THE UNKNOWN’S TOMB

Manawatu Standard, Volume XLVI, Issue 25, 29 December 1925, Page 2

THE UNKNOWN’S TOMB

HALLOWED GRAVE IN ABBEY. ARMISTICE PILGRIMAGES. A white-haired, sable-cloaked woman, her breast ablazo with medals, knelt in the Abbey upon tho stone floor and tenderly placed at tho head of tho Unknown Warrior’s Grave a wreath that was tied with tho ribbon of tho Victoria Cross, says the London Daily Telegraph of November 12. There was something personal, intimate, in the very gesture with which she parted from the wreath. Therein lay tho difference between the ceremony before the Cenotaph and in that other slvrinb “among the Kings.” At tho Cenotaph the nation’s gratitude, in a great collective act of remembrance, flows out to all who died that we might live; but by that plain, black slab in tho Abbey, floor wo feel we are in the presence of one wo knew—a man who laughed and sorrowed and lived with us before the Great "War took him. And tho golden letters that speak the glory of his namelessness toll us why. “Unknown, and yet well known,” he was her own son to more than one war-stricken mother who yesterday mado pilgrimage to his resting-place; her husband to many a war-made widow; his “soldier dad” to the boy who proudly raised his hand to the salute abovo tho glittering tokens of his father’s valour.

.Seven years have gone since the last shot was fired in Flanders, five years since the Unknown Warrior “came home” from across tho sea; but ho “being dead, yet lives” in the hearts of all who can feel that ho may be theirs, and his gravo to them will for ever be a sacred personal shrine. _ It was this sense of personal possession, to bo read in thousands of faces as the people filed slowly past the grave, that mado yesterday’s pilgrimage seem even more impressive tnan the beautiful service which preceded it.

OLD WAR COMRADES GATHER

By the time the Abbey service was due to commence, half an hour before the Silence, every seat was filled. Lining tho nave were men from the Royal Navy, the Coldstream Guards and tho Royal Air Force, and in front of tho memorial to their own fallen comrades was drawn up a detachment of tho R.A.M.C. At tho foot of tho tomb was the wreath deposited there five years ago by the King, the faded green of its foliage enclosing the warm brown of a cluster of mapio leaves — tho annual tribute to tho Unknown Warrior from Mr Adam Brown, of Hamilton, Canada. At the head rested tho wreath from the Ypres League, a mass of cornflowers, whose glorious blue mado tho chief contrast to tho predominant red of the poppy. And it was at this point that the representatives of the Services —Vice-Ad-miral the Hon. Sir Hubert Brand, walking with General Sir Gedrgo Milne on his right and Air Marshal Sir John Salmond on his left —formed up behind the clergy in the procession down the nave to the choir. To the slow, sad music of the oi gun they passed between two great banks of people, who represented every class from which the Unknown Warrior could have come. There was at least one bishop in the congregation. Near him were half a dozen merchant seamen, a detachment from the L'riush Legion, a man whose civilian dress bore two rows of ribbons, and many women wearing the medals of their loved ones. And everywhere, rp.sinst the dark background of tho rombieclad throng, little spots of red stood out —reminders of the debt we owe to those who live as well as to those who sleep “in Flanders Fields.” THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED. The organ ceased. And then there aroso, unaccompanied, the perfectly exquisite melody of the Contakion. As nearly as possible tho Contakion of the Faithful Departed expresses the inexpressible. It speaks of death and tho agony of separation, but it swells from a dirgo to a crescendo of triumph' and ends on the note of. hope. Apparently it has found a permanent place in the music that has been set apart for tho special service of this anx.ual pilgrimage. No better choice could nave been made for the keynote of what was to follow.

Words of hope and comfort uttered in the prayers and in tho reading ot the lesson echoed through a s'lJness that was' almost absolute. The Te Deum preceded other prayers, and then the vast congregation found its voice in the singing of “The Supreme Sacrifice.” Not every eye was clear when the scarlet-robed choir boys led tho procession back to the Shrine near tho western door. Before the choir, at the head of the tomb, stood the sub dean, Canon Carnegie, and the Abbey clergy; facing them from the other side stood the three chiefs of the fighting services. Watch in hand, the precentor recited two short prayers and then came tho boom of a gun. SILENT HOMAGE PAID. In London perfect silence is impossible, yet in the Abbey itself during those two seemingly interminable minutes it was almost achieved. Outside, the deep tones of Big Ben mingled with the whistle of a distant train. Within, a singlo cough broke tho stillness. There was not tho rustle of a dress, not tho scraping of a chair. “In remembrance of those who made the great sacrifice, 0 God, make us better men and women, and give peace in our time.” To hundreds of dim-eyed women and stern-faced men in the Abbey the Great Silence was something more than a national act of homage; it was a sacred personal experience. One did not require to be told that each mind was thinking of “him.” Another gun, and a rustle swept through the church as every form relaxed from rigidity. Full-throated, men and women, sang the familiar words, “0 God, our help in ages past.” Canon Carnegie, following a short prayer of Russian origin, gave the blessing; and once again, in the National Anthem, this gathering of every class found unity in song. Barely had tho echoes faded into the dimness of the vaulted roof than they were once again awakened by tho stirring challenge of the reveille. High up in a gallery the buglers of the 3rd Battalion Coldstream Guards sounded the call that every infantryman knows so well —the summons to meet the duties of to-day regardless of the sorrows of the night. And it was upon that note that the service ended. THE FALLING OF THE POPPIES.

Then began, that wonderful procession—and tho falling of tho poppies on the tomb. For nine hours it continued without a halt. Tho vanguard was composed of the Abbey congregation. but soon the rain-splashed coats of tnose who followed showed that the crowd from the cenotaph was ,-assing through too. At first the gold lettering upon the black slab shone clearly in the light from the lamps above,

thereafter to become submerged in. a crimson tide, which eventually covered it completely, leaving but one startling spot of blue to denote the position of the Ypres wreath at its head. All day long the pilgrims came—and ever grew that crimson pall i.pon the tomb. To-day tho gold letters will once again tell the world why this Unknown British Warrior was laid “to rest among the Kings”; but the poppies will still be there—to frame with a broad border in tho colour of sacrifice a shrine that to men of many creeds, and even of none at all, is holy, ground.