THE HUNDRED’S UP

Press, Volume LXXXVI, Issue 26297, 16 December 1950, Page 6

THE HUNDRED’S UP

(Sv WHIM-WHAM]

Mrs T. V. Whitmore, who was a passenger In the Charlotte Jane, has recorded: "Some of the women burst into tears when the ship came into port. They were crying because they had all dressed themselves in their Sunday best—and there was nowhere to go I”

Let the Bells chime, the Trumpets shrilly play, - I too lift up m Song a small cracked Voice. Sing Muse. We’ve made it! Heres the happy Day. Let Canterbury, if it can, rejoice!

Now Canterbury greets Canterbury, Primate Of Becket’s Line, of England's other Throne. The Heart Of Man’s unchanged by Change Of Climate; The Church may cherish—and chastise —her Own. One Hundred Years of—Progress is the Word! Since Pilgrim Women in their Sunday Best Wept on the Beach, so sad, yet so absurd: There wasn’t Anywhere to go, when dressed. We're dressed Ourselves, in Honour of Ourselves, And Nowhere much to go—but ring the Chimes! Reach down the Heirlooms from the highest Shelves, Mute Relics, eloquent of merrier times. Give the lost Dream its Due, the Stones remain, The Spire that points to Heaven, the busv School. We build the Bungalow, we dig the Drain: Witness our Takahe, our Swimming Pool! The Charlotte Jane (nee Darra) rides at Anchor, The period-costumed Pilgrims pull to Iscincl* Otir History steers between Romance . - and Rancour. LbOfc shoreward, Charlotte! Here’s one hopeful Handl Sound, Trumpets, sound across the Century! Somehow the Show has lasted all these Years. Progress, if Any. waits Futurity: Some of us, possibly, are Pioneers!