RHEIMS TO-DAY.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 20292, 28 December 1927, Page 5

RHEIMS TO-DAY.

LAND OF CHAMPAGNE. REBUILDING OF THE CITY. FIRM AND ITS WORKERS. Written for the Otago Daily Times. By Mrs Malcolm Ross. Champagne—the word conjures up such scenes of gaiety and joy of life that it is difficult to associate tragedy with it. And yet, in Rheims, its birthplace, the aftermath of war is still being gathered with tears, and the beautiful city is mostly a sorrowful memory. Through the kindness of the owners of the champagne factory, I was asked to spend a day at Rheims, and it was a never-to-be-forgot-ten experience.

My journey from Paris—about two hours—was brightened by the talk of four business men. The conversation never flagged and grew at times so fiercely argumentative that I feared for blows. One man, little, round, ruddy-cheeked, with a countenance that expressed the whole gamut of emotions and with hands never still, as eloquent as his face, was a Niagara of talk. I found he was as indignant about Bolshevism as about the dust in the railway carriage, and his gestures reminded me of the story of the Frenchman who, told to take the telephone in one hand and the receiver in the other, said despairingly: “ How can I talk without my hands? ’ He declared, through a kindly interpreter, that he knew me well and had often travelled with me. I assured him he was wrong and that I was a New Zealander, whereupon he asked me did I like the English! When I said, with pride. I was English, his friend roared with laughter at his faux pas. But he was not to be suppressed. The lady I was like was charming—he was a true Frenchman—and she spoke no French, but they were great friends—“ smiles not words,” he said with a chuckle. On parting at Rheims they all bowed profoundly and wished me bon voyage, the fat one telling me he was a true type of a Frenchman, talkative and quarrelsome ! A GERMAN AGENT. A fine motor car was wailing and I was greeted by a charming person who was to be my guide and mentor for the day. He had been born in Rheims, and so knew it well and loved it much. With him were two other men, one being handsome and immaculately dressed, with the air of a soldier. On our way I asked him if the Germans had done irreparable damage to Rheims, and he rather stiffly answered “ Yes.” When they left us, my guide told me they were Germans, the tall one an aristocrat and an officer who, after the war, had become an agent of the company, and who only last year had requested that he should be addressed by his title. One wonders what his feelings were when he saw the ruing of the beautiful city, and realised he was making his living from the company whose fine buildings German shells had completely destroyed. The Germans, before they took the city, shelled it mercilessly, killing many civilians and levelling most of the large buildings. No fewer than 400 shells struck the cathedral, though the Germans were assured no French observer was stationed in the towers. The old bishop —B2 years old—was always in and out of his loved sanctuary, and his own beautiful palace was reduced to a heap of ruins It was a time of terror, and one tragic tale, among many, is told. There were many expectant mothers at Rheims, and it was thought wise to gather - theny together—regardless of class—in a hospital. There their babies were born. It was found the shells .were falling so near that the rooms were unsafe, and they took refuge in the cellars, the brave nurses carrying the babies and helping the weak mothers. Even there is was not safe, for some were killed. But the terrible point was that the mothers did not afterwards recognise their own children —for some new-born babes were just swaddled in anything htmdy, and five babies were killed. To this day some Rheims mothers believe their children have been handed to strangers, and some think that perhaps the little son or daughter is not of their kin, while others mourn for children who may be still alive and with strangers. RETURNING GLORY. Even in ruins, Rheims Cathedral is wonderful, and its facade is a glory of handiwork—such handiwork as men did not gain but for God. One lovely figure, the Smiling Angel, was broken into maay pieces, but loving skill has made net whole, and she ia again in her place, looking tenderly at those —so many in black—who enter. When the Gerprans took the town they brought thousands of wounded, and among other places they put them on straw in the cathedral. When their troops were forced to retreat they, of course, left behind the wounded Shells again fell in the town, and one struck the cathedral, setting fire to the straw. The old with a brave volunteer force, managed to drag out halt the poor soldiers, but the other half had to be left to their fate—death from thei r own shells. New buildings have sprung up Phoenix like from the ruins the Germans left of the factory, and Nature has done her best, too, for already young trees —all autumn bronze and gold—are taking the place of the beautiful woods and gardens The arrangements made for the comfort and health of the employees are wonder ful, and one is not surprised to learn that there is no labour trouble here -no strikes and no discontent—and that men live and die in the service. There is a park for pleasure—lovely stretches of grass and clusters of fine trees, a stadium, courts for lawn tennis, a football ground, and a swimming bath. This firm has established an old age pensions fund, a benefit society for sick and wounded workmen, and gives grants to large families and. most deserving cases so it is not astonishing there is no discontent. At the age of 60 a man may retire, if he choses. on a pension; but he may still work if he is fit. Before the' war 500 hands were employed, but now, owing to the improved machinery in the new buildings. 300 do the work. LESSON IN MANNERS. La Veuve Pommery must have been a very notable perstyi judging from the fine bust —resolute, calm, and strong—in one of the rooms, and also from the tales one hears of her. She once went to London to the office of the company, and was received by a small boy, who was extremely casual and indifferent, not knowing the importance of the visitor. She sent word later for “ the Toggle eyed lad ” to be sent to Rheims, where he would be taught manners, and his education was so successful that he attained a high position in the factory and enjoyed his life so well that he only died when, instead of his three bottles ol champagne a day, he had to take a course of mineral waters. The widow’s daughter married the Marquis de Polignac, but there is still a Veuve Pommery, widow of the dead sonThe marquis is a great sportsman, md takes a very practical interest in the factory. During a lull in the war he ’ame from Paris to see what damage had oeen done. The electric light had been destroped but by candle-light he made nis way, with two companions, down the great steep steps to the vaults. Passing along the dark avenues, he saw a figure coming towards him. It was a French officer who had sheltered with his troops in the vaults, and drank well but not wisely, and had been left behind when the soldiers, not knowing he was there, went again into the furhtinEr line. Ho had wakened to find all dark. and. bewildered and famished, had wandered about for days, and had it not been for the visit of the marquis he would have died there. During the occupation by the Germans a high officer desired to see the vaults, but lie only went a little way down and turned back, th? eerie darkness and the possibility of an ambush assuring him discretion wag the better part of valour.

AN ANNUAL BANQUET. Even athletic instructors —men and ■women —under control of medical men, are provided by th® firm. The Marquis de Polignac, head of the firm, belongs to a society quite apart from the company that never has more than 100 members. He arranged its annual banquet in one of th e large new rooms, and central heating was installed for thg occasion. Before eacu guest was placed a little glass barrel, full of the finest champagne which could be drawn from a silver tap 1 These vaults are all Roman chalk-pits from which they got the material for their homes. From the same the houses of Rheims are still made. It is so soft one can scratch it, and here and there are large carved panels all connected with the worship of Bacchus, dimly seen in the electric light. The caves are 100 ft deep, and there are 10 miles of avenues. During the war it was the last stronghold to be defended, and sheltered civilians and soldiers resting One walks through dusky avenues of champagne bottles on racks, each rack numbered and each avenue named. Before the war, among the names—all of various countries or towns—there were two of German towns, hut they were erased and the names of tw T o ' famous French generals fill their place. One would not think champagne, so delicately golden, was made mostly from black grapes. There are three classes of wine, the first made from the whole grape, the second from the skins, and the third from the residue, including the crushed pips. With such abundance of wine, the workmen need to withstand temptation, but one is assured there is no trouble at all from drunkenness. Each employee is given a glass of champagne at midday, and in the morning, on arrival, he gets, if he wishes, two bottles of vin ordinaire If he does not wish both, he gets the value of one in money, and very few take the two. One is impressed with the cheerful look of the workers. There is no congestion, for the space is wide where each operation is carried out, and there is no deafening noise of machinery. Far down as we are, the air is cool arid fi’esh, air coming in from openings above. From the crest of the hill on which the buildings stand there is a wonderful view, the great cathedral rising above the cluster of roofs. Beyond stretch the rich plains to the blue mountains. WEAVERS GONE SOUTH. Before the war Rheims had a great woo! industry, but it is now gone, and the weavers have trekked south. But the peasants are returning to their little farms and trying with magnificent courage to take up their lives again. Their work is fraught with infinite danger, for every week some disaster from a live shell—turned up, perhaps, by a plough—takes place. We motored out a little way from the town to see two villages. The first was entirely new ; the second ruined and deserted, only the foundations of the cottages and the broken stone walls, overgrown already with grasses and blackberries, showing where love and life and work . had been. A broken child’s cart lay among the debris, and some shattered fruit trees showed a few scarlet and bronze leaves. Coming back, we halted and went over the trenches where there had been such fierce fighting. It was a ghastly Tom Tiddler’s ground treasure-trove sinister and terrible. Every foot bore witness of war—bits of cartridge cases, bones, drinking cups —mpre than once a hurried warning from our guide made us stop; in turning over a shell which might have been ahve. One could walk along the trenches for a mile, unseen from a little distance off, so deep they were. But already they are falling in and overgrown with coarse weeds and grass, here and there a crimson moss showing like patches of blood among the dull green and grey. Desolate and dreary is the place of this tragic and glorious struggle that turned a smiling country into a ghastly wilderness. But such was the gallant spirit of the peasants that though their vineyards were furrowed by trenches, their kindred killed, and their houses burnt, as soon as the enemy was gone they came back, camped out among the ruins of their homes, and put in order as far as possible the remnants of their vines. It is marvellous to learn that in 1920 an excellent vintage was gained, and the work again in full swing. One leaves Rheims, beautiful even in its tragedy, with fervent admiration, not only for the magnificent courage and patriotism of the townsfolk, but for the gallant determination of the peasants, who, as Kipling says, have had to watch the things they ghye their life to, broken, and stop and build them up again with worn-out tools.