LONDON TOPICS

Evening Star, Issue 22277, 2 March 1936, Page 11

LONDON TOPICS

ADIEU TO KING MEMORABLE SCENES [From Our Correspondent.] [By Air Mail.] January 30. All London seemed to bid adieu to King George. Never before in 30 years have 1 seen such crowds. The remarkable thing was the deep silence, not only during the official two minutes, but all the while. London hushed its accustomed uproar. At the Jubilee celebrations all was glad shouting and eager buzz. Now the boom of the distant minute guns, the lightest warble of the pipers' lament, the rhythmic beat of the slow-marching troops, oven the crunch of sand beneath the gunwheels, could be distinctly heard, 1 am told, by even those listening in far-off places on the wireless. The spectacle exhausted the pomp and circumstance of woe. The soldiers and sailors moved as one man, holding themselves perfectly. Drawn by that serried company of sturdy, erect bluejackets, the dead King's soldier's hearse seemed to glide of its own ghostly volition. Immediately behind it, preceded only by a tall Life Guard standard-bearer, walked King Edward the Eighth, shoulders bravely squared, but features pale and tense. Just behind the young King marched the uniformed figures of his -three brothers. Then came the State coaches with the Queen-widow and other Royal ladies, all heavily veiled, but still wearing the aura of profound grief. After that appeared the long array of historic Royal figures and foreign dignitaries in a baffling melange of brilliant uniforms, representing famous regiments of Europe and the Near and Far East. The dignified figure of the President of France was conspicuous, wearing evening dress beneath his overcoat. The gigantic stature of Sweden's King drew quick attention, but the outstanding figure was undoubtedly the still tragic one of Belgium's most handsome young monarch. It must have been a great ordeal for him. Another striking figure was the youthful German! Prince, whose exceptionally handsome features would distinguish him in any company, and who looks more British than Teutonic. The thought must have occurred to many onlookers that here marched a possible future Kaiser. HIS FOUR SONS. King George the Fifth's passing has from first to last lacked nothing in the supreme drama that thrills history. But no single episode of the high, tragic pageant was more heart-stirring than when his four sons made that sincere and unrehearsed gesture in Westminster Hall on the midnight before his funeral. We might search history back to its remotest pages to discover a parallel to that mounting guard round the dead monarch's catafalque by King Edward and his three brothers. Whichever of them first had that impulse, it was a noble thought. It was done so quietly that few of the mourning crowds still moving through the vast hall, and filing past tlie gorgeously draped coffin, realised what was happening. From a side door, leading from an apartment allotted to Guards' officers in charge, came first the new King, in the uniform of a Grenadier colonel, followed by the Duke of York in Scots Guards' uniform, the Duke of Gloucester in his 10th Hussar uniform, and the Duke of Kent in naval uniform. ROYAL SENTINELS. The King and his brother Princes did not relieve the already posted guards, but silently took their places between the motionless figures of the soldiers. King Edward stood at the end of the catafalque looking towards St. Stephen's steps, the Duke of York facing towards the doors of the hall, and the Duke of Gloucester and the Duke of Kent one at each side. There, each resting on his sword with bowed head, the four Royal brothers remained for a quarter of an hour, motionless as their companion guards, while the public streamed through the shadow-haunted building which is London's oldest architectural relic. At the conclusion of this unique vigil, filial and royal, they moved slowly off in unison, marching with military precision back to the anteroom. Not by the least movement did the official sentinels betray their sense of this dramatic intervention, but there are four Life Guard troopers who will tell during their lifetime how they once shared sentry duty with the King of England and his three Royal brothers. No other soldiers living can say the like. HOMAGE TO DEAD MAJESTY. Memorable scenes marked the lying-in-state of that beloved monarch King George. At midnight last Thursday a few sombre figures began to gather outside the shadowy portals of Westminster Hall in the rain, waiting till the public could be admitted at 8 o'clock next morning. As the day wore on the ceaselessly-moving queue stretched right away to far past Vauxhall Bridge, and was in places eight deep. There was no sight-seeing spirit about these mourning multitudes. All sorts and conditions of citizens made up the queues, and all seemed overborne with silent grief. The spectacle within the ancient hall, augustly beautiful in its severe architectural dignity, was solemn beyond words. Within the cordon of tall Life Guard sentinels and mediaaval Yeoman, resting with bowed heads on reversed swords and halberds, the draped Royal coffin, with the Crown and a single wreath, loomed "Out of the shadows in soft candlelight. One felt that a great English King slept peacefully. MARCH OF THE PEOPLE. Only one writer who has dealt with the lying-in-state of King George the Fifth has seized on a point that seemed to me most impressive of all.

That was the sound of the people's feet as that vast multitude queued up outside Westminster Hall to file past the Royal catafalque. Inside the Hall, on the thick carpeting, there was no echo of footfalls, but dead silence. But outside, like a deep, muffled obbligato to some whispered hymn of sorrow, the crunch-crunch of feet never ceased from dawn to dusk as that colossal citizen crocodile moved ceaselessly forward. The sound of a marching battalion, even with no other music but the rhythmic tramp of Army boots, is an impressive thing. But the subdued, slow dirge of those loyal feet was in quite another category, and something altogether outside normal experience. One thought of Tennyson's " Let the feet of those he fought for echo round his bones for ever more." THINNED ROYAL RANKS. This week's Royal obsequies were a realistic reminder of the Great War's upheaval in European history. At King George's funeral there could not be quite such a retinue of illustrious foreign royalty as paraded in full dress at the funeral of King Edward. On that memorable occasion, 26 years ago next May, their chargers and plumes filled half the Palace Yard, and the splendour of their uniforms ranged from the white of the Prussian Death's Head Hussar to the gorgeous green, gold, and sky-blue of Hungarian light cavalry. Nino kings and four heirs to kingdoms rode in King Edward's funeral cavalcade. In the dramatic interim, Russia, Spain, Portugal, Austria, Turkey, Bavaria, and other countries old in story have suffered a political change. Of the 13 royal heads bowed at King Edward's gun-carriage the sole living survivor this week was King Haakon of Norway. KAISER'S GESTURE. Of all those illustrious princes who 26 years ago attended King Edward's burial the figure that looms most vividly in memory is that of the German Emperor. The occasion was one just suited to his dynamic personality and sense of big history. Mounted on a magnificent coal-black army charger whose step was proud as Lucifer's, the present Exile of Doom rode on King George the Fifth's right hand. The instant the amazing cavalcade drew up in Palace Yard the Kaiser flung himself from his saddle, strode to Queen Alexandra's carriage, and, opening the door, held out his unwithered arm, as she stepped out, in a gesture of Imperial sympathy that Lewis Waller or Beerbohm Tree might well have envied. It i 3 also no exaggeration to say that Kaiser Wilhelm that day played all other royal actors completely off the stage, except when the widowed Queen paused to stroke the silken muzzle of King Edward's riderless charger, and gave him a morsel of sugar. PEACE IN THE COAL INDUSTRY. The miners have cause to feel proud of themselves. By accepting the coal owners' proposals they have relinquished for the time being a very considerable portion of their demands m respect of wages. That is the best proof of their reasonability and desire to keep the industry free from unrest. But if they have not gained more than the half of their monetary claims they have won a tremendous victory on another and even more rankling cause of dispute. The owners, by promising to go forward with the setting up of a national joint standing committee for purposes of conciliation, have yielded a point which has been a basic source of friction for years. The improved understanding likelv to result from this concession may well lead the industry to a future of peace and prosperity. DOUBLE ANNIVERSARY. The year 1936 has started none too auspiciously, but it brings a notable double anniversary. Recent fiscal history, as weir as post-war Imperial tendencies have vindicated the far-seeing and statesmanlike acumen of Mr .loseph Chamberlain beyond the dreams of most of his contemproary disciples. This great British statesman was born on July 8, 1836, and first entered the House of Commons in the summer of 1876. This year is thus both his centenary and his parliamentary diamond jubilee. In recognition of both events there will be a special course in his life and tariff policy at-the Bonar Law College, where potential Unionist statesmen are trained, and no doubt other celebrations of a wider recognition in his honour. It is only four years ago since Mr Joseph Chamberlain's two sons, Sir Austen and Mr Neville, witnessed the triumph of their father's life work at Westminster. TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO. Mr Claude Grahame-White. who was one of the French Aero Club's guests at a dinner last week in commemoration of the first Channel flight, is now 57. He was only 32 when, in April. 1911, he and Louis Paulhan, his fellow guest on this festival occasion, raced each other for the £IO,OOO prize offered with faint expectation of it being won for the first flight from London to Manchester. The Frenchman won the prize, for Grahame-White, in a machine which would give any modern pilot the jim-jams, after gallantly Hying in the darkness, assisted by boys with bicycle

lamps and friends in motors on the roads, was brought down by air currents over the Trent Valley. Fortune did not fail to smile on the plucky Englishman, however, for in the next three years he made nearly £IOO,OOO in displays and prizes. Those were the palmy, if risky, days of _ aviation. Modern chauffeurs of the air have to be content with taximen’s earnings. DAME CLARA. In the matter of obituary notice the passing of a great King has inevitably overshadowed the death both- of Rudyard Kipling and Dame Clara Butt; yet millions of admirers the world over mourn these very different singers. Not twice in a century is a voice born to compare with Dame Clara’s magnificent contralto, the softest register of which reached the topmost gallery of the Albert Hall, and the full volume of which rivalled the great organ. Dame Clara, who in figure and temperament was a typical West Country product, did great work for the Red Cross during the war, and heir generosity in the spending' of her voice for charity earned her a well-merited recognition by the Sovereign. Thanks to an invention of which she was at first deeply suspicious, her glorious voice, like Caruso’s, will outlive her. The gramophone’s magic needle will enable us to listen for years to come to a voice that is now still. * HONOLULU IN TWO DAYS. .It begins to look as though 1937 might be the pioneer flying year. In the spring of next year it is hoped to have the transatlantic flying service going. And already, such is the confident optimism of hard-headed business people interested in these developments of the new form of travel, a representative of American flying combines is in London discussing an extension of the projected air route between London and New York. The scheme envisages through air booking from Croydon to ' Honolulu, and bringing the latter’s blue skies within two days’ journey, instead of the existing full 13 at the very slickest rate of travel, of London’s dull ones. The Honolulu trip, I am informed, will probably cost about £l5O all in, or only a little more than that at most. In fact, we may almost look forward to being able presently to leave London for an extended weekend in the South Sea Islands. DENMARK OUSTS ITALY. It may be that the Geneva sanctions against Italy will have some enduring trade results. In place of things formerly imported from Italy we are now importing substitutes from other lands, and it is more than likely that, once established, these innovations will continue to hold their own on their merits after the Ethiopian affair is all over and done with. One instance is gorgonzola cheese, one of Italy’s most important exports to this and many other countries. Gorgonzola cheese is no longer procurable in London. We have been told how Italian chemists are trying to make wool out of the goats’ milk formerly used for its manufacture. Tn its place,‘in restaurants, hotels, and clubs, a cheese nobody eyer heard of before is being received with great favour. This is clue Danish, a cheese somewhat similar to Italian gorgonzola, but of firmer consistency, and, to many palates, more agreeable. ARMY LANGUAGE. Mechanisation is not, I arti authoritatively assured, the only change that is overtaking the British Army. Another is the growing popularity of the dry canteen. This may give satisfaction to social reformers, but some old soldiers shake their heads over the modern Tommy’s renunciation of beer almost as gravely as they do over the marked disuse of Armyese. Shakespeare tells us that soldiers, long before we had any Regulars, were “full of strange oaths,” and over a century ago there is classic testimony to that British Army that “ swore horribly in Flanders.” The late General Sir Charles Tucker, who buret forth vigorously 10 minutes after he was introduced at Court, had a gallant associate in Armyese in Genera! Picton, Wellington’s storm-troop leader. But even drill sergeants of the post-war Army are comparatively mild-spoken tyrants. Other ranks imitate their officers, and the Tucker breed is almost obsolete at Sandhurst now. CONTRACT BRIDGE ILLUSIONS. At all events in London there are signs that the vogue of duplicate con-

tract bridge is on the wane. Rubber bridge, however, is still popular enough. Apostles of duplicate, many of them converted chess players, are still striving to eliminate all luck or chance from their hobby, but this is almost impossible. Practical card players recognise that it is also undesirable. Bridge without the element of chance would be as dull as average-adjusting as a form of entertainment. Once it became an exact science, most people would 'taka to poker. Bidding systems, much stimulated by the duplicate craze, continue to eclipse the real skill of card play. There is one club, however, where all systems are rigorously taboo.This is the Portland, where “systems ’* are regarded very much as the M.O.C, regards leg-theory. I believe this applies even to the ordinary “ informative” double . But the standard of play is tip-top. SPORTING. A well-known London journalist, whe in his younger days used occasionally to go voyaging far north in Dundee whalers, told me a lovely story to-day. There has just passed away, at the age ot 100, a whaling skipper whom he knew well. This veteran had one novel experience whilst away after whales. A whale was sighted, and two whalers put out boats to chase it, one being sent from this old skipper’s ship. The boats reached theip quarry at the same time, after a neck-and-neck race, and each plunged a harpoon into the whale. The law of the whaling grounds is that the whale belongs to the boat that harpoons it first. But here was a nice point. The harpooning had been simultaneous. After some talk, the two whalers lay to, with the carcase of the whale between them, and the old skipper went aboard his rival’s ship. There, on deck, and in sight of hoth crews, he solemnly tossed for that whale!