THE “WOODBINES”

Dominion, Volume 14, Issue 304, 17 September 1921, Page 8

THE “WOODBINES”

MERELY A PLEA TO ALL OF YOU (By F.E.8.) They wore typical immigrants. "Home” was written indelibly on their clothes, their faces, their general appearance. The man was about,five feet nine inches in height, with a cheery pink and white face. There was a day’s stubble ,on Ms chin. A dilapidated cap was thrust carelessly on his round head, a quiff of ooarso fldxen h{iir hanging over the high forehead. He wore a big blue overcoat, rough tan boots —evidently remnants of some quartermasters’ ‘stores in a camp that is now as Petra or Thebes. His collar was not. of the cleanest, and the tie was ragged. But there was a smile on his face that assured the onlooker it never left it, as he talked to the woman by him. . She was pretty, stout, and evidently from Somerset or thereabouts. A long "duster” coat enveloped her from neck to ankle, and the boots she wore did not have Louis heels, were not made of patent leather, and were built for service and comfort, not for show. There was not the slightest trace of powder on her features, and she also had tho sums trusting'look of determination stamped on her face. Blue eyes looked at the buildings on tho Wellington waterfront with something akin to awe. At their feet on the wharf were two trunks, cheap and serviceable, with the mark of an English provincial town maker on them. Rhgs were tied neatly in a bundle, and lav at their fe--t. The woman turned to her husband. "Jim.” she said, "we’re ere. Ah thinks times is goin’ to be mam fine for wo . . a new plaace, Jim, lad. Her ejes filled with tears. "Bet.” replied Jim. "They Non Zealand folks culled it 'God’s own country. Ue’U be welcome.’ere. . Of that 'Ah’m sure. . . -” Walking along the wharf at that-mo-ment were a New Zealand irirl. foshionahlv dressed, end a man who had been a "Dialer." Tlio irirl. laughing. stopped her inane chatterin'’ n nd.pointed to the two-immigrants. "Good Lord!’ «ho said. "Look'at- those —it’s absurd. Don’t you th’nk so. Bert?” >■ Rather rimmoforedly B»rt lauebed in acquiescence, and th“’ nair, beginning to chatter ne’o.in. vanished. The immigrants had heard the remark, and tho woman began to cry softly. The man wont pale, and looked out across the harbour? . . . But ho still smiled. Three years ago. Bort, like many thousands of other Borts, was in khaki. Ho looked a fine chan in his "Digger” outfit, with a wonivl strinc on his arm. Paeschendaele had been a hard no for him. nnd after his spell in Walton h“ was sent up to Somerset for a, rest. The farmers, who received him were eager, homely folk, who had wnpted for months to receive in their home a soldier of one of the outposts of Empire. They had mad of his exploits, of tho Gove nt Gallipoli, of Armontieros. nnd the Somme, and they made a hero out of the blushing vonngMer. who was loath to toll of whnt bo had done. Three’wenbe tn the Somerset farmhouse, with rich cream, good English beef, arid nuddings did him the world of good. Colour come hack to his cheeks, and h<* remin’d '=om“ of the weight n "Jerry” shell hnd robbed him Ono morning he was sitting on the nomh of tho old that- I '-roofed cottage, in th" warm Juno --nn. listening lazily to fl lO drone- of summer--that wonderful sound that is alwnvs associated with summer, no matter'wlmm one may he—?nd thinlrine of h’s fr'o-ds and their ooodnoss to him. of his home in Wellington. ... . I "Bort.” said a girl.a voice. Ah thinks vou’re drcamin’ far away. Of Noo Zealand, .eh? . . Well. well, it home for ye,’ and ye deserve it. Us’ll ni.ver forgot whnt you hoys ha = done for ns—niver. An’ perhaps one day, when the war is over, nnd times is lx?tter, mv lad Jim an’ T will get wed iand we’ll com out to seek our fortune. That wo will, and we’ll hope to see you there. ...” 1 “Hot ” answered the young soldier

Bet.” answer... . . , . , earnestly. "I’ll never forget your kindfa) TllH. Yoil’vP PlpH? FIIO WPII. W your wonderful cottage, yen and Gaffer, and vour mother. . . . When you come to New Zealand, take it from mo. you II got a royal welcome, and T’ll show you every

Back again with « rush to to-day . . . 1921. Immigrants have come and stayed. TTow manv of them stand nt the wlinrf and hear the comments. sen the scornful looks, hear the "’Ave yer not a Woodbine, chum?" from the unthinking larrikins. . . And how manv more Berts nre there, with their friends who do not think?