"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 3251, 5 July 1916, Page 69

"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

2. Of this amazing week of air raids, bombardments, and revolution, the march of the Anzacs through London through the radiant spring sunshine appealed mostly to the general public, for it was a war pageant, in which the civilian took no part, save as appreciative spectator. And the Australians and New Zealanders who took part in the procession to the Abbey will never forget their acclaim at the heart of the Empire, nor the honour done by the living to the valiant dead. It was a day of blue and gold, one of Nature's reEUiTe'ction days of life newly made. Blossoming flowers and opening leaf scented the parks—a day of happy festival, coloured and sunlit, that not even the solemnity of the occasion could tone to grief, for the men who marched through the sunlight had come out of something greater than death. Both the men who marched to accompanying "bands and the music of a nation's applause and the men who made honoured British dust on the Gallipoli shores had passed through the fearlessness of death. And that the nation honours honourable doing, and not only ths successful accomplishment of that which, was aimed to do, was abundantly manifest by the crowds and the cheers that grested the Gallipoli men as with steps firm with pride they strode past the old river o" England's history, along the Strand to t! e groy and great and ancient Abb .tv, .which is witness of so mnch that has gone to England's preatness, and where to-day Ihs King and Queen of England's great Empire came to pray with their Dominion soldier.;, thanking God for the British spirit which has courage to do or to renounce.

Very early in the morning the crowds began* to collect along ihe route, and as the day grew later massed in hundreds <f thousands, among whom was every Australian and New Zealander in England who could possibly get there from any distance in the country. Thg heroes of Lone Pine and Shrapnel Gully were cheered all the way from Waterloo Station -to the Ab'ey—cheered not alone for themselves, but also for what and for whom they represent d—their wounds 1 con: ade3 in England, unflble to march ; the wounded returned to Australasia, *and for those left at Gallipoli's impossible shores a year ago. As the An-racs pa?sed into the Strand, Englishmen shouting " Hurrah !" and worn n throw'ng flowers, high up from a balcony some ne. called "Cooee!" which rang with a thrill in every Australasian heart. The tall, lean Australians and the New Zea'and giants in t":c ranks took it up, and the call of home, of the bush, of the wattle and the flax passed from compatriot to compatriot and friend to friend. "Coo-ee!" " Coo-o-ec e!" What memoriei. What quick-starting tears! And p.mog ihe roar a Maori-brown girl on an omnibus, dropping flowers as the New Zealanders passed, called "Kia Ora ! KiaOra!" which was carried along the line, and blended with the coo-ees and the hurrahs And so through the English April sunrhine the men of Anzac passed, with honour and acclaim, to prav with the Empire's King and Queen for the living of the nation, and to give thanks for the living dead in the Abbey that holds the dust of C?nt''ri"s of heroes, and has echoed to centures of praise. The King in khaki and Queen Mary in black were surrounded by a pathetic group of sightless heroes. On each side of the central aisle was a sea of khaki, interspersed by the bright blue of the wounded and the uniform of nurses.

While waiting for the servre to begin the o-ean im-V oft and exouisite music. Tho ftrrrns of "The flowers of tho forest" echoed through the vaulted roof, and when th? organ reused the hand of the Anza-cs' played Handel's " Largo." At the entrance of their Majesties the men stood up and sang the National Anthem, and then followed the short and impressive service of commemoration, which included several of tbe well-known pravers and the hymn, " For all the saints," the third verse of which was sung by tho men alone with special effect.

O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and hold, Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old. And win. with them, the victors' crown .of gold. Alleluia!

Amid deep silence the Dean of Westminster read the lint of the roll of honour, with the closing tribute: "In future ages the sons of out Empire will seek to emulate the imperishable renown of their daring and bravery. We are resolved that by God's gracious favour our brothers shall not have laid down their lives in vain." The singing of a doxology was the great singing of the day. The song of sacred praise ro.-c' in a mighty psalm that triumphed over bands and organ and swelled through the Abbey with the passion of thousands of human voices in thanksgiving. Never has the " -angelvoiced " choir lifted the heart as those brave soldiers singing as one man—hale, giant, halt, lame, blind—lifted it, giving praise to God for those who fought the good fight, for those who live and those who died.

. It was an imperishable day for Australasia, and an unforgettable day for London, for it is the first time it has seen the Empire's troops en masse. They have come from all parts of the Kingdom minoticed, and gone away unknown, save to those intimately concerned. And the heart of the nation is longing to render tribute. We have grown war-sad here in England, if not war-weary, and out of a full'heart the mouth speaketh. There has been so little opportunity of expressing admiration and gratitude to our defenders that this opportunity was seized with zest. My pen had almost, written "joy"; Out there is no joy for England yet. When the peace bells ring triumphantly throughout the land, then and not till then will there be

(Specially Written for the Ladies' rage)

THE WEEK'S DIAEY

joy. In the Abbey "The Last Post/' by eight buglers, sounded the farewell note of England's sacred ceremonial, but not of England's remembrance. Mr Hughes, Austral a's Prime Minister, and, one may say, the mouthpiece of Australasia upon this occasion, expressed the opinion of the Empire when he addressed the soldiers at i the Hotel Ce.il after lunch. Yon have read his addre:s, of course. It was a glorious afternoon and evening : in a fine morning As though repentant of its tardy coming, spring has opened both hands and showered sunshine, mild airs, sweet perfumes and flowers throughout the land. Those who left London in the early afternoon left a city beautiful as '.veil as wonderful, and teeming with life. Whatever happens, London is teeming with life. Like at the feast of the Passover, when all the nations went up to Jerusalem to worship at the Temple, so it seems with London—all the nations are represented. It is more than ever now the heart of the Empire. Along the Strand, up Ludgate Hill, along Piccadilly, in the parks, m the buses, trains —wherever you go—it is London, proud capital of Britain. Changed, but only to the spirit of the hour It. wears no hangdog aspect. It is busy as ever, interesting as ever, crowded as ever, full to the brim awl overflowing with life and affairs; but for the first time in its marvellous history, perhaps it, is united in thought and purpose. Three letters spell the meaning of life to beggar and prince alike. Patriotically, or of necessity, war colours our every doing. All the interests and loves, sorrows and joys of England are now centred in the war. Willingly or unwillingly our days and nights are absorbed by 'it.

In the strange week that has passed Princess Mary has had her nineteenth birthday. But for the war she would have been presented at Court a year ago, enjoying the pleasures natural to her age and estate. Put "her birthday passed again without celebration, except the simple tokens of family affection. This golden-haired English girl has accepted quite simply the omission of what in peace times would have been her entry into society. There is not a girl in all England more devoted to her duty. In the seclusion of the palaces, under the guidance of a wise mother, Princess Mary of England ha»s been well trained, not only to fit her high position, but as a woman. She is quite' simple and unspoilt, with a keen, fresh, young enjoyment of the pleasures permitted to her, as her merry laugh testifies. That her entrance upon womanhood has been clouded and saddened by the country's tragedy is a matter of regret, for the unfettered care-free years of princes and princesses are too few. And by-and-bv the country will be match-making for Princess Mary as for others.

That reminds mo that the engagement lias been announced of Prince George of Battenburg, son of Admiral Prince Louis of Battenburg and Countess Nada, daughter of the Grand Duke Michael of Rutsia and the Countess Torby. The war has not killed romance—rather has it added to it. for this Eastertide has been noted for its many weddings in all classes of society. The "calling up of the men has terminated many engagements in the closer tie, and the return on short leave in many cases is for marriage. Many people object to war-weddings, and advise the girl to wait for happier days ; but tho right of a wife to wait for the return of her husband is solace to many a faithful heart. England does not wear its heart on its sleeve, even in this hour of crisis, and a stranger judging by the Easter holiday crowds would have said there was no special sorrow or anxiety in the land. Most of the young men were in khaki or naval uniform: but the streets and public conveyances and places of amusement were crowded with young men, many of whom were on leave for tho holidays. The war charity entertainments show no vacant places" despite the economy which for millions has crossed amusements from the list. Everyone who is anyone in society has a full programme of coming events connected with the Mar, which will take the place of happenings of the normal season.

That our fir;t perfect days of sunshine and still airs should be marred by man's inhumanity to man one resented. England has never been more adorable than during the week that is past. The blue waters thai washed her shores reflected a bluer sky; the scent of all tho flowers of all the spring was in the air, and the happy birds, and others, forgetful of the guns and of enemies, thought only of sunshine and love and nest-making when "Boom," and the dream and interlude of peace was over. Again the air was whirring with war-craft and the water bristling with gun-ships. Boom! Boom! Boom! at intervals all the days, and startling and terrifying the still starlit nights.

The evening of Anzac Pay was one of tlio-e incomparable evenings which have inspired the British poets to put on record perfections of starlight and translucent air and sea and perfumed breezes that the stranger to the English climate who judges it by its "intervals'" of assorted weather is inclined to agree with David that all poets, if not all men. stray from tho paths of truth. But no poet ever exaggerated the perfections of such nights as those last week, which arc now designated and described as "Zeppelin nights."

It was not dark, for it could not be with such an arc of stars ; but it was still, except for the long drawn-out wash of the waves upon the shore. Two hundred ships, that may not pass in the night, were harboured in the Downs, their lights gleaming fitfully. Landward, lamps had

gone out, or else were shrouded; the hospital windows were traced faintly here and there in the night wards. Suddenly, and approaching quickly, came that sound which on:e having heard is unmistakable —the rushing as of a train through a tunnel overhead. A Zeppelin! I rushed to the window, after extinguishing my lamp. There it was, quite near. I heard the command at .the hospital over the road "put out the lights," and saw the dim figures of nur_es and patients on the balconies. As though by magic the town and the harbour were awake ; voices came from the water and from the streets, although not a light was to be seen on sea or shore. It looked as though the ships had all been blotted out. The monster that had affrighted us hovered above, passed slowly over, and dropped two bombs, aiming at the then crowded esplanade. Then the horrible explosions, shouting, and gun firing. Bat the aim had teen short, and the bombs fell into the sea. The peace of the night was over. No ove thought of sleep. I spent the remainder of the night alternately at the open window and by the bed of a child in my ca e. His mother was at her post in the distant hospital among the tvw.c over which it transpired the Zeppelin had passed on its way. The child had not wakened through all the pandemonium of bursting thelli and pursuing guns. Presently a group of girls in nurses' uniforms came hurrying from their exposed dwjl ling-house on the front, and halted b/neath rcy window. "Are you very scared? Do coire to us." My hands were still trembling for the sleeping child, but to waken him would have been to frighten him needlessly, for one is just as safe alone as, in company. Uut the next night I was "scared" for the first time. It was the third raid in succession, the third night without sleep, and long watching tries the nerves. Once during the late evening I thought I heard the Zeppelin engines overhead; and it appears this was so; hut hearing nothing further, I concluded that it was the* echo of a real train running on the solid earth, and with a last look at my little child, I undressed for bed, putting clothes handy "in case." I was just getting into bed when bang! crash! bang! It seemed that the bottom of the world had fallen out. The cottage was quivering and the windows rattling with the concussion of a big gun. I had heard the shell tearing the air. Here was another! Bang! The cottage shook. Bombardment! I thought of Lowestoft and her 200 wrecked houses, and began to re-dre;s; but my fingers fumbled over the buttons, and when I went into the child's room my knees left weak, for if we were being bombarded all the houses along the sea front w-ould double up like matchwood. I sat by the child's bed —he was deep and rosy in happy sleep—waiting for the final crash ; but the concussions grew less, and the guns moved off Doverwards. In half an hour all grew still again, except for dis-

tant voices. I crossed to the hospital. I could dimly see figures on the balcony. "What's happened?" I asked. "Another Zeppelin," answered a wounded soldier. "Right over us.'' " I thought we were being bombarded." A man's voice laughed softly. "You haven't been to Mens," he said. "If those were German guns we should have been blown to smithereens by now! It was our guns. They brought some big guns up from Dover to-day—firing at the Zeppelin. They've chased it off now. It's been hovering about this last hour. Didn't you see it?"

So it was a Zeppelin I heard, and not a train, after all. Mr Hughes, who dined last night, and Mrs Hughes also, with the King and Queen at Windsor, where they are guests for several days, said of the navy, before he left, to the Daily Mail:—"l have seen that invulnerable navy behind whoso ample cover the Empire has rested since the outbreak of the war, and still rests, in perfect security. I have spoken with and looked into the faces of the men into whose hands the Empire has entrusted the care of this embodiment of its power, this bulwaik of its safety. And lam content. I am satisfied that there are men who will not fail us. They realise that upon them rests not_ only the safety of Britain and the Empire, but of civilisation, and they are quietly confident. For they have not only cast out fear, but all doubt. In them leaps the spirit which led Drake and Nelson to victory. And we may bend.our every energy to the prosecution of this war with the certain assurance that Britain's command of the seas is safe in their hands." Prussian memories. The word ''home," as we understand it in the English-speaking world, dons not exist in Prussia, but in its place are innumerable restaurants and beer-gardens. Young men and even children of the better classes are apt to see more of thje gregarious pot-house life than of the home with sisters and parents. I have known German students to weep in reciting verses of Heine or Goethe, stand up through long Wagnerian operas in ecstasy of worship, and soon afterwards gorge themselves with sausage and beer, resting now and then to rhapsodise on a theme of Kultur or pass a ribald joke with a barmaid. When first I engaged a German governess for my children I was surprised lo .learn that half her meagre earnings were to be deducted and sent by me to her brother, a young officer in the army; but she told me this was a universal custom, and she did her share in the matter as cheerfully as though it was the case of a crippled sister rather than a hulking giant abundant!;,- capable of supporting not merely himself, but a family into the bargain. I was pointed out some years ago several smart .shopgirls and waitresses who had achieved the distinction of maintaining each a student at the university, the understanding being that they were to be legally married as soon as he had passed professional examinations. —From "Prussian Memories," by Poultney Bigclow,