BITTER SWEET.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19792, 12 November 1927, Page 1 (Supplement)

BITTER SWEET.

BY E.F.

ARMISTICE DAY IN BRUSSELS,

A strange thrill of excitement came over us as my little friend and I stepped out of the hotel and made our way into the crowded streets of Brussels. There was a feeling of expectancy in tho air. Mon and women, looking very large and burly, muffled to the ears in their heavy coats and wraps, came hurrying from side streets and market place. Stray little milk carts, drawn by dogs, jolted along over the cobblestones, pushing their way through the crowd. Schoolchildren, with their tight-fitting caps and mufflers, squeezed their little bodies through the swaying forest of grown-ups and took their place in the front rank of the gathering multitude. We, too, edged our way through the jostling crowd and found a place among that throng. Busy gendarmes bustled to and fro, keeping the centre of the street clear for the procession, and important officials stood in groups talking excitedly and issuing orders. A piercing wind of bitter cold blew down the street straight from the North Sea, and we clung closely together in our effort to keep ourselves warm.

There was a stir among the seething crowds of people, and we strained our necks to see what was happening. Away in the distance the streets looked like the thinnest thread of grey between the solid walls of people. The Marching Men.

The murmur of the crowd rose and fell like the swell of the incoming tide; louder and still louder it became, and the excitement grew more tense as far away on that grey thread of road a movement was seen. There was something creeping gradually nearer and nearer down that grey thread. The "something" began to take form, and the excitement was intense.

"They are coming," said my little friend, clutching my arm more closely; and we listened with bated breath as, away from the distance, came the sound of martial music, the tramp, tramp of marching feet gradually getting louder and louder as the procession drew near. The noise of the surging crowd sank into a subdued murmur and it was with mingled feelings that we gazed at the marching men, %>r this was no ordinary occasion of military display. These men, marching so steadily forward,' thought little of the glory of all the fine accoutrements of war—of immaculate uniform, flashing steel and glinting buckles.

Some there were who looked brave and fine in the imposing uniform of their nation; but our eyes were drawn to those who walked in mufti, to that long, long trail of the thousands of men who had served their country so faithfully and well. They all looked solemn and sad as they strode along, their thoughts away from the present with their comrades who had fallen. They had come into clutch with, the grim realities of life, and these are not easily forgotten. The crowd' cheered as they passed, but it was a cheer •with a lutop in the throat! Then catrie the hospital men in ambulance and motor-car. As they passed, gome so crippled and some so wan and pathetic in their weakness, the cheers grew louder and louder, and above them all were heard the shrill, high voices of the children as they waved their flags and shouted, "Vivent les invalides! Vivent les invalides!" They passed, and, following in their trail, came gun carriages with their burden of wreaths and floral tributes to be laid on the tomb of the "Unknown Soldier" at the foot of the Colonne du Congres. Later in the day we stole up to the Place du Congres to pay our tribute to the brave "Unknown One." A sentry paced at the head and another at the foot of that lone grave, covered with its sweet flowers of memory. Sad mourners still lingered wistfully, thinking of the one who had gone from them so bravely never to return.

The cold wind whistled round the square, and we turned silently away, saddened to think that

Things like this.must always be After a famous victory. Laughing Merrymakers. The chill November ovening closed in early and darkness fell over the ancient city. Wo felt depressed with the events of the day: the ghosts of bygone days had been with us and our thoughts were full of the dear, absent ones. We settled oui'selves down for a quiet evening of letter writing. But, bark! What was it we heard ? It was not the dirge of mournful music that fell on our ear, but the sound of gay pipe and band—the shouting and laughter of excited merrymakers !

Quickly we hurried into the street and gazed in wonder at the change of scene. Little groups of youths and maidens came inarching down the street, some dressed in the national peasant dress, some clad as harvesters with sheaves of corn around their heads, some masquerading as Red Indians, and others arrayed in the weird dress of barbarous lands. Small bands with whistles, drums and mouth organs, playing gay little popular airs, led them as they marched. The street was again thronged with people, but in what a different mood fi-om that of the morning! The whole city held carnival. With the true Continental temperament, the citizens had thrown off the grief and sorrow of the morning, with its sad memories, and had given themselves up to the gay abandonment of rejoicing for the freedom of their city from its nightmare of those four years of horror. Suffering Hot in Vain.

Before we realised it we were drawn into the crowd and were following with the others that wild, excited procession of young creatures. As they passed out of the stately street into "the. narrower side lanes and alleyways they threw off all feeling of restraint and broke into dancing. On and on they went, through highways and byways, sometimes passing through little passages allowing only for single filo and as they went the fun grew fast and furious.

The laughter and the music waxed gayer and still more gay, and the infection of the happiness of these gay young things spread like thistledown. Who could be sad when they were so gay ? As we crept home at a late hour to the quietness of our hotel a feeling of thankfulness came over us'that, after all, those four long bitter years had not beon in vain. They had made it possible that there should again be laughter and happiness in that fair and -ancient laud.