UNCONSCIOUS HEROINES.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XXXXII, Issue 4, 28 February 1900, Page 4

UNCONSCIOUS HEROINES.

A WORD ON THE WAR. By a Woman, Everyone is full of, and can talk of, nothing else but the war just now; indeed, wherever one goes the sole topic of conversation is either the war or the War Funds. These are the things one hears of; what one does not hear of, however, are the thousand instances of silent heroism on the part of the women who have given—nay, are daily giving —their all for their conntiy's sake. The details of one such case reached me a few days ago, and may serve as a typical example. In tins instance—and I can vouch for the facts personally —Coporal L , who has but a year more ef his time to serve, and has already seen more than his full share of foreign service, besides' being the recipient of numerous medals for bravery and good conduct, has just become possessed—or, rather, his wife had—of an exceedingly comfortable legacy. This the worthy couple had decided to invest in a snug little hotel, away up in their native place, in the heathery wilds of Scotland. The Coporal had applied for, and been granted, a " long leave " at Christmas; their little son, aged twelve, was crazy with excitement at the prospect of exchanging Aldershot for the Highlands. The happy wife and mother, the dream of her life at last within realisation, was full of her preparations, when, alas! down came the orders from the War office, and the th had to go at once. . Poor wife! Poor little laddie! Ought not our hearts to go out to them also this Christmas-tide, which sees them watching, with strained and anxious eyes and hearts, for news of the big war from over the water, where their dear one is, as well as to those others who have, perhaps, the greater claim upon our charity ? Another pathetic case comes to mind as I write. This time it is a tale of newly-married lovers. The wife was a hospital nurse, who had received her training and done good work in one of the big Dublin Hospitals. Going thence to the military hospital at the Curragh Camp, she was wooed and won by a dashing sergeant, who, in addition to his other medals, bears that most glorious one of all, the Victoria Cross. I For once the course of true love ran smoothly, or seemed to do so; but, alas! in this case also, and when they had been married for only two brief months, notice came from headquarters that the th were ordered forthwith to the Mauritius. All those who know aught of that most treacherous climate need no words of mine to emphasise what the bride of two months must have felt when she said farewell to her soldier-husband. She took heart of grace, however, when a few months later came the news of the war. At least, he was safe from j the hail of bullets and bursting shells. She tried to find comfort in the thought, but, in spite of herself, the dread that even there he might be ordered to the front grew and grew, till at last, as the weary months went I by, it ripened into certainty—certainty which was confirmed by his last letter home. She had relinquished her hospital career upon her marriage, and has now taken a place as nurse; but as she told me, with tears in her eyes, only her work, which is with her a veritable labour of love, saves her from madness. Questioned as to why she gave up her—to a certain extent —independent life for oce which is more or less a dependent one, she averred j that she could not stop on alone in the place where she had been so happy; and day by day, with a heart which the look on her face tells me is near break-ing-point, she goes about her work, never for a moment relaxing her vigilant watch over her mistress's child. Sorely such women as these deserve to be cidled heroines, albeit they are so all unconsciously. To my mind they are heroines, and more than heroines. How many others there are in a like case we canuot know ; we can only guess; but Eng'and is full of them at the present moment—full of aching hearts, that it behoves us, as sister-women, to seek out and comfort to the very best of our ability; for remember it is not in money only that comfort lies, although to those who lack even the necessaries of life, words alone can bring bu 1 ; empty consolation, and are, in brief, of the stone for bread order. The Fund, too, will, to a certain extent, provide for these; but there are others whom the Fund cannot reach, far-stretching and admirably administered as it is. Those who, while they lack nothing of the more ordinary creature comforts of everyday life, and have food and warmth in plenty, are hungering as only lonely women can hunger, for a sight of the dear, far-off faces they may perhaps never see again. To search out these, and to give them such poor comfort as in lis lies is sirely the duty of every woman worthy of her name. There

need be no intrusion upon privacy, which ought to be respected for the sake of the grief it ill conceals, but the war in which Britain is engaged is so far-reaching in its effects that almost every one of us can number among those we know some whose dear ones have gone out to fight for the honour and glory of our beloved land and Queen. Whether they be gentle or simple matters, or should matter, but little, since it is for us, for whose sakes they are fighting, to succour them as best we know how. We cannot all send, or even collect, big cheques wherewith to swell the Fund ; but we all can, if we have the will, comfort as tenderly as may be those aching, anxious hearts which our brave rank-and-file have left behind them—Daily Mail.