ARMISTICE DAY IN LONDON.

Press, Volume LIX, Issue 17922, 16 November 1923, Page 12

ARMISTICE DAY IN LONDON.

SOME RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. (By S. Elliott Napier, in "Sydney Morning Herald.") To find oneself at midnight, wearing the be-feathered hat of a large and friendly female, and hilariously participating with fifteen entire strangers in a double set of "larncers" beneath the winking lights of Piccadilly, would be, I suppose, a sufficiently startling adventure for any respectable visitor,however sophisticated, to experience. Even in that London wherein, as ha 3 been said, any thing-may happen to anybody, and everything ruust happen to some—this may be accepted. Such an experience was mine; and I am ready to believe that it is rare enough to warrant its retention as a valuable exhibit in the museum of my memory. Beyond the fact that her name was "T'reesa" and that she hailed froin.Soho —information conhdcd to me in an interval between the "figures"—l knew nothing of my partner, nor have I had-the opportunity since to increase any information on the subject. But what of that? Who cared for prosy details, or waited for them, on that maddest night in London's history, the night of November 11th, 1918? Not I, nor anyone of twice ten thousand others who thronged the squares and streets around. And so I joyfully obeyed the adjuration of the gigantic Aussie who was acting as M.CI, to "hop in, Sarge, and be a sport." Nothing quite like this ever happened to me before, and I can safely prophesy, I think, that nothing quite like it will ever happen to me again.. No; once is enough. I see, again, that circle of grinning and excited faces; I see the lamps now brightly lit again after so many weary nibnths of shaded glimmer; I hear the roai of cheers and laughter and the pulsing throb of a drum, temporarily commandeered, like myself, from military duties —and I think that I rather enjoyed it. But Ido not desire, as did Mr Pickwick, with the milk punch, a second dose, in order to make sure. How it Happened. It cafiie about like this: I had been in Delhi hospital—Delhi at Tidworth, on Salisbury Plain. I mean, of course, not Delhi of the Grand Mogul—l had been in Delhi, I repeat, for about three weeks prior to Armistice Day, and I ■was quite satisfied that three weeks of it were just three weeks too much. My discontent was not decreased by the fact that I was not ill at all, myself; 1 was merely detained as a "contact," of sorts—heart disease, I think, ot corns, or possibly housemaid's knee; at all events, it was the kind of thing that the military medicoes did detain a contact for in those days. I was feeling very fed-up with things in general, and when, therefore, the opportunity came to get out arid go to London for a couple of days I took it. Ido not say it came legitimately, nor quite unwangled; there may have been a soupcon of artful interference, a slight misrepresentation, perhaps; possibly a little ingenious impersonation. But freedom called, and so did Don,' who was off by the early train. If necessary, I would have broken all the commandments in the hospital decalogue. But why go into details? Somehow the thing was done, and Don and I arrived in London a little after 10 a.m. on the 11th. It was a: dull and threatening day—a--day of gloom and chilly skies, a typical November day. We found, however, that no one was thinking of the weather. Tension and expectation were in the ait, and everywhere one sensed the thrill of eager waiting. Had they signed? Would they signi' Were the fleeting moments to bring a bitter disappointment or a radiant realisation? Those were the questions that everyone was asking, and the answers seemed slow in coming. Wo got to our hotel at last, and after a wash and- a brush-np were just about to wander forth when, with a sounding crash, the signalling maroons exploded. For a moment or two nothing was said, and no one moved. Then 6U/1denly realisation came to an old gentleman beside us, and with a little inarticulate cry, he turned. "My God!" he said). "They've signed!! They've signed!" and with the tears literally running down his cheeks, he grasped my hand and shook it frantically. A* we stood together by the window there eamo a patrol of Boy Scouts on bicycles. Their bugler sounded joyfully the well-known call "All Clear!" and with a wave of the hand they swejpii away. A flag suddenly appeared frrim nowhere; then another; then a dozen; people seemed to spring out of the ground as if by magic, and before one could count a hundred the street was choked with them. Then Bedlam broke loose, and chaos had come again. Some Recollections. It is impossible to describe in any coherent order the events of the remainder of the. day, or of the night which followed it. I can only attempt to set down one or two of the recollections and impressions which remain with me to-day. And one of the strangest and strongest is of the manner in which a grey and saddened Xiondon suddenly shook off its. greyness and its grief. In an incredibly .brief period everybody had taken to the streets. Flats and offices and shops and factories alike vomited forth excited streams of humanity, of every age, condition, and sex. Business was forgotten, responsibilities were thrown to the winds, and a mad passion for out-of-doors overcame everybody. In one building haTd by the liftman simply bolted into the nearest thoroughfare, and left the

j whole body of tenantry upstairs to get I down the best way they could. And I understant they did it "at the toot." Almost before one had time to look around, the streets were filled with a gesticulating, frenzied throng. Soldiers, sailors, top-hatted city men, office boys, munition workers, typistes, west-end, east-end, slum, and society, Mayfair and the Borough road, all miiipled in the strangest human ollapodrida imaginable. Aud all excited, all talking and cheering, and shouting at anything and anybody, at everything and at nothing at all. A thousand flags were produced as by a conjurer's art; a myriad whistles and bells and catcalls added to the confusion, and the din; and through the surging swaying crowd, there passed the neverending slow procession of commandeered and crowded 'buses, motor cars, and lorries; black with humanity to the last available inch,\ all beflaggea and decorated with a triumphant haste that left no time for art or for selec- : tion. Elderly gentlemen I saw, sprue© from silk hat to spats, who, draped with curtains, evidently freshly piucked from the sacred walls of clubland, went gravely waltzing down the Strand. Uniforms were at a premium, every one was and every wearer kissed and cosseted. My hat was ' 'soovenered" before I had gone ten yards, and I paraded the streets for the rest of the day in a changing series of headwear, thrust upon me in affection, and consistent only in its incongruity. I lost Don at an early stage of the proceedings. "What happened to him I have never been able to ascertain. He is singularly reticent on the subject. Some day, perhaps, he may give to the world the story of his Odyssey that day; and I expect it to make mighty interesting reading. Palace and Picture Show. It came on to rain later, but nobody cared for that. Twice 1 got to the Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace, and on both occasions J was privileged to see the King and Queen and Princess Mary come out upon the balcony. The passion of loyalty and' joy that shook the crowd at the sight of them I shall never fe»rget. The second occasion was particularly memorable. The rain was falling, thinly but steadily; a long procession of munition workers had marched to the Palace, and there they grouped themselves and sang, and all the crowd sang," too, the National Anthem. Into the ram, upon th« balcony, lit brightly by a searchlight, stepped the King and Queen and the Princess, with others whom I could not recognise, and there they stpod, bareheaded, bowing,~while the crpwd roared out its heart to them. And then with "Huie Britannia" and "The Manseil laise" and "Tipperary," the people sang themselves away. Outside the Mansion House I saw the Lord Mayor in his robes, with all the aldermen of London round him, lead burst-.after burst of cheering. What they cheered, or whom, or why, I know not but I cheered with the rest, and probably with just as much knowledge. But nobody wanted an excuse for cheering. Any old thing w&uld do—the one they got was the one they wanted, and therft was no need to waste time in asking questions. Just cheer for all that you were worth and keep on cheering I I found myself in Downing street at one period of the day, and, seeing someone addressing the crowd, I made a strenuous effort.' and managed to hear and recognise the speaker. It was Mr Lloyd George. I had seen him only recently in the House of Commons on . a certain grave and eventful occasion; but how transfigured, now.{ His voice was tremulous with emotion, butcamo to me quite clearly above the crowd: "The people of this Empire and the Allies have won the greatest victory in history. Let us thank God!" Finally, I remember—this was after my terpsichorean display in Piccadilly —getting into a, picture show in Oxford street. The place was crowded almost to suffocation, and the management, with a fine sense of propriety,, showed nothing but a succession of portraits of celebrities connected with the war. The King and Kitchener, Roberts and Haig,. and Foch and Joffrej : Beatty and Jellicoe,. the Presidents St France and the United States—each ! was received with crashing cheers"; but ! the climax came when there flashed Wipon the screen—the Kaiser! For they showed him upside down! It -was a poor jest, perhaps; but it brought down the house. After that I went home to my hotel—at least I suppose 1 did, for I was there in the morning. But I have no recollection of it. 1 was drunk by thai time — drunk with the emotion of the most exciting day that 1 haive ever known.