THE STONE WALLS OF ENGLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3160, 7 October 1914, Page 74

THE STONE WALLS OF ENGLAND.

POWER AND SILENCE. (Specially Written for the Otago Witness.) By Thos. J. Pemberton. In New Zealand we know all that is worth while knowing of our country and our people. We have not yet been forced to mind our own business. England has. Each man is a specialist—a specialist in a branch of statecraft or commerce, a specialist in amusing himself or boring himself. In a word, he minds his own business. The visitor from overseas starts out by seeing more of London and England—two distinct countries, by the way—than the average Londoner or Englishman will ever see, and then in sheer exhaustion he becomes a specialist. At first he tries to read all the great newspapers of the metropolis, and finds that more than half his day has gone long before half his task is accomplished. Gradually he steels himself to set out on his day’s pleasures or duties with a sadly deficient knowledge of the great doings of yesterday and a still greater ignorance of what is to happen to-day. He takes his cue from the newspapers themselves, whose policy is, not to chronicle events, but to publish such news as will interest the public most. Thus in The Times to-day, of the 45 news columns published 36 deal exclusively with the war, eight with commercial and financial subjects, and the remaining column is taken up with shipping and tne Court Circular. Less than a fortnight ago every Englishman was behind his stone wall minding his own business. Nothing but a miracle could have prevented civil war, but from the point of view of the colonial visitor it seemed that even such a deplorable contingency as that was not enough to rouse the people to more than a languid interest. Ireland and its troubles were too far away t-o make any difference to the life of the Londoner, and Home Rule was a question for Westminster and the Irish themselves to solve. One cannot help being impressed with the exquisite beauty of some of the London suburbs and of the outskirts of the provincial towns, but everywhere the ivy-mantled stone walls stand as emblems of specialisation. The curious colonial is mystified by stone walls. Possibly if he were allowed to scale them he would find within no one more stimulating than an elderly lady with a certain income and circumscribed interests, or a business man who has spent the greater part of half a century in faithful service with a respectable commercial firm. But the curious colonial suspects more. He fancies he may find within someone who has merited the exclusiveness of the lofty wails, someone whose noble birth and greatness of soul demands the strictest isolation from the common race of men. But the walls mean only one thing : “ We mind our own business, kindly mind yours.” Englishmen have long since given, up knowing one another, for the simple reason that there are too many to know. And the more they hide their actions bebehind the ivy and the stones the less they see of the world beyond. This state of things is not brought about so much by the inherent insularity of the people as by the mere physical- necessity of protecting oneself against the crowding millions. The mental attitude is only a reflex of the physical. Thus the average man, through force of circumstance, carries his ignorance with equanimity. He knows that the affairs of the Empire are being attended to by specialists, and he trusts them. He pays heavily for the privilege of specialising in his domestic affairs, and he is justified in the attitude he takes. up. On Thursday, July 23, the great battleships of England, ordered by the specialists in London, began silently to take up their allotted positions in the narrow strait that separates the Isle of Wight from the south coast of England. Throughout Friday the same silent process went on, and on Saturday morning more than 200 vessels were in the lines stretching over nearly 40 miles, and the officers and men afloat numbered over 70,000. This was the largest fleet ever gathered together at Spithead. Here was England’s greatness massed in a few square miles. As we sailed through the ordered lines that morning we passed within a hundred yards of the dreadnought New Zealand. The memory of the wave of pride and patriotism that swept over our land when 15 months ago this engine of war was in our waters came back to mind, and I realised how difficult it must be for an Englishman who has not been beyond his own country to think imperially. What was one battle-cruiser among 200 ships! This greatest naval review the world has ever seen was not heralded by blare of trumpet nor startling headlines in the newspapers. It had received publicity enough to cause an increase in the number of holiday-makers at the neighbouring watering places, but there was no abnormal congestion of sight-seers. It was not intended for the pleasure of the public, but the public found some interest when the Royal yacht passed down the lines and each vessel with guns and flags did honour to the King. Overhead the airships poised awhile and the hydroplanes kept their line. King George afterwards sent forth the message: “I am proud of my navy.” The people who looked on at that review must one and all have thought no Power of Europe could possibly be so mad, so

suicidal, as to provoke that aggregation of might to warlike action. On that Saturday evening I stood on the pier at Ryde beside a young German studenh He belonged to a German artillery regiment. We joked and we talked of war, of the German fleet as compared with that spread out before us. Then as if news had come that the sky itself had burst into flames and orders had been issued for the immediate quenching of the conflagration, hundreds of columns of light, as though pouring forth from giant hose pipes, played upon the clouds. They swept from side to side and intermingled. The lurid columns then swept downward and illuminated the sea and shores for miles around. Portsmouth, Southsea, Ryde, and Seaview were lighted up as though the night had passed. For an hour the searchlights played upon the sea and clouds, upon the island and the mainland. Then as suddenly as they had flashed into being they as suddenly Avent out. This was the only concession to the nublic. The young German and I returned to our boarding-house to play billiards and think no more of war. A few days later I said good-bye to a very charming friend, and before a week had passed he had been recalled to do battle against England, the country he loved so well. The great ships lay silently at anchor throughout Sunday, but on the Monday morning they quietly passed out to sea, a grim procession extending for 30 miles. Where they are now none hut those in authority know. Looking through the window from the room Avhere I write I can see across a lawn the walls of a girls’ school. It has been taken over by the War Office to servh as a hospital. It is one of hundreds that are to be converted into soldiers’ and sailors’ hospitals. At any moment we may hear of a great naval engagement, and then the horrors of Avar will be brought to our doors. At present the calmness of England, the iron selfcontrol of the people, is a thing to be held in reverence. England failed to realise the seriousness of the position at the beginning of the South African war Such a mistake will never be made again. Authentic iisavs is scarce, but it is said that on the Friday before war was declared there Avere 30,000 soldiers at W T oolAvich. The following day they had gone. For 0A r er a week troops have been quietly arriving at the barracks here at Exeter, A few hours later, or it may be a day or two, they as quietly disappear. There is just a tramp, tramp doAvn the street to the railway station, and in a few minutes another feAV hundred men have gone—nobody knoAvs Avhere. Not even the men. thcipselves knoAv their destination. The silence and the secrecy are thrilling. There is no cheering, there are no goodbyes in public; the patriotism is too deep for demonstration. All day long horses led by their owners or by men in uniform pass up the street to be inspected by the officials of the War Ofiice. Another lesson has been learned from the South African Avar. This time no private firms will make fortunes by trafficking in remounts, for the War Office has determined to do its oavia buying. Order, silence, and despatch seem to be the keynotes of the mobilisation. In London, hoAvever, the excitement is greater and more evident. The atmosphere is charged Avith Avar, and soldiers are to be seen everyAvhere. At last a force has been found great enough to make the people one in heart, one in thought. Outside Buckingham Palace a feAV nights ago there were gathered together a crowd that under ordinary conditions would consist of thousands of units, each thinking his oavh thoughts and minding his own business. All sorts and conditions of people were there, some in rags, some in evening dress. The barriers of class AA'ere thrown aside and all talked together Avithout restraint. It Avas an extraordinary sight for London. The stone walls had disappeared, and they realised they had a common King and a common cause. It Avas the brotherhood of war. Suddenly, as the strains of the National Anthem Avere issuing from many thousand throats, there was a great blaze of light from one of the windoAVs of the Palace, a door was flung open, and the King and Queen and the Royal family appeared on the balcony. A moment later the dense crowd broke into the brotherly strains of “ He’s a jolly good fellow.” But such scenes as these are not of daily occurrence. It is a silent patriotism that is in evidence. Thousands are responding to Earl Kitchener’s call to arms, and the Avork of Avar goes on Avith a grim, swift earnestness that calls for no windy demonstration. Last Sunday the streets of London were almost empty. It Avas the quietest day registered in the great metropolis this year, and such a record is not to be forgotten. In the public parks the bands played as usual, and thousands of people occupied the seats about the stands. Everything was orderly. There was absolutely nothing to show that we had entered upon a Avar that will be the greatest the Avorld has seen. But there only one subject that occupied the thoughts of those orderly crowds. It Avas Avar. In every church in England last Sunday the people prayed Avith an earnestness that has never been known for centuries. There Avas one thought that prompted ‘ those prayers. It Avas Avar. England is showing her unity and poAver, and she shoAvs it in splendid silence.