Short Story: Smith, Sir—John Smith

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVI, Issue 19154, 9 April 1932, Page 7

Short Story: Smith , Sir — John Smith

swept down on him from Havre and the. Paris train like a swirl of leaves blown by a gust of wind in the Fall. I. being blind, was like the one leaf that lags along by itself after the other leaves have been blown away. My reservation was on the night boat from Havre to Southampton, and I was wondering a little how I would fare on a one-night trip across the English Channel. A quiet voice at my side said. “Seventy-eight, sir—this way, sir,” and I felt a braided sleeve touch my hand. We walked down the long corridor. ‘Here’s seventy-eight, sir. Will you step this way?” and I found myself in a cabin with two berths, large beyond expectation. My baggage was piled on the end of the settee. “Here is the bell. sir. and the switch for the light; and this is the folding wash-basin. You know how it works, sir?” I assured him I did. “Is there anything I can get you, sir? Have you had your dinner?” “Dinner—oh, yes," I said. “I've just come from a splendid dinner at the Grosse Tonne." "Perhaps a cup of tea, sir? You will like it." I nearly laughed; it sounded so English. “No, thanks, but it does seem like home.” “Anything you want, just press the button. I'll be on duty all night, sir.” “May I smoke in here?” “At your option, sir; I’ll put an ashtray handy." “All right. Take some of these cigarettes. Whet’s your name?” “Smith, sir, John Smith. I’ll take one. I can’t smoke on duty, sir, but I do enjoy a good cigarette.” "Well, take some more. There’s plenty in the box.” “Very well, sir, I’ll take two.” Smith retired silently, and I began getting ready for bed. A soft tap sounded on the door. It was Smith again. “I was thinking, shall I help you to unpack? And lay out your things, sir?” “Oh. no. thanks. I’m all right, Smith.” I was beginning to unbutton my collar by this time. “Ever been to America, Smith?” “No, sir; I’ve put in all my time with this company across the Channel, and a little service in the Mediterranean.” "Which part of the Mediterranean?” I asked. “The Dardanelles, sir.” “Did you get to Constantinople?” “No, sir. only landing troops at the Dardanelles.” The bitter work in the Dardanelles. I felt I hadn’t been sufficiently alert. “Oh, yes, landing troops under Tire—- ! must have been pretty nippy work,” I said. “What ship was that in?” "The old ‘Karnak,’ sir—a smaller ship than this. We acted as a ferry to the big troopships and were a good bit under fire.” # “Wounded?” “No, sir. I was lucky.” “Was the ship lost there?" “Oh, no, sir. That was afterwards. ! We got through all right after landing thousands of soldiers. We were often hit. and a good many were killed now and then, but we were very lucky, sir.” I had become interested, I sat down on the settee half undressed, and laid my pyjamas on the edge of the bed. “The ship was lost afterwards, you

say? Where was that?" "About a hundred miles from Port Said, Suez Canal, you know, sir. We were on special duty. Excuse me, sir! Here’s the Paris passengers.” He retired again, closing the door as softly as before. I got into my pyjamas and sat down to wait for Smith. Outside were English voices—and French voices trying to talk English; and rapid footsteps coming and going as new-comers sought their berths. In a few minutes a discreet tap came at the door again “There was a gentleman for seventysix, sir.” Seventy-six was the other berth in my cabin. "Oh,” I said. “Where is he?” “I put him in the opposite cabin, seventy-five. He doesn’t know the difference, sir.” “Thanks,” I said; “that’s very kind of you. I hope he’ll be comfortable.” “Oh, yes, sir. he’ll be all right. Shall I call you at five-thirty, sir?” And shall I bring you hot water for sliaving?” The tactful Smith —he didn’t ask me if I shaved every morning; he took it for granted. “You will be able .to get some tea. sir. Shall I bring you some tea and toast when I bring your shaving water?” “Yes, please do. But what about the ‘Karnak?’ What happened to her? Were you torpedoed?” “We never knew. We saw nothing. It was in the early morning. I had just taken a cup of tea to the Master. He was on the bridge all the time. There was a roar like the loudest thunder. The ship opened up, split apart, and fell to pieces all at once, and we were in the water and there was no ship under us at all before the sound of the explosion died away. I was hanging on to the roof of a deck-house. It was just the roof, for there wasn't any deck-house. I climbed on to it and looked around and began to laugh. It was so comical to see the fellows all around me climbing out of the sea on to bits of wreckage. I saw the Master a few yards away. He had a cut across his head and seemed kind of dazed. So I dived in and swam to him and said, ‘Beg pardon, sir. Shall I help you on to the roof?’ “ ‘The roof,’ he said; ‘where’s my ship?’ “ ‘I don’t know, sir. Shall I help you?’ I said, and got him on to the roof beside me.* to see those bits of wreckage scattered “Well, sir, you know it did look funny all about and a man or two on almost every piece, and nothing else to be seen. The sun was coming up hot and the sea calm and everything was so quiet like. The men didn’t even call to each other. Really, when I think about it we must all have been a bit silly and stupefied, it had been so sudden. There was no time to think about it or to make any preparations or anything. It didn't seem natural that there should be no steamer anywhere. Nothing but stillness and calm and these scattered men. There wasn’t even a breath of air.

By J. E. MACRAE

1 "We were there all that day, all night, / I and all the next day.” „ ] j "Didn’t you suffer from lack of food J I and drink?” I asked. "Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t ! remember about that. It’s like a bad j dream that I only half remember. In the evening the ‘Diligent,’ a big steam trawler on patrol, came climbing over the horizon. She seemed to be coming j out of the sea hand over hand, the way the men had done the day before. She began picking up men here and there, and by and by she picked up the Master and me, sir. He was still a ! bit dazed and so I went to the galley | and got him a cup of tea.” j I knew it; it couldn’t be otherwise. | John Smith, sun-smitten, famished, I thirst-parched, and torpedoed—it was all the same to him. He would get a cup of tea for you. I could see him on the cluttered deck of that trawler; not the smart, stiff-shirted steward cf to-night, but a forlorn, bedraggled figure, fished out of the sea and picking his way among exhausted and wounded and dying men to get a cup of tea for his Master. “So that’s all?” I asked. “Were many lost?” “Just half, sir. Fifty-six out cf a , j hundred and twelve. We were landed j l at Alexandria next morning and put j into hospital, and I was soon all right, i | sir, and was sent back to England.” | He had told a simple story and made . nothing of his own part in it—landing troops under fire, days and weeks and j months together—a ship blown from | under him—he spoke of it as if it had I been nothing more than ordinary rouI tine. Here was the spirit of a brave J man, and I said as much, j “It was nothing to what others had to do,” he answered. “I came off I easy.” I “True enough,” I said. “The man who will meet me in the morning lost j four brothers and thirty near relatives, 1 uncles and cousins. Had you any brothers in the war?” | “Three, sir; one killed'at Mons, one | at Jutland in the ‘Queen Mary’, and I one in Mesopotamia. My other brother was too young to go. Mother”—he paused and then with the confidence cf one sure of being understood, he went on—“mother was left with the five of us when he was a baby. It I wasn’t easy for her. All of us had to | help; but she saw to it we got as much schooling as our neighbours, and more ! than some of them. “When I was a little nipper, and I 1 had been working, she would say. ‘A Smith never gets tired’ —and it's won- : derful how that would help me to pull i the last inch, you know. She used to ! tell us boys about Smiths who had ' done their bit.” He brought out a flat leather case. From this he gently took a newspaper clipping and put it in my hand, forgetting for the moment that I could net see. "It's stained like the wallet, by sea water,” he said, “and worn thin on the fold. But I always carry it, sir.” he went on. “It’s about the ‘Titanic’, and tells how Captain j Smith tried to save life, and how h - found a baby and put it in one of the

life-boats, and then went back to the bridge. You understand, sir, it was his duty to stay till everybody else was safe. He did his duty. That was what Mother said. ‘Remember the name and you'll do your duty!’ It's helped a lot. sir. at times.” In the morning John Smith took me ashore and found my friend, and went his way back to his ship to his humble but necessary occupation, through the great sliding doors which closed between us with the finality of fate. We had swept in on him in the night before like a s- flrl of autumn leaves, blown from ' /ends of the earth. We had rest' - -gether for a space as leaves a lull, and now we were blown away again and scattered each to his own place, never to come together again. To the others he was a nameless steward; to me he was a hero. I had met a great Smith.

THEATRES

The Grand Opera Company assembled b3' the J. C. Williamson Coy. will form a wonderful aggregation of famous singers. It includes Valobra, lyric soprano;Lina Pagliughi, coloratura; Anna Surani, dramatic soprano; Eruna Castagni, mezzo soprano; Grace Angelau, mezzo soprano; Alfieri, lyric tenor; de Barnardi, dramatic tenor; Granforte and Dellchiaro, bassos; and Emilio Rossi and Wando Aldrovandi, conductors As many Australians as possible have been engaged. Those who will be cast for leading roles include Isolde Hill, Nora Hill, Molly de Gunst; Eileen Boyd, and possibly ethers. They represent the very best Australia can produce in music.

Referring to the engagement of the famous dramatic actress, Dame Sybil Thorndyke, who is coming to New Zealand with a company of specially selected London artists, Mr. J. N. Tait (Messrs. J. C. Williamson and Coy’s. London Representative) states that the company will prove the finest dramatic organisation which has visited the overseas Dominions during the past ten years. Dame Sybil Thorndyke, with her husband, Mr. Lewis Casson, and company are making a world tour, appearing for short seasons at Cairo and Palestine before coming on to Australia and New Zealand. After the Dominion tour concludes they will visit Canada and the Argentine, and may accept engagements to play at New York and some of the principal cities of the United States.

From Mr. Harry Stringer. New Zealand representative of Messrs. J. N. Tait. we learn that the world-famous singer Galli-Curci will open the New Zealand season at Auckland in July, and that the appearances of the diva will be confined to the four cities, Wellington. Auckland, Christchurch, and Dunedin. Galli-Curci comes to us fresh from European and American triumphs, at the height of her career. Her bird-like notes soar like those of a lark, trilling its beautiful evening song. The flute obligatos so popular with the songstress only serve to make mors realistic the extraordinary beauty of her voice, and the analogy between her and the aerial singers. New Zealand will remember with pleasure the slim brunette artiste, who enraptured them with her faultless art and glorious voice. It is no exaggeration to say that New Zealand musical circles are thrilled at the announcement that the Dominion is to receive another visit from that most famous of pianists—Moiseiwitsch. This brilliant artist, who will open his Dominion tour at Wellington Town Hall on Thursday, May 19th, is coming under the J. and N. Tait management, and these noted entrepreneurs are confident that the thousands of music-lovers in these islands of the South Pacific will fully appreciate the wonderful playing of one who stands extremely high among the great musical artists of the world. It will be generally admitted that Messrs. Tait have shown commendable enterprise in bringing to the Dominion musical and dramatic artists of rare ability, but invariably their efforts in securing the very best talent available has met its reward. Musical scenas by the world’s best (consequently the most famous) exponents -of the art are always appreciated in New Zealand, and Moiseiwitsch, now' at the zenith of his wonderful musical power, should bring unalloyed joy to his audiences in the Dominion. Moiseiwitsch, acclaimed by many musical critics as the world’s most popular pianoforte player, who is coming to New Zealand in May, is no stranger to the Dominion. He is Moiseiwitsch, the distinguished, brilliant, polished poet of the piano, with a wonderful repertoire of musical gems which are as child’s play to his sensitive fingers. Moiseiwitsch has played in most countries, and everywhere his playing has aroused the keenest admiration, not to say unexampled enthusiasm. He takes his place (with a modesty most becoming) in the front rank of tht world’s greatest pianists, and occupies a prominent place in the hearts of true music-lovers. His gramophone records have made him beloved cf all, and as he is always studying and experimenting, in his endeavours to give his audiences the variety that makes his concerts so satisfying, lie naturally stands high in | the estimation of the world’s greatest and most severest critics—the general public. Moiseiwitsch will open his New Zealand tour at the Wellington Town Hall on Thursday, May 19th with an extensive city and provincial tour to follow.