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FRIENDS VANISHED.

AUTHOR'S LONELY DEATH. TRAGEDY OF DYING GENIUS. WHEN HER WINTER' CAME. "Good-bye, Budge. I know I'm going. But—haven't we had a good time together?" With one last pressure of the hand that clapseu that of her closest friend, Vere Hutchinson, the gifted young writer whom Britain mourns to-day, uttered these poignant words. A few minutes later she. was dead. Brave worde. They sum up, as no amount of description could, the unquenchable spirit that dwelt in the body of this elfin-faced genius. For seven long years she had lain ona bed of suffering, watched over by her faithful Budge—the woman with whom she had roughed it in the days when they were both carving out careers—but to the very end she 6iniled. Her Secret. And, sitting under the apple trees in the garden of the great Hampstead house in which Vere Ilutchinsou breathed her last, "Budge"—otherwise Miss Dorothy Burroughs, the famous poster artist — revealed to an interview er a secret concerning the last yeare of this elfin-faced genius' life, a secr3t which hitherto she had never breathed to a living soul. "Loneliness, and the ingratitude of those whom she had first looked upon as her friends, weighed heavily upon the heart of poor 'Tod' in the last few years," said "Budge." "She seldom admitted it, but sometimes she complained a little of the way in which, she said, she had been 'deserted' by her friends. "Seven years ago, before she wae seized with the illness which has resulted in her death just as she was about to achieve fame and fortune, Vere Hutchinson had scores of friends. She used to keep open house here. Nearly every evening the house would be filled with famous authors and painters, all clustering around the chair of their witty and charming little host. "They accepted her hospitality. They ate the food which she supplied with

lavish hand, and drank the wine which she offered without stint. And then—one day Vere fell ill. Fewer and Fewer. "She had to take to her bed. Weeks passed, and still she grew no better. And as the weeks went by we both noticed that the stream of visitors was thinning. Sometimes I would be out shopping, and would meet a famous novelist or a wellknown painter who had been a frequent guest at our house. 'How is Vere?' he or she would say. 'Oh, not so well,' I might reply. 'But she is sitting up. And she is lonely. She would love a visit from you.' Each one would promise to 'look in.' J3ut few did eo.

"And gradually they all ceased to come. And poor Tod, though she smiled and still remained her deal - , gallant self, noticed it. 'It's a funny thing, Budge,' she said to mo one day shortly before she died, 'but I don't think there are many real friends in the world.' " Vere Hutchinson, as all the world knows, was the sister of A. S. M. Hutchinson, the man who made a fortune with one book—"lf Winter Comes." But though Vere never made a fortune, there were people;—good judges, too—who prophesied that one day she would achieve a fame that would completely overshadow that of her better-known brother. She was on the point of realising that fame, with a book which all who have seen it declare to be a masterpiece, when death beckoned her.

Sublime Heroism. It was vital to the defence of Verdun that this message should get through and be acted on. Hit three times on the journey, the man nevertheless succeeded, falling unconscious at the feet of the commander on arrival. The French officers who witnessed the exploit declared that nothing to' equal it for sublime heroism had been noted on a part of the front where every man was a hero, and later when Marshal Foeh was decorating "Mayer" in hospital, he described him as the bravest man he had e-er heard of. Mayer won the rank of captain in the French Army, was wounded seven times,

and has been mentioned in the Orders of the Day of the French Army three times for conspicuous bravery. He was invalided out of the service as the result of wounds received on the day before the Armistice and wae awarded a pension. But recently the police, in verifying the identity of certain people in a Paris hotel, discovered the real identity of the man, and when the facts were reported to the pensions authority they had no option but to disallow his pension on the ground that he had made false declarations'. In view of the special circumstances, however, representations are being made to the Government, and it is hoped that a compassionate allowance will be made to "Mayer."

Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS19321001.2.186

Bibliographic details

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 233, 1 October 1932, Page 3 (Supplement)

Word Count
790

FRIENDS VANISHED. Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 233, 1 October 1932, Page 3 (Supplement)

FRIENDS VANISHED. Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 233, 1 October 1932, Page 3 (Supplement)

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