“ALIEN’S” LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3195, 9 June 1915, Page 71

“ALIEN’S” LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

THE easte; April 2. Quite a spirit of hope, if not of joy, j rang out with the Easter Bells. It was a soft April day of sunshine and mild airs, . and above tire bugle calls was the singing of the birds, for the English Easter is | the season of. Nature’s resurrection. . Nations may rise and fall, war succeed ■ peace, and peace be 'succeeded again by war, but the great festival of the spring triumphs over horror and death and . makes all things new in freshness and i beauty. 1 This time last year the greatest trouble j that England had was the women s de- i mand for the vote and the threatened civil war in Ireland. This year the worm is shaken to its centre by the greatest war the world has ever known; but in this season of religious sorrow that led i to victory the Church has had a text a symbol—which it has used with _ great power for the comfort and the inspiration | of the human soul. Christina Rossettis i beautiful message has fallen with healing balm on many a wounded heart: | I lift mine eyes and see; earth vanisheth. j I lift up wistful eyes and bend my knee; Trembling, bowed down, and face to face with death, I lift mine eyes, to see. Lo' what I see in death that shadows me; ; Yet whilst I, seeing, draw a shuddering breath, . Death like a mist grows rare perceptibly. Beyond the darkness, light, beyond the scatlie Healing, beyond the Cross a palm-branch tree. Beyond Death, Life, on evidence of Faith; I lift mine eyes and see. There is no class in the great realities of life. Birth, death, and their accompanying shadows —joy, love, sorrow, pain, loss, —and faith* too, are a possession common to beggar as to king. Conquest is individual as well as national. So the churches this Eastertide have found the congregations united by a close bond of individual and universal sorrow. And the sad, solemn gatherings of Good Friday found peeresses and peasants in the unity of grief; mothers and widows in the House of God seeking consolation in communion with the Alan of Sorrows. Never perhaps in the religious history of England have the women so poignantly followed the Passion-week history of the Son of Alary of Bethany. His voluntary sacrifice and calm going to crucifixion has Lad a now meaning. The restrained weeping, the mourning garb of the many women in the congregations told how near to their hearts with new, vital understanding is the story of a man fighting valiantly; knowing that the battle is not his way. But how in sym- ■ pathy with the Easter hope the Easter triumph over oppression, pain, and death is the festival with the nation, s hope —the rising again of joy over sorrow, life over death, light over darkness! The realisation that our toils and tears and sacrifice have not been in vain, that we have gone to the cross for country and for posterity, and that we have helped to chain the beast—Oppression ! Those who through all the hazards of the war, its fortunes and misfortunes, its needs and pain, are unconcerned because it does not touch them personally are a drag on the Empire’s wheel. The lukewarm patriots who are not atuuned to their neighbour’s part in the great discord of the war should bo mute in the great harmony of peace. The laggard voice will mar. Only those who can give should have. And the'spontaneous giving of many a simple heart, although it only found expression of its patriotism in a pair of socks for one of the million soldiers who are fighting for us, are among those who without hypocrisy may say “ we ” when speaking of the nation s In that old, old story which ever in the era of Christendom has been the symbol of supreme service, the three Alarys and Martha, are on record. Alary, the mother of a Alan whose life was sanctified by sacrifice to a great cause, and who wondered how he could separate himself from the home-life and home-love to/ his parents’ pain and follow a call they did not hear —follow to the death; but whose sacrifice and death distinguished her among women as the mother of a hero,—this Mary is resurrected today. And the Mary who sat at the feet of Love, the incomprehensible, absorbed in adoration, in commune with soul to the exclusion of all else, is rebuked once more by. the Alartha, busy about the practical needs of the world’s great occasion. No great truth ever dies although, it be entombed. Alary, the woman of pleasure, breaks one© more her box of precious ointment upon the Martyr’s feet, and with the intuition of love runs to the spirit reunion before it is yet day, calling on others to come and se© what wonderful things have taken the place of the closed tomb “ There is no death; what seems so is’transition.” The life everlasting is the reality; from the graves of soldiers and sailors on land and sea the honour rises that makes the Empire vreat. From the patience in suffering by lonely women is bom the courage of the Empire’s future y or every man takes one woman with him into his life’s enterprise, his mother in his blood. And thousands of mothers-to-be will nurse the brave men of the future for they are not thinking of their own welfare: they are looking past thenown misfortune. So the best of life is transmitted and carried on the finest spirit of the nation .inherited* from the mst b passed forward into the future. 1 In this morning’s Daily Mail some verses bv B. E. Vernede express the Easter thought: THE day . How shall it break—this dawn beyond forOut t Qf ll grey skies shall just the same rose Signal a day like that which ere its setting Gave us the seas to hold and Nelson dead t Then, even as now, strife filled the earth s four quarters. And Might seemed Right and God was challenged;

(Specially Written for the Ladies’ Page.)

R BELLS. Then even as now upon the dim blue waters The Fleet kept watch—the Fleet that Nelson led. * Dead is the Admiral; all the ships he won with • , Are scrapped—forgotten; and the doubters say Though he still lived, his skill is passed and done with And none may tell the outcome of tais day. Since from high Heaven itself Death may come sailing Suddenly, and from waters smooth and clear Sharper than from a gun’s mouth, Hell starts hailing, And ere the foe be seen, the doom is near. Aye, but remember ye when doubts come creeping That not his seacraft only Nelson left— Things nobler far ha gave his men in keeping That should avail them though all else were reft— Things that Time cannot fashion and unfasliion The fearless faith that love of freedom gives. ... The &re, the inextinguishable passion, The will to die ... so only England ■ lives. . . . Watch and ye will and pray —no prayer forgetting— For the brave hearts on yon dim waters rocked; But fear not for the end of that sun-setting— The fire burns on—faith wins—God is not mocked. The nation needs the strength-giving assurance that . . . somehow good will be the final goal of ill.” Eor our brilliant small victory at Neuve Chapelle the Easter Monday list of casualties gives 1399 names, and this is the first list. We women pay as terribly as the men; death is swift and kind, but the lone loneliness, “the constant anguish of patience’’ is a slow torture. This is an Easter which, please God, may never come again to England. It can only be borne by the strengthening thought that the war is at one with the will of God, which is the evolution and progression of the human race from false belief. Perhaps it had to be proved that a world armed against one another is a wrongful world, and that the thunder of the guns doss not break the spirit of nations. The devilish devices of the battlefield and of the air above and the waters under the earth for the slaughter and torture and destruction of man and his cities, has failed in its object of cowing the nations. Man is but inspired to further slaughter to avenge the slain; new men climb over the heaped dead of their comrades, to smite in their name. The spirit is dauntless —the intelligence must be convinced of the futility of murdering the body to kill the spirit before the nations will honourably lav down their arms. The conflicts that divide the world will continue so long as dishonour and greed and lust for power animate the world’s politics. Nothing will convince the nations but experience that we arc all members of one body, and that cue cannot suffer without the other, and that greed is paid for by loss of trust.- Germany may possess all Belgium, but at the cost of all the world’s faith in the integrity of her word. That torn scrap of paper will go down the generations and shame the Germans yet unborn. The philosophers and divines of kulture will be mocked with the butchery and slaughter and debasement of women and children. If we could live again on the earth in 100 years’ time we should see the results of this catastrophe; but that is not for us. Our part is in 1915. And that part is a baptism of fire—a hell on earth, the most murderous fire imaginable. Day and night in the trenches the earth trembles and the air vibrates with the lightnings of war. The howls of commands and the screams of the wounded and of those gone mad are the desecrations of the night which Nature gave- to all. Alen tell of graves en masse, of ,ihe trenches filled to the brim with dead, of the office of gravedigger, the arms and legs and shattered remains of fallen comrades to collect for the ghastly burials. Brave, good comrades! our kith and kin. And shall we piously fold our hands in prayer, committing them to the Divine providence, committing them to this bad business alone—the business of butchery that saves us from the mailed heel of kulture, so many of us are not worth dying for! So many, even at this present hour, put our own puerile pains and enforced relinquishments before the claims of our defenders. But there is that other side—the British side of us. The King offering to abstain from alcohol with all the members of his palace if it will help the workmen, hv example, not to drink; the Prince of Wales going about everywhere at the front fearlessly, a comrade of his future subjects in the trenches; the Bishop of London celebrating Easter among the soldiers and wounded at the front; ministers of distinction volunteering for war work, and one at least making bullets all the week and preaching on Sunday; hundreds of thousands of men and women giving up their holidays to work in the arsenals and factories to supply the army and navy with war requisites. A strange Easter for England! There have been no excursions; the railways have given as their reason their desire to keep their hand on the rolling stock needed at any moment for the conveyance of troops. But many thousands of the people whom the full faro does not affect have taken the opportunity of release from office and shop to escape from the strenuous life of the sreat cities for a breath of the spring at the seaside. But to the majority of people it has been a stay-at-home Easter, the motor-omnibus trips to the oneu spaces being the extent of the excursions. At Brighton, the Citv of London National Guards, composed of business men j and organised for home defence, are

spending their holidays in training. At every resort of the people, in the parks, on the commons, by the riverside, everywhere the soldiers are training. If you sit at home there are the soldiers billeted or drilling beneath your windows. On the Salisbury Plain a wonderful sight was the trekking of the great new armies from their winter quarters. The contingent marched to their new spring quarters from 70 miles awav, every man looking fit and well, doing the whole distance without one falling out. If we could have them all back again, these sound and splendid fellows, hard and hale after the severities of their training, how good it would be! The holiday crowds have an unfamiliar middle-aged and weedy 'appearance among the men, which is growing more pronounced. The quick movement and the vigour is—-among the khaki assemblages and the men who pass at a brisk pace in uniform. I noted this particularly on the great Easter shopping night of the people : the young men of fine physique were scarce in their attendance on the women. And the usual hilarity of the holiday shopping crowds was absent.. Many of the ■women with little children, and those whose hair is grey, were in mourning, and perplexed and anxious faces were everywhere as the women paused before the shops to consider the high prices. I overheard a scrap of conversation between two working girls on the pavement before me.

‘‘Cheer up, Buckie ! It don't do nobody no good being miserable.” “No,” flashed back the other; “and it don't do nobody any good being cheerful over other folk’s trouble. It’s easy to see you haven't go nobody you care for out there!”

“ Out there ” in the .British trenches, where the men, worn and weary, dare not sleep, but stand through the dark night up to their knees in rnud, loading and firing, loading and firing, shouting, swearing, even singing snatches of song in the pauses of the deafening roar of cannon! Where the command to “Charge” sends them valiantly forward to face the oncoming grey mass, the darkness of the inferno lit by flashes of lurid fire —on, with comrades falling in huddled, shapeless masses upon the rent earth, to save at the bayonet s point the honour of our country and the peace cf our homes! No, it would be callous not to be anxious with our men “ out there.” It is curious that any can remain in cheerful peace who have not done their best whatever it may be. ion much remembrance of the suffering and bravery of- the men who go through unimaginable horrors for our sakes cannot be. ° The danger to us is lest we forget. Extracts from the dairy of the young New Zealander I mentioned in a former letter, who won the Distinguished Conduct Medal (the first New Zealand soldier to gain the honour in this war), have been appearing in the Evening News The letters were written to friends, and have been collected by his mother. He was on a visit to England when the war broke out, and at once joined. He to ox part in that gjallant battle of Neuve Chapelle, and has just returned wounded. In one of the letters written during December, he describes the heartening effect the King’s visit to the trenches had upon the men, of whose comfort his Majesty was solicitous, ordering new boots and other things needed for some. Under date of December 22 this brave soldier writes;

We were starting getting ready for dinner when the order came, “Fall m at once—blankets to be left behind!” Something doing I should say! In a very short time a thousand of us were massed m the cointj tutl, and by the quick movements of the ieahatband brigade (General Staff officers) there was something doing. All ready and on we marched. Then , the startling news: “Enemy broken through the natives. Captured small village. Moving towards canal!’ ’ As soon as we heard this our packs seemed to get lighter, and we a! had our fighting bleed stirred. On we went. Then we came across the artillery gun reinforcements at the gallop. Along that slushy road at top speed, a quick swerve, a, few sharp words of command, and round about the »un was swung into position, the lamp alongside quickly lighting up the observers up a tree or building. Then the word: “Fire! If I live to be a thousand 111 never forget that sight. The plight of the natives and the position of the French were disheartenm|ire came across a company of the "little Johnnies” (the Ghurkas). They were up to their eyes in mud. and waist deep in tiie canal washing their rifles and trying to, get them back to working order. . . . On and on, amid shell and smoke. • ■ • a Uttle breather. ... on again, and then. , . . “Fix bayonets and charge! _ I cannot tell you more in writing, i must, if God looks over me. tell you the rest by word of mouth. Suffice it to say that we captured the village, and the heaps of the enemy’s dead—in hundreds! —told of the bayonet’s deadly work. . . .. On wo went, blood fairly up! The first trench wo took. . . . up again, and the second. . . . then again the third—-and again the fourth, but our ranks were getting weaker. Some retired into the third and made a stand for it. Fighting like hell, we were going to try and make a general advance to absolutely rout the enemy in the morning before daylight. My duty was to take charge of ten men in the trench and guard all the communications—a very risky job—and to bayonet any one who came along! Then came the order to advance in a creeping position, as near as possible to the enemy’s trenches, ready for the big charge. On our left the other half of the company could he seen plainly to us by the light of the two straw stacks lighted by the enemy. The Germans meanwhile by the aid of those dreaded nigh flights, spotted our position, and then a machine gun opened on that thin khaki line. ... As a message was whispered along I touched the ono next to me and gave him the order. ... no reply, dead. ... I touched the next. ... no reply, dead! Then I realised the position. Crawling along, and it was just breaking daylight, T worked my way in some mysterious fashion over to where our captain was; and what should I find? Our captain shot through the head! I dragged him undercover, and then made the startling discovery I was right under the'very nose of the German trenches. . . .

Getting down into a- communication trench, I did my best to get the captain along, tout

ha was too heavy. I took off my scr if and tied it round Ins legs; then putting my head through, I tried to drag him along that narrow; and mucky trench I got him along a. bit until ! came to the body of a dead native, and it was too much for me. I could not get his 13-stone weight aioii". so 1 i-n t him, poor chap. Long ere this he has breathed his last. . . . . We were expecting reinforcements at 2 o’clock. The hour came. . . . could we hold out? No sight of the reinforcements. It was awful. The enemy broke through in several places, but we drove them out again and again at the point of the bayonet; 2.30 and no relief. Then the enemy put all forces against us on cur right, our weakest place, and we did our best until 3 o’clock, when we were forced to retire. . . . It is now 5 o’clock, and the reinforcements will be forming up to regain those trenches we vacated. . . . The colonel gave us a short address, and said how proud be was of us for the way we held out on Sunday and Monday. After this General and staff arrived, and tho old man drew us up in a square, and, getting close to us, gave us one of the most touching addresses I have ever heard. The poor old chap almost broke down when he ended with “Thank God I am British and you are fighting a noble cause. I am proud of all you men.” Midnight in Christmas.—l have been promoted to sergeant! . . . We have all been given big fur coats, and look more like Teddy bears than soldiers. Doesn’t it thrill the blood, and bring the war near home to ns when our New Zealand boys tell stories like this? And how New Zealand may pride in her part?