England's Fateful Friday

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23489, 28 October 1939, Page 6 (Supplement)

England's Fateful Friday

How London Spent the Period of Waiting

By CHRISTINE COMBER

THE day began with the "News"—as every day began and ended during that week of agonising suspense —began, that is to say, with the report that Germany had invaded Poland and that Britain and France were about to be called upon to carry out their treaty obligations. In the trains and buses were men and women with grave, faces, trying to carry on cheerful conversations as if the foundations of domestic secunty were not crumbling beneath their feet. Almost everyone had a paper, or two or three papers, which their neighbours were reading over then shoulders with no effort at concealment. „ I walked to tho city by way of Kensington Gardens and Hyde P ar ' c : Nursemaids wheeling prams passed down the long avenues ot trees, women freed their diminutive town-bred dogs from tho leash and sat on chairs watching their gambols with the infatuated eye of the London dog-owner. Here and there children chased one another over the grass. Nowhere in the long vistas of green foliage and 6 ree turf was there a single sign of the pall that was hanging over the Ut> of London and over the heart of eveij man and woman whose fate lay on the knees of the Great Powers. Suddenly the peace was shattered, and all tho doubts and fears came crowding back as one came upon the men in the parks filling gigantic balloons- for tho anti-aircraft barrage, lhe trenches, begun in the September crisis and made permanent in recent months, were open in case_ of emergency, and everywhere official notices offered instruction and advice. lhe underground electric train system was closed to the public between the hours of 8 a.m. and 5.30 p.m. for the evacuation of the schoolchildren, cripples, expectant mothers and the blind. lhe inevitable crowds gathered where guns were set up, trenches dug, sandbags filled; but there was little talk and no excitement, only occasionally there was humour that was harder to bear than tears. Keep Calm —and Dig In private squares and gardens, householders were obeying the advice of a newspaper bill-board: "Keep Calm —and Dig." One old lady over 70 was plying a busy spade. She said her house was bombed during the last war, and she didn't mean to be caught napping a second time. But most of the women, aided or hindered by excited children, were in their own homes, preparing a gas-proof room. Bulging shopping-kits suggested that some were already laying in stores against the threatened rationing. Elsewhere —on buildings, windows, telegraph poles, fences— A.R.P. posters reiterated their warnings should an air raid occur, and urged everyone to take a gas-mask with him wherever ho went. Children playing on the commons or public parks had theirs in boxes round their necks. There were posters, too, calling for yet more' volunteers —air-wardens, women ambulance drivers, decontam-

that only a thin cross of green or red showed through. Kerbstones and the trees along park roads were painted white. Jll Trafalgar Square people were feeding the thousands of pigeons as quietly as if they had not heard the dread news that might well be the prelude to the bombing of their own beautiful and historic capital. So normal was the scene that every moment one expected to wake in bed and find that it had all been a ghastly nightmare. Along Fleet Street the newspaper, offices that exhibited a largo map of Europe never failed to attract a group of passers-by. But in Lower Regent Street the offices of the German Kailways were deserted. Down in Whitehall the streets were lined with tense, silent citizens, waiting for a glimpse of the Cabinet Ministers, who they frequently mistook for each other in a way that would have been hilariously funny on any less momentous day. In Whitehall a passer-by said loudly, "I haven't read this book of Hitler's, 'My Cramp,' or whatever it's called." At the . railway stations where the children were lined up in thousands for evacuation, trains were leaving full to capacity. On all roads out of London ii steady stream of cars, taxis and lorries conveyed women and children to safer areas, and judging from the quantity of luggage that was piled on them the owners were prepared for a long absence. An impetus was given to the outward rush by the fact that to expedite the exodus nine roads had been made available entirely to outgoing traffic, as well as by the knowledge that all remaining in London who would have to be removed when the time came would have no choice of destination, and would be permitted to take only light hand baggage. Shipping offices' were besieged by Americans, anxious to shake off the dust of England, though most of them had already gone earlier in the week in obedience to their Consul's warn-

Awakening You looked beyond the ritier And saw the lonely meadows bare with winter; The tall sharp fingers of the pines That leaned upon the tired earth; trees That lifted Weary limbs to a leaden sky. You saw the rushing rioulets oj rain That scurried down the hillside; arid the wind Came from the sea, cold with the sting of spray, in the winter dawn; and you cried Because you said that hope Was dead. I touched your hand, and pointed To the eastern sky, where the winter sun Came creeping from the sea; and lot A thousand wandering shafts of light Lit on the restless grasses of the hill And Warmed the bare dead branches of the trees With fragrant wine. All the land awoke r, And shed its sleeping mantle to the day. You cried no more —but gazed upon The sunrise, till your very heart awoke And went out singing to the Winter dawn Renewed with hope . . . —Desiree A. N. Frain

ing. In Australia House a woman asked me, "Aren't you going to the country}' 1 would, but I'm sailing in three days." Another interrupted, "We may not be able to get away." The first pondered over that for a moment. "Oh, well," she said cheerfully, "1 suppose i can eat margarine witii the rest at a pinch" In New Zealand House the spirit was much the same—mingled anxiety uneasiness and perfect self-control. Everywhere soldiers in uniform were hastening to obey their mobilisation orders and join their regiment. All eyes saddened as they passed. "Blacking-Out" Measures To-night London is under a pall of unbelievably black darkness. Street lights are extinguished; dim side and rear lights alone mark the passage ol cars. Windows and doors give forth no gleam of light, save for a split second when a householder emerges to view tho success of his labours. " 'Ere, muni, sling a dab of black paint along the bottom of Tom's window. An' the bathroom shows a chink, too." The door closes, the offending spots are covered, and silence falls once more over a street that seems so much more silent for the unaccustomed blackness. From time to time the air warden's knock brings information or warning that tho lights are not properly obscured. The penalty for failing to obey the regulations is a heavy fine, imprisonment, or both. In tho houses all kinds of temporary expedients have been resorted to, owing to the suddenness of the emergency and tho shortage in tho shops of "black-out" materials. Sacks, oilcloth, old clothes, blankets, mattresses and newspapers have been tacked over window-panes till heavy black curtains can bo purchased. Whole newspapers havo been pinned round the electric light, so that only a sepulchral glimmer relieves tho gloom.. Buckets full of sand stand in the halls in readiness for dealing with incendiary bombs. Baths are brimming with water lest the' mains should bo interfered with. Tho. windows are stuck criss-cross fashion with adhesive tape to prevent splinters flying in a raid. Gas-masks wait on tables by the bed-sides in readiness for a night attack. It is exactly midnight. Even as 1 prepare for bed .1 wonder if the raiders are already on the way bringiug death and destruction to these shores. And for the first timo I realise the full significance .of the rcmai;k made to me only a fortnight ago in Bruges by a widow of the last war. "You in tho colonies overseas knew nothing about the war. It wasn't on your own soil, levelling your houses, maiming your children, killing your friends. You didn't live in constant danger from bombardment night and dav, terrified to let your children out of your sight for fear you would never see them again. For us in Belgium it was like that for four years, and in another war it would likely to bo so again, God help us all.'' To-night, in London, we echo her prayer, "God help us all."