CLEMENCEAU IN JAVA.

Manawatu Times, Volume XLII, Issue 1737, 12 February 1921, Page 8

CLEMENCEAU IN JAVA.

In Batavia there are over a dozen Australian girls employed as stenographers by business firms, who batch in bungalows, and chaperone themselves, who somehow pick up a tew Dutch phrases, but more easily acquire a smattering of Malay to direct their baboos, who go to the open-air dances on the over-midsummer nights at the Bos, and, altogether, lead a unique sort of life. They arc known as “the Australian Mess.” One of them sends the following account of the visit of Clemcnccau (says Ihe “Sydney Morning Herald”); — I have seen the Tiger of France. He is just like his photos. He arrived at the Box with a few officials, all in tussore like himself, and an aide-de-camp in white and gold, and was received by the British and American Consuls and the president of the club, and the French Resident (there is no French Consul at present). The band played the three National anthems, while every one stood, without singing, which was decidedly flat. At first there was no enthusiasm such as Australians arc used to. Everyone was decorous, well-behaved, and perfectly unemotional. I can imagine how an Australian crowd would have welcomed the ex-President of France. However, the crowd was, of course, smaller, though I have never seen so many at the Box. The French residents have no club or meeting-place, and being so few, I suppose no one liked to start enthusiastic cheering. The French Resident welcomed Clemenceau in French, and the British Consul as “a great man, a great Frenchman, and a known and proved friend of our country.” Before this the French people had been marshalled up and introduced to Clemenceau shaking hands with him. With his own people clustered round him there was no formality as he laughed and talked with each one personally. He addressed his reply in French straight tp them, and a translation appeared in English to the Consul’s speech. His, voice is not loud, but perfectly distinct, and there are only a few gestures* and shruggings. He said there were no better fighting men in tho than the British, for he had seeh- and been with them in some of the tightest corners. To his own people he said that it was not the French soldiers that "won tJ*G war, but every man, woman, and child in France, He did not refer much to the Dutch, but told a story of a fly on a man’s nose—the man took it off, opened the window, and let it go, saying “There is room in the world for both of us," by which the old diplomat meant tho Dutch,

After saying something about the wealth and beauty of Java, Clemenceau sat down and munched cakes, till it was nearly dark, and the lanterns were lit, vicing with a purple sunset. Chairs and tables were set out on a tarpaulin, spread on the damp grass, and the Box was hung with flags and lanterns, and very beautiful it looked in the still red light. It was then that I got a longer look at Clemenceau. He is short and rotund, slow of movement, but there is no lack of animation about him when he talks. It was as he sat down that one caught the ‘Jtiger” look. His low, broad head sqemed sot on his shoulders without any neck, and there is an extraordinary distance between his eyebrows, and his half-closed, sleepy brown eyes. His eyebrows jut, and are very black, and are continually raised as if in inquiring. And there is a noticeable broad space between them, too. People crowded round him and he shook hands with anyone who wished. So I can say I have shaken hands with the Tiger of

France. After this function it seemed abo,ut time lie went. Everyone expected it, nothing more was doing, but he showed no signs of departing, but stood and talked with the people about him, aides and consuls, when no one else came up. One would have expected him to be hustling and overridden with officialdom, hurried off at the first available moment for his alleged appointment with the Dutch Governor-General at 7.30. But he looked as if he were really enjoying himself. Then the available ex-ser-vice men were lined up hurriedly and presented. <{f Clemenceau was waiting for something more to happen, then it must happen. The band struck up, and a stray couple ventured out. The formality and restraint of the afternoon was rapidly thawing. Our manager passed me with tho remark, "Why don’t you get up and dance the old chap’s dying to see some dancing.” And certainly “the old ;hap” was standing expectantly at ■.ho foot of the steps, watching intently the feet, slim or otherwise, on the quickly-filling floor. He was asked to sit down, and he waved them .iside. It was rather astonishing. Clemenceau must have seen many of the grandest balls of his time he lived among famous people, and had taken a great part in the war—how could he show such childlike interest in a lot of provincial people dancing. He stood tlierc in the light, slightly apart the small crowd behind him, and his irm round the neck of his aide, a dark man as small as himself, and the pair of them were laughing at something Clemenceau was saying to him about the dancers. It may be that simplicity, to all but his intimates, is an uncomprehended part of his greatness. Anyone less officious; less selfimportant or self-conscious, there could not be. Then tho men started choruses, “For He’s .a Jolly Good Fellow” and “Tipperary,” at which he laughed. And that was tho first show of warmth there had been on the part of bis audience. The secretary of the Box took him inside to inspect, and told us that of 130 members of tho club sixty were ex-sol-diers. And Clemenceau observed, “Ah, that is the important thing.” This was passed around quickly, and when Clemenceau came out enthusiasm ran high, and the crowd surged on to the verandah and surrounded him, then a huge circle was formed with crossed hands, Clemenceau in

the centre, and they sang “Auld Lang Sync” at the top of their voices, and other choruses, till his officials rescued him and cleared a way out. Clemeitceau was assisted to his car to the

tunc of "Pack up your troubles in your old kitbag,” and be was smiling more than over, and bowing.

The men themselves pushed his car up the long palm-lined avenue, and at the end of each song they gave throe cheers, real cheers, unrestrained and the call of “Tiger"—a weird and wonderful conglomeration of sounds. And he passed out of our vision. The impression left is of a very human and simple personality, showing a quite childlike interest in common things around. Perhaps it is his way of relaxation. But, as he walked down the'steps after it all, lie looked more like his eighty years than before, »