"...That Their Names Be Not Forgotten"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21781, 21 April 1934, Page 4 (Supplement)

"...That Their Names Be Not Forgotten"

THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. i iTi iiiiiiiTi niTiTiTi i i*i i if> mmin n niin 11 ii'n 11 ull i i«1111»1111111111111111111111111»11111 111»»11 " They whom the inscriptions upon these walls commemorate are those . . . who at the call of King and country, left all that icas dear to them, endured hardness, faced darner and finally passed out of the sight of men by the path of duty and self-sacrifice, (jiving their lives that others might live in freedom. " LET THOSE WHO COME AFTER SEE TO IT THAT THEIR NAMES BE NOT FORGOTTEN» Beneath the inscription above the pillars of the Hall of Memories, in our War Memorial Museum, the flags fall in soft folds of colourful beauty: the dark leaves of the laurel wreaths stand out the white walls, and the rich gold of autumn sunshine strikes through the silent, sombre beauty of th holy shrine. But it is hard to see it all, for the eyes of the Anzac mourner are blind with sudden tear«, and in the heart is still the ache of that poignant sword-thrust that came with the first step behel d in t hat It was not the inscription, not the bright flags, nor the wreaths of glory, that the swift moment, but the names on the walls, row upon row, column upon column, right roundthe walls, graven in stone, the names of that great host of husbands, sons and brothers who would J®" n ' It seemed, as though for the first time, the immensity of their sacrifice were there revealed, not blazoned forth with the thunder of guns arid the ringing beauty of silver trumpets, but cried aloud to the innermost soul in the last eloquent appeal of the dead. that of a name graven in enduring stone name, and nothing more. In a few days' time the green fields and white-paved terraces will be th'ongedl with «' assembled to do honour to the memory of the men of Anzac. the living and the dead. There will be a clorv of flowers, piled in glowing masses, at the foot of the Cenotaph. The music of bands and the call of bugles will float out over the quiet hillside, splendid words'will be spoken, vows of everlasting remembrance renewed. But when the beautiful music and the singing are ended, when the last brave words of ®Pe«hmaking have died in the loudspeakers, and the flowers are drooping, a 8" at company of men will return to homes darkened with the shadow of poverty, suffering and dread of the future. These men who even now are paying in pain and bitterness of body, soul and spirit, the dread price ot war. Once a year we honour them with high-sounding words, and pay eloquent tribute to their patriotism . once a year. What of to-morrow, of all the to-morrows that will come and go before next Anzac Day? Will we have done anything more by next week, next month, next year, to lighten their burden and thus prove to them that we do honour them in deed as well as in word, that we are moved to grief by their sufferings, that we as a people are indeed bent on redeeming our promises to tho dead? Will we? Nearly twenty years have passed since the Anzac dead laid on us the sacred obligation of remembrance, a debt sealed in their own life-blood. Have we discharged it. are we still discharging it, to their honour and our own? Let the nations conscience, that of our rulers and of every one of us make answer I " LET .THOSE WHO COME AFTER SEE TO IT THAT THEIR NAMES BE NOT FORGOTTEN." E.K.M.