Page 2 (Supplement)

SHEER PLUCK.

(By Leila firny, Klelon Road, Daljnoral; ftge 3 3.) London, and a night in January—a night when dark, threatening clouds massed together and hung low in the t»ky, and a light mist hovered like a phantom guardian over the city. Dance halls were filled with laughing crowds, whose laughter lacked the mirth it should have, for it was war .time, and the city wae seething wjth uneasiness. Suddenly a bugle sounded, and the city was plunged into darkness. Au attack was expected, yet not a sound escaped the terrified citizens hurrying for shelter to cellars and alley-waye. Above was heard the droning of enemy aeroplanes, which sounded, perhaps, tte death-knell for many people. Crash! A bomb dropped; a house burst into flame, and from an upper window peered two childish faoee, livid with terror. A soldier, who was commonly known as "coward" in Ms regiment, saw them. Here was his chance, he thought, to dispel for ever that despieed name. But could he do it? Could he brave those roaring flames? No, he sank back again. He looked into the flames and out of them rose a vision of himself as lie was —despised, jeered at, scorned—and again as he might be if he had only the courage—looked up to, honoured. His courage renewed, he sprang up and dashed up the staircase. The smoke, enfolding him in a dense blanket, nearly suffocated him, while the sight of the vicious red-tongued flames darting greedily towards him almost broke his courage. At last he reached the top. He stopped a moment to still the heaving of his chest, then, on into the room where the children sat, hugging each other and sobbing with despair. There was not a moment to be lost; the stairs below were swiftly burningaway. He enatched to him the children and dashed out again.

Now he was in the midst of the flames, with the precious freight for which he had braved eo much.

The blood surged to his head. His heart throbbed and >pounded as if it would burst, wile the roaring of the flames in his ears was like that of a mighty cataract. Towards him was wafted a breath of sweet, pure air. Sobbing and panting, he struggled on; and then, suddenly, he was out —out in thy fresh air.

He iilled his lungs with it and, placing the children on the ground, lifted his grimy, smoke-blackened face to the sky and thanked the God who gave him strength to save two precious lives. Around an invalid chair in which sat this soldier stood a group of men, whose husky voices trembled with earnestness as they declared that they would never again call him coward.

For him it is the hour of triumph, for he has gained that for which he risked his life—the love and inspect of hie comrades.