A ROYAL SALUTE,

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19258, 20 December 1930, Page 20 (Supplement)

A ROYAL SALUTE,

PRINCE OF WALES ATTENDS LARGE BANQUET (By NELLE M. SCANLAN.) It may have been surprise or embar rassment; surely it ifould not have been ignorance! Yet I was-glad it was merely a family party, and few foreigners were present. They would have been astonished, I am sure, to witness a British reception, where the Prince of Wales shook hands with his people, and the way these people approached or acknowledged his greeting. The dinner was over, the round tables with their shaded silver candelabra, their mass of golden brown chrysanthemums, the glasses with their dregs of wine, were in polite disorder. The guests were the Imperial Conference delegates, the Prime Ministers of the Dominions, and the Prince of Wales had come to dine with them. The Empire Marketing Board, that splendid organisation which has become the advertising agency of the Empire, was host. The guests, besides being political and official, were related to the Empire on its commercial side. Regal Reception. After the dinner, a reception was held, and the Imperial Institute at South Kensington was the building chosen for these functions. All about were the Posters of Empire, a (Canterbury frozen lamb in a glass case, a pile of Australian wool, Canadian harvest products, and the varied wealth of South Africa. Ten-thirty was the hour, so that no one might complain of indigestion by being hurried over dinner. Four deep the long line passed along the wide corridor, and down the wide flight of stairs. Suddenly two attendants dashed by, grabbed a silver candelabra from, the dining room, and ran down the stairs. “The lights have failed!” Soon they blazed again, and the procession moved on. At the foot of the stairs stood the Prince of Wales, Mr. J. H. Thomas, Secretary for the Dominions, and Mrs. Thomas. It may be that the guests did not expect the Prince of Wales to undergo the ordeal of shaking hands with them all. It may be that standing between Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, they did not recognise him at once. Whatever the cause, only on© woman out of ten made a curtsey as he shook hands with her. .breach of Good Manners. It was astonishing to find wellknown women, wives of important British officials, people accustomed to social life, omitting this graceful gesture. It was certainly not intentional. Some forgot, some may not have known, others found themselves oh the wrong foot at the psychological moment. The three stood close together, and to shake hands with Mrs. Thomas, a chubby little lady in pale blue, curtsey to the Prince and shake hands with Mr. Thomas, three in as many seconds, broke the rhythm of their movements, and they got bothered about the knees. Note of Surprise. * I watched the long line file by. One woman’s monocle dropped suddenly from her eye, when she looked up and discovered it was the Prince with whom she was shaking hands. And whether from surprise or loyalty, she immediately crumbled up in the middle. * Another, seeing curtseying going on ahead, made a deep obeisance to Airs. Thomas, the Prince, and finally Mr. Thomas was included in her ample Royal salute. A determined little woman in black appeared to pass on all fours, so comprehensive was her gesture of loyalty, and so prolonged its manifestations. Sometimes a dozen, or even twehty at a time would pass, young women, old women, shy brides, debutante daughters, their hands thrust straight out, their backs as stiff as ramrods. Many murmured about it behind the pillars. Someone suggested “Reds!” That was not the reason. In many cases it was the thrill of sudden embarrassment at meeting him; in others awkwardness or a self-conscious distrust. The Prince Tires. I was standing behind the Prince, and after every half-dozen hearty grips, he slipped his hand down into his trouser pocket, momentarily, and refreshed, apparently, renewed the attack. It was quite an ordeal. Several times I saw him move his shoulder as though the muscles were tiring. Many of the men shook hands in a tight, pump-handle embrace, a loyal heartiness overcoming their discretion. I saw Sir Austen Chamberlain, monocle in eye, bend low; Lady Chamberlain made a sweeping curtsey, and Miss Diana swayed sideways, bent like a reed in the wind, as they passed the Royal presence. They were the remnant of a past political regime. Ends At Eleven. At last it was over. The hands of the clock pointed to eleven. The Prince gave a little hitch to the blue ribbon of the Garter across his breast, and with Mr. and Mrs. Thomas ascended the stairs, leaving the guests to read Slogans of Empire around the wall. All the Prime Ministers were there, and their wives. That morning they had stated in plenary session at Jtlie Conference the new terms of Empire. Mr. Bennett had said: “Canada will pay for a wheat market.” Mr. Seullin had told them that next to Australia, they placed the Empire. Mr. Forbes put New Zealand’s opinion concisely, an increased interchange of British goods, but not State trading. Mr. Havenga was eager for reciprocal tariffs, for guaranteed periods; on that South Africa was firm. Now they were to be found in quiet corners, talking, New Zealand with Canada, Australia with the Irish Free State, South Africa with Newfoundland. In these unofficial conversations, in the privacy of a great crowd, many of the problems will be solved. And while the claret and the coffee and the fois gi*as gave sustenance, midnight saw the last of the party pouring out into the autumn night, into a howling gale that made the New Zealanders think of Wellington. “ And to think 1 shook hands with the Prince of Wales, and forgot to curtsey, And the stars looked down and smiled on their lament.