CHURCHILL POSTER BY FRENCH ARTIST

Dominion, Volume 34, Issue 109, 1 February 1941, Page 12

CHURCHILL POSTER BY FRENCH ARTIST

His Bit For The Cause

AN ORDINARY MAN’S VIEW OF THE WAR (By OBSEHVEIt.) It is hardly necessary to lit a name to the bulldog pictured herewith. Tlie face is among the most loved of alt international faces by one half of the world: by the other it is the most feared. The theme which prompted the illustration is familiar enough, though none the less stimulating on that account. Its strong symbolism speaks for itself But there is a story behind this pic lure, which i.s the reproduction of a poster designed by a Frenchman,

Henri Guignon, now living in New York. He sent it to a friend in Dannevirke with an explanatory letter, dated December 28. “This is my first attempt at making posters,” Guignon wrote. “A few. colleagues and friends of mine—British people and pro-British Americans — have financed the printing of the poster, which is just'off the press and which is being offered in exchange for the British War Relief. There is no fixed price. As a rule we give one copy for a minimum of 50 cents, but many people are willing to pay one dollar or even more. It has been very well received in New York and we expect to raise quite a sizeable sum for the cause. I am, as you know of French birth—American citizen now—and very pro-British. I have lived several years in London, and at present am doing war work for a British organization in this country. Hence my desire to do something worth-while for the cause. It looks as if I have made a hit with my Churchill poster, and I will be interested to hear how it is receiver! among your friends."

A Military Idyll.— At a certain resort in a certain part of this fair land is a military post guarding a certain vital point. It is manned by a detachment of men mostly veterans of the last war. They inhabit a lovely spot. The scene comes as near to a travel poster version of a South Seas idyll as you are likely to get on the face of this troubled earth. There’s fishing, boating, and swimming, bush walks and what not. Civilians pay fabulous rents for a holiday cottage from which to taste much jess than ihese soldiers are paid to revel in. Yet, believe it or not, they don’t know what to do with themselves off duty. They told me that their only relaxation —apart from fishing, boating, swimming and lazing in the sun—• is a darts board an'd a wireless so temperamental as to outwhine, out-screech the German Fuehrer himself. But I can understand it. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. The Fire Bomb.— Four newly-en-rolled Civil Guardsmen were at a Wellington fire brigade station the other evening. They formed a group in a crowd of men who watched the brigade jiive a 'demonstration of How to Deal With Fire Caused by Incendiary Bombs. One was an elderly citizen; the others young men, of whom one, who stood slightly apart, revealed in his occasional speech the accents of a Londoner. The veteran was filled with a sort of grim enthusiasm. “That’s it,” he said, as the blaze crackled and the demonstration patrol came into action. "We’ve got to get into this training, and I'm rea'dy to take my coat off.” The scene had gripped him. The two New Zealand youths were also inspired. They showed it differently—in excited talk, a quick chuckle when an emergency water squirt jammed for a moment, and a brisk discussion on the weight of the equipment, its efficiency. They were keen, but buoyantly so. The sombre character of this 19-11 occasion was hidden by their laughter. Cmly the English youth showed no aniniatioti. He watched gravely, might have seemed almost disinterested, but for his eyes. They were intent, strained. He missed nothing. Later, when the display was over, no walked toward a tram with a companion. They talked of the parade and the practices to come.

Presently the English youth said: You know. 1 liked to see that fire go down so quickly. I had a letter tlie other day from London. It said that our house had been struck by a fire bomb. It came through the roof an'd the ceiling. It landed on the kitchen table (it did surprisingly little damage 1 the letter said. I've been wondering if that wore trill*. or just to :e--itssnre me. You -see. the- letter was from my mother. You know what mothers are.”