OUTSIDE THE HALL.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 883, 8 December 1916, Page 3

OUTSIDE THE HALL.

SOLDIERS SEEK FUN. "ANTIS" QUICKLY SILENCED. Whatever happened inside the hall, there can be no doubt that the greatest fun was to be had on the pavement in front of the door. A large crowd gathered, and the majority of those in it spent a very enjoyable hour and a half.

The amusement began just as eight o'clock struck. By this time a few men were beginning to put in an appearance with invitations, and to be passed in to the chamber of mysteries. A band of about 30 returned soldiers, who had arrived on the scene some time previously, made for the door, but it was closed in their faces. A struggle ensued, and for some few moments it appeared as if the trouble might be serious. Once the door was opened about a foot to allow a red-tied Socialist to enter, and immediately the soldiers put their weight against it to force it wide open. The contest was brisk, and the odds were that the door would be carried off its hinges, when Senior-Sergt. Mathieson, and Sergt. Clarkson appeared from the interior of the hall, and with a few tactful words, got the soldiers—wdio were not bent on mischief—to desist. From then on there was no danger of trouble. The best fun was to listen to the dozens of arguments that arose on all sides. After three cheers had been given for the King, a typical "anli" protested against the disturbing of a public meeting, and expressed the opinion that the young men who had made the noise—he called if "barracking"—ought to enlist themselves. Unfortunately for himself he said so in the middle of a group of red-armleted ex-soldiers. Immediately one of them gave the pass-word, "Don't push, boys," and the "anti" was promptly surrounded, and subjected to a good deal of hustling. He was rescued by the police, who advised him to take his opinions to the edge of the crowd, and for the next hour he was conspicuous on the very outside fringe of the gathering. Another "anti" of anything but prepossessing appearance was heard to mutter something to the effect that "the Union Jack couldn't win everything." There was a movement to escort him to the river, but again Mr Mathieson poured oil on the troubled waters. The soldiers loyally stood back, and heartily cheered the Senior-Sergeant's remarks to the "anti" that any more such references to the Union Jack would "land him where he wouldn't like to be." For the rest of the evening he stood by the side of the door, grinning superciliously. One soldier, unconsciously parodying one of Bruce Bairnsfather's best known jokes, implored his fellow Anzacs to "hold his hat while he took the grin from the blighter's face." Another regretted that the river trip had not come off—"it would have washed his face for him." But consolation was forthcoming from a third—"when he draws a winning marble they'll wash his face in camp." A great deal of lung-power was expended in the singing of patriotic songs, and those touching ditties "Are we downhearted? No!"—to a well-known hymn tune—and "We're here because we're here." The obvious lack of enthusiasm in the hall was also the subject of broad jest, and when—very occasionally—a faint murmur of applause was heard, it was greeted by loud cheering and singing. A rather anaemic looking young man who expressed the opinion that New Zealand was "a of a country to live in, being ruled by a lot of autocratic Pooh-bahs," was promptly asked why the he had come to live in it, and stopped in it. Once again the rescue party in blue performed its good oftices. Amongst the stalwarts guarding the closed doors was a very well known "comrade," who came in for a good deal of banter. "Would Reggie kill his fellow men?" called a soldier, to be answered with loud cries of "No." "Will Reggie fight?" evoked the same reply, but the query "Will he work?" produced nothing but a storm of laughter. The victim assumed a dignified attitude, and tried to look like a lion attached by half a dozen kittens. It was a poor attempt. A Scots sailor-man, who on numerous occasions proclaimed his intense admiration for New Zealand, and whose manner suggested that he had a pretty considerable respect for the product of the Nelson hop vines, insisted on leading off several songs. Me couldn't sing two notes in tune, and he invariably started far too high, but he enjoyed himself immensely, and soon made himself the most popular person present. After he had delivered "Three Cheers for the Red, White and Blue" as a solo, to the great delight of everybody—himself included—he solemnly remarked, "Ye cudna verra weel sing: They're Jolly (and Fellows,' —no' frae the bottom o' yir her-r-rts onywey." More loud cheers. Included in the crowd were many young men who had been drawn in the ballot, and who had received in--vitations to attend. They came along to the hall, but at the door their courage failed them, and they would not enter. As one of them explained, "If I were to be seen going in, people might take me for an anti-militarist." It was perfectly evident that most of those on whom the luck of the ballot had fallen were quite prepared to accept their fate. As a matter of fact most of the manifestos and invitations were destroyed by the recipients. So the evening sped by, until just after nine o'clock the doors opened,' and the audience began to come out. Many policemen, a band of reporters, some "Antis" too old to go in any case, and a very small handful of those for whom the meeting was called, emerged, and were greeted with the lusty singing of the National Anthem. A few who stood

with their hats on had them knocked off, but no serious altercations arose, and the crowd melted quietly and quickly away. The great bombshell which was to have caused the complete destruction of the Military Service Act had turned out to be a very small squib indeed.