A GREAT MEMORIAL.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19608, 9 April 1927, Page 1 (Supplement)

A GREAT MEMORIAL.

KING'S SON PAYS HOMAGE

BY ELSIE st. MOST ON. Beside a great grey rock in Queenstown Gardens, silent, with bared head, the King's son paid homage to the illustrious dead. A few chains away, beside a dais all bright with flags and bunting, waited an eager crowd, impatient for another glimpse of the Royal guest whom all New Zealand had delighted to honour. The sound of a thousand voices, the lilt of band-music, came to the little group standing silently beside the grey memorial stpne, mingling with the murmur of waves on the shore .and rustle of wind in the trees. But for just one swift-passing moment, the Duke kept tryst with the dead, the immortal dead who, for the glory of the Empire, faced the white desolation of a world of ice and snow, and failed gloriously in one of the noblest ventures the world has ever known, the quest of the South Pole by Captain Scott and his herok: comrades . . . Another moment, and a sudden burst of cheering rang through the quiet lakeside garden. The King's son had returned to the people. ... A golden shaft of = light struck through the grey clouds on Ben Lomond, lighting up the words engraven on marble: "They rest in the great white silence of Antarctica, amid the scenes of their triumphs, wrapped in the winding sheet of the eternal snows. . Did they know, those men sleeping so quietly in a world of cold and darkness, that the King's son had turned for a moment, from scenes. of earthly

triumph and the acclamation of the crowds, to pay tribute to their deathless valour and unavailing sacrifice. . One thinks they always know. { By Lake and Mountain. No memorial in New Zealand has so fitting and beautiful a setting as this huge, lichen-covered rock that bears the

names of the heroes of the South Pole. It lies beneath the shadow of snow-crowned mountain peaks, gloriously white, aloof, bespeaking the wild grandeur, the unut'terable isilence of that vast frozen world that is the tomb of the great adventurers. The memorial stone lies at the end of a wide pathway leading through an avenue of fir trees and slender birches. On the afternoon of the Royal visit, the scene was one of rare and exquisite beauty. The late afternoon sun shone in fitful bursts of radiance from behind the windtossed clouds shrouding the heights of Queenstown's mighty sentinel, Ben Lomond. All the poplars and birches were touched with autumn's splendour, and little showers of bright leaves came drifting across the path, laying a thin trail of gold to the foot of the great grey stone. Bright against the dark foliage of the pines gleamed the green-gold leaves and scarlet- berries of the rowan trees, flaming orange of young maples, and the rich burnishing of copper and bronze that is autumn's garniture of the chestnut trees. Framed in narrowing perspective of golden birches lay Wakatipu, an azure

pathway rippled with silver, leading straight to the foot of the majestic, snowcrowned peaks on the opposite shore of the lake. A little chill wind came wafting down from Pen Lomond, chasing, the clouds across the sunset sky, cresting the waves with spray as they dashed on the narrow shingle beach. . .• But it was very quiet up there by the memorial; steadfast, immovable, stood the great grey rock, strong as the faith, the hope and indomitable courage of those whose passing it commemmorates. " Under the Shadow ol the Cross." The Scott Memorial bears two marble tablets, surmounted by five marble stars affixed to the rock, symbolising the Southern Cross. One tablet bears the followv ing inscription: " Erected with funds collected by the Senior Cadets to commemmorate the patient, stubborn, invincible courage, the' loyal comradeship and brilliant achievement of Captain Robert Falcon Scott, Dr. E. A. Wilson, Captain L. G. Oates, Lieutenant H. R, Bowers, Petty Officer Edgar who reached the South Pole on January 17, 1912, and perished on the return journey. . . They rest in the great white silence of Antarctica, wrapped in the winding sheets of the eternal snows. . . . Sub Umbra Crucis." (Under the shadow of the cross.") On another tablet is graven part of the last message written in the dead hero's diary. " For my own sake, Ido not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardship, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks—we knew we took them. Things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause of complaint but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last. Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman. " These rough notes, and our dead bodies, must tell the tale." At Nightfall. The sound of cheering ceased. The Duke had passed on his way, and all the paths from Queenstown Gardens were tiironged with the departing crowd. The gold faded from the western sky, the blue lake turned to steely grey. Across the birch groves- and the great grey stone fell silently the shadows of the long southern twilight. Soon '.ho gardens, so lately filled with life and movement, were deserted. Deep and beautiful was the silence that fell as the little waves were hushed and the breeue was borne away on the wings of departing day. A tiny star pricked tin curtain of night with point of gold, another* and another. . . . the Southern Cross, glittering symbol of that cold white land where -the heroes lay sleeping. " Under the shadow of the cross." No other words could have formed so noble, so fitting an epitaph. Through the shadow of suffering and hardship, of heartbreaking, striving and lonely death, to the heights of glory. The passing of the heroes will be remembered as long as the race endures, an inspiration to every brave heart that greatly longs and greatly dares. Theirs was not the passing of war-

time's heroes, theirs not the glory of the nation's valiant dead, yet they too knew the desperate hazards of battle, theirs no less the burden of suffering, the strong will to endure even unto the end. They suffered as only the bravest can suffer, No ordeal by steel and fire was theirs, but the agonising test of uttermost cold, of hunger, loneliness, and physical pain that would have racked 'the strongest heart. They passed through the bitter-

ness of seeming defeat, and yet they went brave-hearted, undaunted, into the great white silence of death, knowing not even if their last resting place would ever be found or their story made known to England.

Jn the deaths, no less than'in the lives of men such as these, lies the great epic of life that unfolds itself in the highest traditions of our race, in the stones of the d&athless ones who have passed through tribulation into the shining hosts of the immortals.