KEYED TO WAR-PITCH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15730, 3 October 1914, Page 1 (Supplement)

KEYED TO WAR-PITCH.

BY MRS. LEO MYERSKjxdi/f, compassionately shone the sun that Sunday of the great war -week. . London lay in a pulsating calm : a calm, however, through which, we could sense a strange restlessness as of thunder in the air. . . We felt we must move about, do something, get away from between the grasp of four walls. . . Marble halls were not wide enough to liberate this nameless tension. Ide fields and towering trees, the vast green elbow-room of the country-side j called. I In an hour we found ourselves on the river Thames, many miles away from its grim commercial end—that part which John Burns so wondrcusly described as "London's liquid history." . . But we steam-launched far away to its beautiful upper reaches, bordered by green and gardened lands, beset with villas and country mansions of surpassing charm, breathing beauty, purity, serenity. Here were no echoes of the coming conflict, nor gloomy forebodings. Idly we lay in Boulters' Lock as the sluice-gates closed to fill and raise the river; half a dozen luxurious boats surrounded us; when suddenly, a special messenger, uniformed and alert, sped across the bridge. He carried a blue, blue envelope of large and official proportions. This he handed to a tall bronzed chap, a naval reservist employed on the river's lock by the Thames Conservancy. Eagerly he read the blue, blue paper and a smile of satisfaction animated his nice pink face. . . Later, we saw that document- It called this naval reservist to report without delay at Portsmouth. Delay ? Not the fraction of a second. Out came his watch, on came his coat, as he pocketed the paper and strode / manfully into his cottage. We looked at one another, and we knew then that " England meant business." England was mobilising- England was preparing that sunny Sunday of August 2nd to strike for the peace of Europe and the protection of civilisation. Gaily the people punted, canoed, and rowed down the river. There was laugnter and song and the tinkle of teacups. The trains to London were full of happy crowds. The sun shone. Earth was fair and beautiful. Yet across the sea men were at each other's throats to capture a strip of land!

All day Monday crowds besiege the banks for gold, and women flock to the stores for provisions. Yet there is no visible excitement. It is all done so sanely, so sensibly To be prepared. . . The banks pay out no more gold. Only notes- An English golden sovereign is a mighty precious possession. "You never can tell."

Everywhere are big eye-piercing posters. Germany is writ bold. The Kaiser's name as big and black as he deserves. Hawkers of papers invade every street, shouting hoarsely: "Germany attacks Luxemburg." They cry the latest news ; just a snippet of it to tingle your interest. Windows are raised, doors fly open, men, mistresses and maids rush into the street and fling their pennies for war news.

Hotels and restaurants are decimated. London's chefs and waiters—mainly Germans, Belgians, French, and Italianshave been called back to fight for their country. . . The big drapery shops look strangely empty. There are few purchasers and fewer clerks. . . Little we realised that that slender, blackmoußtached Frenchman at Self ridge's silk counter, who only yesterday amiably sent a trifling yard of taffeta to our flat, would next day abruptly stop measuring soft silks and courageously face, in Belgium, the exciting horrors of war : would lay down his yard-stick to shoulder his musket.

Much-medalled commissionaires at swell hotels, porters at mansions, and guards at galleries grow suddenly great in a night! They are army reservists— of them Fine fellows, usefully decorative in times of peace, splendidly experienced in times of war.

Americans by the thousands flock from the Continent. It is difncult for them to get across. They leave bag and baggage, end perhaps slices of their accent and enthusiasm to seek sanctuary in " good old England."

We met such a one in the lounge of a London hotel. He was jovial and expansive in his security. He narrated how he had come .over from Paris with his wife and had travelled by the Havre route to avoid the crush. After strenuous efforts and much discomfort they embarked for Southampton. Then half-way across the Channel their ship was signalled by an English gunboat to stop! . . The captain, for some uuaccountable reason, did not immediately obey. . . Within a minute a shot whizzed across his bows ! The American concluded his story by saying : "Great guns, gentlemen! I "take off my hat to you Britishers. Say, the way your fleet is tackling the proposition of defending- the English Channel is magnificent. It s being done some, I can tell you. . . Why you couldn't get a toothpick across that Channel without an order from the Admiralty!"

All day Tuesday the atmosphere was surcharged with an intensity acutely oppressive, that pent-up feeling that women express when they say : "I'll scream if you sneeze!" . . No one sneezed or screamed, but everyone knew that matters grave and ominous were throbbing to a climax. . . Minerva was cautiously tightening her belt, freeing her arms, stretching her limbs, throwing up her head and looking with brooding brows over fair England.

I The populace goes gravely about its ! business : a little smarter of step, a little ' stiffer of back, and a little more earnest •of -countenance. Everyone feels that -war is inevitable. England's honour is at Btak'iJ: England's prestige threatened. Her Wailing sense of justice rises strong and steady. But she is, as always, slow, steady, .sane, dependable. ... The night of August 4 closes in. A memorable, night. We go by crowded 'bus to Trafalgar Square, anc\ within five hundred yards of it hear, for'the first time, "the tumult and the shouting of the people." The hase of Nelson's Monument is a living, cheering pyramid of people. Young men who wave flags and sing exultant songs, that float up and swell to the finale of " Britons, never", never, never shall be slaves." There Are thousands perching or\ the Landseer Lions and surging through the streets. No '''mafficking," no musichall sham patriotism frothing for the fun and the excitement of it; but a spontaneous, healthy outburst of pure loyalty to King and count.}'. Pedlars sell little tmion Jacks and the French tricolour. The stirring strains of the '' Marseillaise " m'-ngle lustily with '•Rule Britannia." If is a whole-souled, exuhant enthusiasm thst forms into pro-cp-iiois and spreads itsekf in unintoxicaled baitalions through the streets. Wo follow up" to Westminster, past No. 10, Downing Street 'iiarc- in a quiet, sombre building th- Tea 1 . _ organising machinery of the E»-' : iv; is working silently; sending subconsciously its waves of sympathy to the thousands of enthnsio.sts below and beyond. ) Westminster sleeps in tjhe moonlight. Above its lace-like stone /pinnacles and behind its noble turrets ;j 'single star points the heavens. Every (detail of this superb pile looms in the ligW- Ci ' sinks i*°

the billowy blue of the night. From under the dial of Big Ben, with the cool night wind in our faces, we look upon the most beautiful and most wonderful sight to be seen in any city in the world —Westminster—and all it signifies in England's history, with the silver moon over it, is beautiful, beautiful almost to ecstasy. A beauty that to-night is almost a pain.

We turn away. Humanity spreads itself on every side, and yet how puny'. Carried by an unconscious impulse, by the spirit of the people, and moved onward by a vague restless impetus of patriotism, we follow up the Mall towards the noble memorial of Queen Victoria. A monumental marble pile of frozen moral significance. a

Before, around, about and beyond it, stretching down the Mall to King Edward's Arch, an immense concourse is gathered. Electric lights glow with white radiance; the leaves of trees gleam and rustle; motors, overladen, flash past; crowds march in two columns up and down; flags are flaunted; songs, shouts, and laughter mingle ; the air is murmurous with sounds like the swarming of bees. They do swarm, these restless human bees : till Buckingham Palace is surrounded by a dense mass of them. They wait. They raise their voices in patriotic song. Swelling higher and higher, the voices of his people reach their King. A window opens wide above the balcony. The King, the Queen, the Prince of Wales stand high. A mighty roar from 100,000 throats greets them. Thev stand very still. Very* dramatic. As the last note ends stronc on "Britons never, never, never shall be" slaves," the King and Queen wave their hands. They disappear from the balcony. The people are satisfied. The link between them and their Sovereigns has been so cemented.

'■Good-night, George!" cries a workingman behind us-

New York is with you !" calls a dresssuited American.

At that moment—midnight-England declared war with Germany. The Kaiser's big stick of brutal force lias crossed the invincible sword of the Defender of the Faith. Against this Holienzollern Napoleon, striking ruthlessly to Germanise Europe by plunging seven nations into the most cruel and unjust war the world has ever suffered, there rises a united England, with Ireland's loyal whole-hearted help, presenting to the despotic enemy a solid, resolute and mighty front.

It is civilisation against despotism. Liberty against autocracy : the welfare of mankind against the tyranny of the oppressor. . . May Bight be our Might.