THE LITTLE CEMETERIES

Evening Star, Issue 19712, 12 November 1927, Page 19

THE LITTLE CEMETERIES

From Gibraltar to Egypt are two thousand miles of sea, and upon these waters and in the lands surrounding them tho ships of England and her soldiery havo fought the enemies cf mr Kings for many hundreds of years. Along the coasts and upon the islands the British dead sleep in their thousands. Sometimes they arc in great congregations, as upon tho Peninsula of Gallipoli or at Malta ; hut more often m small and half-forgotten companies, as in the hollow near the Water-Port at Gibraltar, where -- est the lesser men who died at Trafalgar. The Great War Has left cur dead in many small cemeteries. Sonm of the turial grounds were old in 191 *l, such as Corfu and Argostoli. Another lies in the shadows of the hills which face tho ancient Kyamon Promontory across Suda Bay. These lulls arc the outerworks of tho White Mountains of Crete, which rise in jagged outline 7,QUO feet above tlie Mediterranean. We left I ho road and walked through the thorny sis'uii up to tho little cemetery. Dandy, the black cocker spaniel, who is the junior ami most privileged and least disciplined member of a certain staff. Hushed a fat quail, then plainly looked his resentment at the absence- of a shot. The cemetery is walled round, and it was pleasant to see ils perfect order, tho fruit of Ihe labors of an ancient Cretan gardener. There aro Russian graves here and British Army graves, memories o? the International occupation of 1897. Hero lies a post-captain of the Royal Navy, who died when commanding In’s ship ah Suda At his side is a sub-licnfcnanl. A little apart, in a row of their own, are_ sopm ‘-’0 memorials of 1 lie Great AA’ar. These aro men who died in torpedoed transports and merchant vessels. Doubtless for every sailor man who rests at Suda a score or two score arc sleeping beneath the blue waters which masked the craft that broughb_ them death. In the centre of the lino of graves were two crosses which_ aroused reflection. One boro the inscription;— To An .Unknown British Sailor. 1917. The other told that Ah Ping, able seaman, bad died when a transport was torpedoed in 1917._ They lie side by side, these two. Did they sling their hammocks in the same forepeak, to meet again on Cretan soil? An Unknown British Sailor- Kings and field-marshals have laid no wreaths on his tomb. He lies far from the centre of the Empire for which lie died, but I expect lie is happy. He would probably say: “ Below - there) What’s tho matter? I’ve a Chink on my port hand and a second lieutenant of the British Army on my starboard beam. I’m as snug as could be. Leave well alone.” I looked at Ah Ping’s grave, and though there arc millions of Ah Pings in China, I couldn’t Jielp wondering whether the Ah Ping who had served mo so well in 1923 in China had ever owned an unde—let ns suppose— ; who had gone seafaring in troublesome times and never returned to Canton and tho Pearl River. I wonder what Ah Ping would have said if he had been told before bo left Cbinasido for the last time that ho would stay in the AVesl and dream away the ages under a Christian cross in Crete!—Stephen King-Hall, in the ‘ Spectator.’