THE LETTERS OF LUCIA TO A LONELY SOLDIER.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 788, 19 August 1916, Page 6

THE LETTERS OF LUCIA TO A LONELY SOLDIER.

[Written for THE SUN for the benefit of any soldier feeling lonely while on active service.) By the Avon, August 17. Lonely Soldier, Dear, — I suppose you have your memories of Grand National Weeks, so 1 needn't tell you anything about the one that is just about, to finish. They're all the same, exact in every detail, from the enormous divvys "just missed" to the lady who dances fandangos on the grandstand and embraces the perfect stranger next to her just because, the horse, she's backed is coming in. Like as not, she has about tuppence on him, and gets a dividend of little more, but she gets the fun, and so do all in the vicinity. There was nothing very audible in feminine gear —nothing which could supply such a delightful little story as that which belongs to a Grand National of yester-year —several yester-years, to be precise. It was when the. Directoire period was suffering a revival, and a lady, always noted for going one better than anyone else, appeared in a skirt that was more slash than anything else. At least, that is how it looked to the unbiased beholder. At the same meeting a horse called Nautiform —1 can't remember exactly how it was spelt, but that is the phonetic of it. —was running, and said one man to another, "Come and I'll show you Nautiform on the lawn. Greatly amazed at the prospect of such a sight, the other followed, and was shown the lady of the determinedly Directoire frock. "There yon are," said the first man, "naughty, naughty, naughty form." It's a pity to add a sequel, but. there is one, and you may as well have it. The man who had expected to see the favourite parading the. lawn was not like the renowned person whose "only books were women's looks, and folly all they taught him," but. rather belonged to the class that only looks in racing books in summer, spring, and autumn, and he was exceedingly incensed at seeing a lady, no matter how daringly clothed, where he had expected to see a racehorse. He expressed his disappointment in the simple, direct, and extremely forcible manner of his tribe, and, awful to relate, the husband of the Directoire lady heard him. He didn't call the racing

man out, neither did he lay him out with one sweep of his good right arm—like the heroes of old. lie did the sensible thing. He repaired to the stand and secured the lady's cloak, and then the lady. "It's getting cold, my dear —J 'm sure you'll feel more comfortable with your cloak on," said he. "Oh, no, John," answered the lady—at least, she would have said John if that, had been his name. "I'm not at all cold, dear." But lie persisted. "I'm sure you'll feel better with it on," he said, and continued to hold up the wrap relentlessly. The lady, struck by his tone, turned her gaze from the geo.-gecs to his face, read many things therein, gasped, and hurriedly scrambled into her cloak. It was the first and last appearance, of the Directoire garment—a brilliant season of one day only. The Amazing Lady was there—l've never introduced you to the Amazing Lady yet, have I? Well, henceforward consider yourselves acquaint. She is always making the most extraordinary statements, which accounts for the name. For instance, she bee-lined across the lawn to tell me the latest news of her brilliant family abroad, aud opened up with, "Oh, what do you think? Harold has got such a splen-n-ndid appointment in Whitechapel! " "Whiteehapel!" I gasped. "Do the ■ —do the Best Beople get appointments in Whitechapel]" and the Amazing Lady righted herself with a little scream. "Oh, but T meant Whitehall!"

Sonic difference, eh, Lonely Soldier! Then she had a long story to tell mo about a daughter who had gone to London recently, ''anil the first thing she did was to go and call on my old friend, Lady Hall; but wasn't it sad? She found her dead six weeks." "0-oh, but wasn't she buried?" I said, with an involuntary shudder, stories of people who had died in such a quiet and unobtrusive manner that no one had discovered it for long afterwards flashing with disconcerting suddenness into my mind. The Amazing Lady plainly thought my inquiry stupid. "Of course she was buried," she answered coldly. '' A beautiful funeral she had, too, poor dear. The pictures " "Excuse me!" J said hurriedly, having no desire to talk funerals at the races or anywhere else, "excuse me, but I fear J must fly. I see an old friend—an old, old, old friend," I insisted wildly, fit) she showed signs of wanting to detain me. "I simply must go and speak to her," and I broke forcibly away from the Amazing Lady who was looking in vain for my centenarian friend. I looked in vain, too. This week, amongst other diversions, we have had a kinderspeil in support of church funds. A little knowledge, like a little widow, is admittedly a dangerous thing, and the smattering of enemy lingo that has drifted across No Man's Land between the opposing trenches, and your previous acquaintance with good colonial slang, may lead you to suspect organised child robbery, but you're mistaken. It was a quaint little play, compounded of nursery rhymes, and "der kinder" played prettily and with the enthusiasm that goes with short frocks and pigtails, and, unless you, in your superior masculinity, consider that too little in return for the shillings wo disgorged as the price of admittance, there- was nothing remotely suggesting a "spiel" as you interpret that word. We were duly visited by two detachments of the "Sixteenths" this week—-

very fine and fit looked your brothers in khaki as they sung through the street, flowers in their hats ami a kind of "conquering hero" look about every mother's son of them. They got a goo«l reception, although the floor of Heaven will never be "stove in" by Christchurch cheers. I was along at Victoria Square the morning when the first lot were having their official reception thrust upon them. Some enterprising females broke through the guard and got into converse with a couple of kliaki warriors while they were allowed to "stand easy." Their remarks were a weariness to the llesh. Finally one said, "Are you glad to be going away?" And the lengthy youth she addressed looked coldly down on her ami said, "Well, why do you think we enlisted?" But people in the main were very good, and both the detachments left laden with gifts. The children were the greatest enthusiasts, though—nearly everyone managed a Hag by some means or other, and their shrill, eager young cheers hail the right ring, bless 'em! LUCIA.