TROOPING THE COLOUR

Dominion, Volume 23, Issue 257, 26 July 1930, Page 10

TROOPING THE COLOUR

King’s Birthday in London STRIKING SPECTACLE Dominion Special Service. (By Nellie M. Scanlan.) London, June 14. It was- the King’s Birthday, but the King was not there. Even Kings are not above climates, and England has been very damp. Rheumatics, which costs English industry more than all its strikes, robbed London of a little Regal splendour. Yet nothing was missing save the King himself. The Prince of Wales, almost invisible beneath his great busbee, took the salute as the Colour was carried by. No one could watch that ceremony without emotion. It was not an aggressive military gesture. It is one of our great pageants, something in which we excel; a subconscious welling of pride in our race, for those things that have been handed on through generations, are made visible.

Reverence is not the greatest characteristic of our age, yet it is the great note of this ceremony. There is something very inspiring in the way they salute the flag, or stand with uncovered head as the Colour Is carried by. That reverent gesture is not always conspicuous overseas. I watch the bewilderment of many colonials when hats were raised and the crowd stood each time the Colour passed. We are a little casual in such matters. The Guards Ride In. The sun burst through the clouds as the Life Guards on their black horses rode into the square. Lines and blocks of scarlet soldiers stood as rigidly as the soldiers we played with as children. Sergeants barked commands. The mounted band rode in, wearing their gold-skirted coats and peaked velvet caps. Each man played an instrument, holding the reins as best he could, but their evolutions were a marvel of precision. The drummer rode a piebald, and most of the others were mounted on white horses. The Life Guards rode black horses groomed to a satin finish, and sat on fleecy white lambskins over their saddles, their metal breastplates gleaming, and the white plumes in their helmets swinging as they rode. Highlanders were there, too, their tartans swaying as they marched, but they did not play their bagpipes. Day after day the troops had rehearsed until everything was timed to a second. The men were chosen with infinite care. They are the tallest and finest of their regiments. They moved as one man, and the click of their rifles as they present arms or stand at ease was one perfect sound. Nothing in tilt world can rival this manoeuvre, when they troop the colour on the King’s Birthday. , x , Before breakfast people began to take up their stand along the Mall. The ceremony started at 11 a.m. When all was in readiness, the Royal procession entered the square, led by Major Nugent, of the Irish Guards, who was equerry to the Duke of York during his overseas tour. The Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, Duke of Gloucester. Prince Arthur of Connaught, Lord Harewood, generals, military representatives of all the foreign Embassys, in most picturesque costumes the unhorseman-like Japanese, in horn-rimmed spectacles, the Italian with a cascade of blue feathers from his hat, the Czech in cerise velvet turban. Four simple khaki figures rode side by side; they were the representatives of the four Dominions. Dignified and Reverent. There is an almost religious atmosphere, so silent, so reverent is the ceremony ;so dignified, so regal. Even the fj-ince of Wales, who is rather fidgety at ceremonies, sat motionless on his fine bay horse, just raising his white-gloved hand in salute each time the colour passed. The troops marched to slow music; they marched at quick pace; they swung corners and formed squares. They marched in silence. The colour escort stepped out, and went down the lines with the banner of crimson and gold. The troops stood rigid throughout. Then they all marched past the saluting base, where the Prince sat erect on his horse, his brothers, Lord Harewood, the generals, the foreign representatives grouped behind him. Above at the window, draped with crimson and gold, sat Queen Mary, her proud eyes oh her three sons below. Princess Elizabeth watched her father, and Princess Maty was there with the young Lascelles, who pulled their caps bn and off at the right time. And all around the’people of the Empire felt a gush of pride in those things that are our heritage. And foreigners looked on, with wonder, and perhaps a little envy. A salute is a gesture, something of the spirit. In that symbolic gesture we renew our allegiance. You come away with a little catch at your throat, and a great pride in your heart, and for the moment the problems of the future are forgotten. The spirit of Empire burns brighter.