HEROES I MEET AT MY RAILWAY BUFFET

Evening Star, Issue 15909, 15 September 1915, Page 5

HEROES I MEET AT MY RAILWAY BUFFET

(By the Countess of Limerick.) One night, in the early days of the wa-% I happened to be working amongst the trainloads of refugees who were pouring into London through Victoria Station. It was snowing and bitterly cold. "Has your ladyship seen the first men from the trenches?" asked the station niftier. "Where?" I exclaimed. He nodded towards a group of them laden with kit.and rifle. I shall never forget the look upon their faces. They were so lonely and so white. "Good heavers!" I cried. "How can these men come back to England and not a living soul here to give them a welcome word!" I could not stand it. Mv heart felt absolutely bursting for them.-so I just laid mv hand upon the arm of one. "God bless you, you bvave fellow!" said "And.God bless you for that," he replied lou don't know what it is to hear a woman's voice once more." It was about this time that there came to me the idea of supplying them with food. For a month two of us looked after them at Victoria, and we were allowed to get them what they wanted from the trolly of th-. Belgian refugees. We also found them coffee and cigarettes. We used to write down our addresses for them, and they would send letters to us from the trenches telling us just what thev wanted, very grateful, too, they were to both of us, giving us many curious keepsakes of our meeting; one. a tiny medallion of the Madonna, I particularly prize. _ —Four Thousand Customers.— This, was the beginning of the canteens which now cheer our soldiers and sailors at most of the big railway stations of the metropolis. Our own London Bridge buffet was opened on Whit Sunday. Thre» days before we were told 1 h«t wo might begin our work, and for two davs the Don Mrs Bingham, Lady Lanesbor'ough, Lady Ovanmore, and I were busy tidvinc anil cleaning the buffet, and " gathering in loaves, hams. rake, and wbrkers to cut them up and serve them. We had at least 4,000 customers for a beginning, and by the Tuesday morning I was so'wearv that I could scarcely raise mv head. Tlu station was just packed with men—hundied.s and hundreds and hundreds of them, as far as one could see. The tivst soldier to be served was a man whom I picked out from the others because of the pain which, he could not keep from the ghastly paleness of his face. " Would you like some tea ?" I a-iked him. "I nm going to hospital," he replied. "I thought the ambulance would meet me. but there is no one here." He was, we found, sickening for rheumatic fever, so we brought him behind the buffet and put him in a chair, and made him a drink of egg flip. But for us he would have fainted where he stood. A few nights after that one of ray staff came round and whispered that there was a boy from hospital outside, and that he had burst open a wound over his heart. ' A young clergyman, who has since gone out to Serbia, tended him. The trouble had been caused by drinking a. single glass of beer, and our clergyman persuaded 'him to take the pledge. The following Sunday the man went to Holy Communion.

I have been at London Bridge station since Whit Friday, and the weeks between are a wonderful story of generosity and of gratitude. The courtesy shown to us 'by the men is perfect. One gets an ocean of gratitude in exchange for a cup of tea. A transport officer relates to me what he hears them say after they have left us and are about to hoard their train. W 7 hat touches them so much is that they should be looked after. If people could only realise how it does touch them there would not he a ham left .in all London. From Monday morning until Saturday night the heavens would rain hams upon us._ At London Bridge a ham, large and solid, a fact apparently as permanent as the everlasting hills, resembles nothing so much as the poet's " snowflake on. the river." It is "once seen and gone for ever." Sliced, minced, sandwiched in a twinkling, it leaves a humorously mournful bone as its obituary. There is, I believe, 'no boundary to a healthy soldier's appetite for ham sandwiches—as we make them. So with our iced lemonade. Quarts and quarts of it disappear during the hot weather. The demand for eggs, butter, cake, potted meat, and fruit is also extensive. But it is not immeasurable. Jam is different. The soldier does not like jam : for the same reason, I suppose, that when the war is over anyone offering stew to a Kitchener man will do so at grave bodily risk. —"From a Grateful .Soldier."— The public and the men themselves are very kind to us. The other day a parcel was quietly left upon our counter. On it was written : " From a grateful sol dier," and inside was four pounds of most beautiful butter from his home. A sailor called with 30 mackerel he had caught that jnorning. Last week he looked in again. "I have not come to get anything," he explained. " I just called to see you. I will bring you more fish soon." A city man leaves us glorious flowers from his own garden; another sympathiser asked us if we would accept notepaper and pencils to give to the troops.. It was a most thoughtful gift, -because the men often ask if they may write a last letterbefore leaving England. Recently, indeed, one of our helpers was asked by a Canadian trooper if she herself would write a letter to his wife! Again, on one of theSe very warm days a delightful basket of strawberries was handed in. "Aren't you fond of strawberries?'* I asked a bunch of soldiers who had not had any. " They are not for the likes of us," was the astonishing Teply. " They are far too great a treat." . Such an answer coming from such a source is. surely the most extravagant example of humility ugon record.