"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3247, 7 June 1916, Page 69

"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

April 3. I do not feel a bit inclined, dear readers (some of you old friends of many years), to write a newspaper article or to be literary, but just to have a chat. Since my letter from " The Room Under the Roof," as I called my writing-room in London, and where came old New Zealand friends from Dunedin, Christ-church, Wellington, Southland, and Fairfax, and from the Witness Office itself, "much water has passed under the bridge," as the saying is—turbid war water. And here on the East Coast of England, directly opposite the Goodwins, nothing can happen on this side of the Channel that does not come through us, _ if an invasion, or pass over us, if an air raid of the East or South-east coasts. The " white cliffs of Dover," just out of sight, are the gateways which, open, lead to England, and before the window at which I now write go the ships that are outward bound and home-coming, and which once passed in the night the further side of the Goodwin Sands, and which now, with any craft approaching those shores, anchor till daylight, guarded or sentinelled by British patrols. I used to call this stretch of Channel or The Downs years ago "The Piccadilly of the bea, for up and down by day and night the traffic of the world went by—the riches of the world passed, the greatest of the world passed ; genius and talent and hope and despair from all the world came from all the corners of the earth, or passed, outward bound, to the new free lands. At night, as in the Piccadilly of London, the Piccadilly of the Sea showed only lights—lights passing 'and repassing, worlds apart; self interested, bound for one common goal, to reach an individual port. 'The windows are shaken as 1 write with the guns out at sea, On this fair April day, sweet with the promise of longed-for spring, the opal waters and grey-Wue shore shows no great sign of the upheaval of halt a world. Almost the shores of France are visible; the roads.are crowded with craft, sheltered between the shore and the screening mines. Here lies a broken ship, half in, half out of water, a pathetic wreck of beauty and power, tossing helplessly on its death-bed. Farther off is another wreck of mine or submarine. The fishermen tell the talc of the expmsion to those who did not hear it—not as they told the tale of the wrecks of _ years ago, leisurely and at ease, with artistic detail, but tersely, as of a fact of an hour that the next hour may repeat, These men who go down to the sea had stirring, brave tales to tell always. But, " Tis devil's business these times, sure enough. Devil's business, sure enough, that the brave boys of Albion's shores, strong ever and daring ever to take the risk of Nature's anger or honest fighting, are blown to atoms within sight of home, or carried under a stark tarpaulin that miist not be- lifted for the horrors it will disclose Is it the adaptability of human nature or the fact that if blow after blow be struck on the same place it loses the sense of feeling, or what is the reason that, after the first shock of danger, the fear, almost the sense, of danger departs? Here on this coast, where sometimes the wind carries the sound of guns from the opposite coast, where Zeppelins and seaplanes drop death with every visrt inland, and the great guns at Dover startle without warning, the people are interested and occupied with their daily avocations, and the spring-cleaning goes on apace! A German ship or two bombarding, a bomb the more, and there would be no house to clean, no garden in which to cultivate the flowers for summer. And yet I find myself quite anxiously anticipating the effect of the cornflowers and poppies I shall sow in one garden bed, and how long it will take the Wisteria to climb the trellis work. Human nature refuses to exist in fear, and that is why people rush out of their houses to watch the Zeppelins pass, and meet their death in the 'open, and why so many brave boys are sniped with their heads above the trenches. This cottage from which I write, with its windows to the sea, became my home a week ago. It is the ideal cottage for days and nights of peace and summer visitors. But for the war time it has stood In its little garden, its windows watching the Channel, uninhabited, save for the nurses who slept here from the military hospital opposite. There is always a military hospital " opposite " wherever you go to-dav. This was a branch of the great Winchester House College before the war; but the London parents feared the position for their sons, and the college moved inland. From dawn till dark the other boys from Canada in their hospital blue are at the windows and on the balconies, and to-day, in the sunshine, stretched along the sunny side of the road past the gate of my cottage (which ought to be called "Wallflower Cottage," so rich is their bloom), and because, like the college, the cottage is in the danger zone, it has become mine for the term of the war (or exemption from bombs) for what the house agents call "a mere song." And when there are no raids and no storms, as to-night, there is a great peace. The ships that do not pass in the night lie at anchor In the starlit darkness on one side of tho cottage (I dare not draw the blind to look, for no gleam of light must show from tho shore). From across the road, landward, comes the sound of the Canadian boys singing: All tho world is ead and dreary Everywhere I roam; . , . Oh, how my lionrt grows weary, Longing for the old folks at homo. For eight months I have lived opposite another hospital among the sheltering trees on the London road, where my

(Specially Written for the Ladies' Page)

FROM A COTTAGE BY THE SEA

daughter is Sister-in-charge; but the London, road is like a live wire cut through the village peace. Never shall I be under the illusion that a village means rural peace and the seclusion of the backwoods. Everybody welcomes you, every male from ten to "twenty"—which a male child informs me means ten times tenpulls his forelock to you or touches his cap. You think to wear out your old clothes unnoticed; even the little girls eye you up and down, supercilious of London style. The postmaster who cashes your monthly draft has a shrewd guess at youi income. In the backwoods or London you may eat a whole sheep or a mutton chop a week and nobody knows or cares. But they know, and they care, too, in the village whether the butcher calls every dav. They serve this remnant of an old Conservative stock with a service young countries and the cities do not know. The service is not servile; it is not cringing; it is not greedy —it is tho loyalty that will follow a leader, and acknowledge a head. "My Lady," "My Genticman," you hoar in big capitals of any whom they serve who have brought them any honour. And it may be that in the bigworld apart gold is the key to service and respect; but it is not so in untouched England. I lived one personally tragic and literally famous year in this part of the world. A stjne's-throw away I wrote "The Untold Half," and I come hack after 14 years and find the grey-headed milkman and baker touching their hats to me with "Don't you remembar me, madam?" Do I not! and their boys. But one hesitates to talk of the boys now. How many of these one would curtsy or doff (he hat to were they here So I came to the little cottage facing the Channel, with a sense as it were of coming home. It snowed and it Mowed, and the man who brought the things said that he was blessed if it wasn't hard enough to get a man to do anything civilian these times; but he was blessed doubly if the man who stayed at 'oine 'adn't got the worst of it. I suggested a soothing cup of tea. "Tea!" And he positively glared at me. He demanded to know what Hingland was coming up against. "Bombs" was all I could suggest. So the night came down; the night of the greatest storm and blizzard that England has known for 40 years. You have read of its fury, its widespread destruction. Great century-old trees were uprooted, and in Hyde Park the next day people had to climb over fallen giants, and in many places there were accidents and ruin. Throughout the whole country the gale raged with a savagery that left man Helpless. This little house rocked, the wind shrieked and battered with furious fits at the casements, almost breakiug thein in Now and again there was the crash of a distant fallen chimney, or a shutter torn from its hinges and flung down. From the sea, mingled with the r;:ge of the wind and water, was the shriek of "syrens and hoot of foghorns. "What's happening?" asked a sn:all voice. Everything appeared to be happening, and all at once; then before the dawn the gale seemed to take the earth in its hands and give it one final horrible shake and went shrieking back among the stars. While one held one's breath for the next roar it was suddenly still. It was a litter >d land next morning. Chimneys were little piles of bricks, roofs were on the ground, and hay-ricks scattered wisps of straw; a frozen, stark morning, sullen and reluctant as though ashamed to uncover the evil it had wrought. "What a night!" grumbled the early morning milkman. "I wonder what the dooce they'B be giving us next?" "An invasion, probably." "Ah, as you say, it mgiht be worse!" I hadn't said it. But some of us had got the roof left on, and the church still stood. It seems as though the winter went with the storm, for days of sunshine and starlit nights have followed, "Zeppelin nights" we call them now when Nature is at peace and has unfurled her starspangled banner. And as the first golden April day faded in the west news came that a Zeppelin had been sighted. Warnings were received that sent every man to his post and the women to watch by the cots where sleeping children lay. And soon the guns shook the air at intervals all night. For three nights in succession England and Scotland have had little sleep, incendiary bombs alone kept firemen and constables busy. Nurses Avere on duty all the nights among others who watched. On Friday night five Zeppelins raided the eastern counties, with great damage and loss of life, the explosive bombs from the Zeppelins being much more dreaded than the bombs from seaplanes. On Saturday night again the Zeppelins wore over us as early as 8 o'clock, and owing to the early hour the fight in the air between the guns and aircraft was distinctly seen in different parts of the country.' That the air service is Improving and getting into working order has been proved by the smart attacks on the recent raiders, "and to have brought the first Zeppelin down is a matter of general congratulation. News travels faster than the newspapers, for when Zeppelins are about the night trains do not run or make for shelter but this little town was rejoicing over the tidings that Zeppelin LIS had been brought down at the Thames Estuary hours before the news-sheets confirmed the report. From a Thames Estuary correspondent the report is:—"At 9.40 p.m. on Friday two Zeppelins were seen. Tho first was sighted towards the north-east, travelling slowly, but at a great height. It seemed practically to hover at a standstill, and was much larger than those in previous raids. Shrapnel from anti-aircraft guns was bursting all around it as the raider shimmered in the light of the

searchlights. The shells burst close to it. ! The Zeppelin gave a distinct dip as if ; hit. Then it circled round, assumed a ! steep angle, and .shot upward into the darkness. Probably this was the one subsequently brought down. Immediately afterwards the searchlights concentrated on another Zeppelin, which hovered motionless in the glare and then suddenly rose and disappeared. At 11.45 p.m. sounds of distant bomb-dropping and firing were heard, but it was difficult to locate the area. 'A magnificent but terrifying sight,' said a spectator of the battle between the Zeppelins and thy anti-aircraft guns. 'lt must have been between 9.30 and 10 p.m. when I saw thTee red lights floating, as it were, beneath the stars. Almost immediately our searchlights came into play, and all (,f a sudden " fixed" two Zeppelins. One was flying considerably higher than the other, and made off in a south-westerly direction. The other Zeppelin, a huge fellow, looking like a flying Lusitama, appeared to be stationary, and, as far as , I could judge, was about 10,000 ft up. '[ Our searchlights had her splendidly fixed, ; for one played on each end of her, while a third light hit her right in the middle By this time the streets were crowded, j an 1 everyone in the town was out "watch- | ing the fun." No one—man. woman, or ch Id—seemed in the least frightened. It reminded me of a crowd watching the fireworks at the Crystal Palace. Suddenly a loud " Oh —h— h!" burst from the crowd, for the guns had opened fire, and shells seemed to burst all round, the monster ship. It seemed to me that all the shells burst below the Zeppelin. Hang ban j;bang went the guns, and still there was n > reply from the enemy, which appeared to remain as if at anchor. Then all of a sudden a shell burst, and I think it must lave been over the Zeppelin. Immediately Hie ship turned her nose almost straight up in the air and sank a little. We all gave a mighty cheer, for we made sure that the gunner had hit her. To our surprise and chargin the Zeppelin shot up in (he air higher than ever, and then, followed for a short while by our searchlights, suddenly disappeared into the night. Gradually we went back to our homes.' " From Harwich came the news that Zeppelin Ll 5 had been struck so repeatedly that she dropped into the sea and broke into pieces and went down. Captain Pellev, a pilot who had brought a Danish steamer down the North Sea and was off the Kentish Knock at daylight, said that the sea was smooth, and she was then floating with her nose dipping in the water and her stern well up in the air. Our torpedo craft, patrol boats, and minesweepers had made a cordon round her, and a number of small boats were busy about her. The crew of the Zeppelin were f.rried in small boats guarded by a British torpedo destroyer up the rive-' to Chatham, and no sooner had the pier been readied than the news flew that the Zeppelin prisoner crew had arrived, and the inhabitants of Gillingham went limning to see. Men threw their tools down, and women snatched up their babies. Then the gleam of bayonets was seen, and a double row of marines, with dejected men walking between, who, it transpires, expected to be shot. _ There were eight—seven others had been injured bv shell fire or the fall of their Zeppelin ; others could not walk because they had taken off their boots to be ready to swim. They were typical Germans. One was a huge fellow.* A double guard had been provided for their protection, for had the British workmen met there baby-killers as they desired they would never have reached shelter.

But it is not enough that one Zeppeiin has been brought down. For three nights in succession Zeppelins wandered over Britain at will, scattering death and destruction. Hundreds of homes have been destroyed, hundreds of men and women and innocent children hurt or killed. And to-night—any night—nothing is to prevent them coming again, dealing death and injury. When shall we be able to prevent their return? Will it be another "Too late?" The first bombs dropped on Scotland struck a college, and separated the walls of a woman's infirmary; but the most serious damage was clone in the denselypopulated poorer district of the town ra ; ded. All the prearranged precautions were taken when the warning was given. Lights were obscured, tra : ns stopped running and traffic was suspended; but when the Zeppelins are overhead what can be done to prevent their destroying power? They should be chased from the, coast, hunted and destroyed at their hidingplaces, where two a week are made. In the great raid of Sunday night three of them o raided the south-eastern counties of Scotland, one the north-east coast of England, and two the eastern counties of England. One dropped on the north-east Two crossed the east coast at about 10 o'clock, and cruised above and about us till 1 next morning, dropped 33 explosive and 65 incendiary shells, then sailed away untouched. If half the details of those

terrifying nights were told the Emjt.'e would be shocked and horrified. London took the raid with its usual calmness and prompt precaution. A meeting of the attested married men at the Albert Hall broke up; the great railway termini were plunged into darkness, _ and crowds waited at the stations all night, for the trains ceased running, and the people were requested to leave the trains and take shelter in the subways. All traffic ceased, or almost ceased, till the early morning, and many anxious wives and parents waited the long night through for news of their family, who had been held up on the lines, perhaps only a few miles from home. It is an experience one is not anxious to repeat. One night's Zeppelin watch furnishes all the sensation that the biggest sensation-lover can desire. ThTee nights running gets wearisome. I feel that I want to sleep the clock round.