"LET NOTHING YE DISMAY"

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 303, 23 December 1933, Page 1 (Supplement)

"LET NOTHING YE DISMAY"

(By SIR PHILIP GIBBS.)

THE world finds this ChristmasVith a lack of fire "on many hearths, with lean larders in many homes, with anxiety—even despair—in many hearts. Throughout the world there are millions of men out of work and wageless, living miserably on some form of dole or some share of charity. Nations once rich and powerful are on the edge of bankruptcy, or over the edge. Families once prosperous, with a sense of security, with a margin for luxury, are pinched and stricken. They belong to the class of shabby genteel. Masses of men and women in industrial cities, in almost every country, cannot even maintain that standard. They are destitute. .. . And in the face of all that, it sounds a mockery to say, "A Merry Christmas!" And yet we shall say it, and must say it, to all our neighbours and friends, because there is still a little faitli left, and a little courage. Looking back on the history of the world since the first Christmas Day, one marvels at the faith and courage of mankind. We are going through a bad chapter of history, but there have been worse. It was worse when the first Christians were hiding in catacombs like hunted beasts, or were goaded in droves into the arena where wild beasts waited for them and Nero sat in his marble chair looking down upon them, bored with their agonies. It was worse when there was a Black Death in England stalking from town to town and leaving them unpopulated, until nearly one half of the whole population o'f England was dead. It travelled across Europe, that pestilence, and in China thirteen million people perished. One turns the pages and remembers other chapters of human misery. Yet in spite of it all, men and women, with an undying fire of the spirit, with courage unquenchable, with endless hope have gone on greeting each other on one day of the year with the old words, "A Merry Christmas." And, what is more, the best and bravest of them have made it merry, somehow, for children about them, for their family circle, for friends and strangers, because of a strange glow of charity in their hearts and some inward flame with the power of warmth. There is one line in an old Christmas carol which seems to me the best message to the world to-day. Let nothing ye dismay . . . Not even world depression. Not even private losses. Not even hunger, though that is hard. . . . Perhaps to-morrow the luck will turn. Even if it doesn't, let us face to-morrow with a certain mockery, with a laugh, if possible, for there is still life, and a friend or two, and a touch of courage in us. It's a queer thing that some men and women have actually made themselves poor in order to find happiness! One of them was a young fellow named Francis, the son of a rich merchant. He had been a gay spark, a dandy, proud of his fine clothes. Then one day he took off these things and exchanged them for a beggar's rags. Of course, everybody thought he was mad, and his father tried to have him locked up. But lie went about among the poor and the sick and -was always merry. He had a good voice, and in his days as a young man about town had used it for singing bawdy songs. Now he sang the same tunes but different words —words in praise of Christ, whom he happened to adore. He had a great gi f t of laughter, and laughed most when there was very little food in his stomach, and when he had to sleep on the bare earth, never cold because of some inner fire of love. He was an Italian from a town called Assisi. That was a long time ago, but I remember in my own time hearing a lot of laughter which is now silenced. It came from men who lived in holes in the earth and whose clothes were verminous. Some of them had come from very good homes with every comfort. Some of them had had hot baths every night of their lives. Now- they were living in the greatest discomfort, up to their knees in water if the weather were bad and their particular hole in the earth were in low-lying ground. Overhead came the scream of queer birds searching for their bodies. Old Man Death was on the prowl. Each man knew that in another day or two ; or another minute or two, it might be his turn to get a tap on the shoulder from that spectre. "Your turn, laddy!" But these men made a joke of it as long as their nerves kept steady. Anyhow, some of them laughed quite a lot between the times of fear and friglitfulness. It was in the last war. And looking back on the abominations of war, its filth and danger and stench and horror, it seems astounding to me that great masses of men should have shown such resignation; such courage, in conditions to which all present poverty or hardship have no comparison. How is it that in peace time men cannot endure a hundredth part of such discomfort without despair? I think the answer is that there was a wonderful sense of comradeship among all these men and that they were all enduring the same things together, without a sense of inequality and injustice, cxcept against generals and sergeants-major and

Christmas Spirit That Can Banish Gloom

war profiteers, and that they were all in for the same purpose, on the level, without the bother of "keeping up with the Joneses" and straining to maintain a good social position. It was a terrific adventure from which all unnecessary complications of life had been stripped. Life itself was the great thing. A man was extraordinarily lucky if he had that and could keep it. Let nothing ye dismay. . . . Can't we shout that to our own hearts when the economic situation looks worse than ever? It's not advice I would give especially to those who are wageless and jobless, but would give especially to those who still have a little more than enough. I know the horror of poverty, all right. It is sometimes very squalid; it is often cruel. It is at its worst a demon destroying the minds as well as the bodies of men and women and pretty gills and little children. I have seen it after the World War, in Austria and Germany and other countries. It is easier to be gay in adversity if one has enough to eat, some kind of roof over one's head, some hope for better luck to-morrow. It is hardest when poverty becomes a routine and when hope goes, and when charity dries up. But I believe that a great deal of the distress and despair in the world to-day would bo eased if there were more comradeship in the sharing of it, and if those who had a hit of luck—a margin of comfort—a good job and a good wage—were to hand over a bit more to those who have been harder hit. The spirit of St. Francis of Assisi, his laughter and his songs would be very welcome if it walked through some of our industrial cities. Because it is the spirit of charity as much as the amount of a check which helps to heal wounded souls. The world is rather cold this Christmastide in many homes and by many hearths, but something might happen in the new year that is coming if on Christmas Day some spirit touched us and caught us up in a flame of love—not for the eyes of a pretty girl, though those are good, but for all humanity, for all poor devils down on their luck, for all children not getting a fair chance of life, for working men and women who have no wages and no work. We might get more laughter into the world even though exports were not booming. We might keep our sense of humour, even if our clothes are getting shabby. We might get into these times of peace something of that spirit of the trenches when men still made a jest of grim things. Anyhow, I am going to say "A Merry Christmas!" to my friends, and through my head is ringing the old tune of Cod rest j>e, merry gentlemen, Let nothing ye dismay!