“CHARLES DICKENS” FINDS PLEASURE IN READING INTERESTING "WENDY HUT” LETTERS

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 71, Issue 291, 8 December 1928, Page 19 (Supplement)

“CHARLES DICKENS” FINDS PLEASURE IN READING INTERESTING "WENDY HUT” LETTERS

Dear Wendy.—l wonder if you have forgotten me? For all these nine months I have been silent, but I can proudly say that, during that period, I have read the Budget every Saturday without tail. We have just finished two weeks of awful examinations (being serious we must suffer such agonies) ; next week we enter on the last and greatest of them all—that is Matric—our aim and end. and 1 wonder how many of us will get there? (Golly, my fountain pen is leaking—just look at that, blot !) Of course, by now you can guess the reason of my silence. It is examination preparations! It is wonderfvlabsolutely wonderful -to see how much we are expected to know for that exam. Whether we will ever know as much I can't guess. Oh, help! Let’s forget it. Isn’t this a beautiful summer? I’ve a lovely cold at present. It started last Friday and, as I was at the beach three times last week-end, I’ve got it well and truly, and they call this summer! My, I must say you certainly have summer writers—that is, writeip of the proper summer, gay and bright and full of cheer. It’s really a treat to pick up a Budget and read through the interesting letters printed therein. You should print at the top, "Guaranteed to keep the blues away, and always interesting.” The Christmas issue should be very fine, and well worth looking forward to. Isn't it sad about the King’s illness. Wendy? All the Wendyites should remember our gracious Majesty in their prayers at night, and every true citizen of the British Empire should join in shouting "God Save the King!” I’ve just been reading a beautiful poem by Rupert Brooke. Rupert Brooke's life was one nf tragedy. A most promising poet of the modern school, he. at the call of the trumpet, went to war. He never returned to write more beautiful lines that would live in the memories of beauty-loving British subjects of the future He died, leaving some magnificent poems of the war. The one 1 have just read was ‘‘The Soldier." It. is exquisite in its pathetic portrayal. It is sadder still to note that Rupert Brooke himself became the man he wrote about—the soldier—for he says: "If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s a coiner of a foreign field That is forever England!” Isn't that pathetic when one thinks that Rupert Brooke lies sleeping over there “in some corner of a foreign field”? I think this poem is one of the most beautiful 1 have read. The poet goes on to say that There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed ; A dust whom England love, shaped, made aware. Gave, once, her Howers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England’s, breathing English air. Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.” How beautiful and how true! I rather wish to cry when I think that when Rupert Brooke had written these fine lines, he went to make “a richer dust concealed.” W’ell, 'tin time to close, so 1 will bid you adieu! 1 remain, your loving Budgelto, “CHARLES DICKENS.” Goodness me! 1 never expected to hear from you again, my dear. What a time it is since last you wrote. lam pleased you have read our pages regularly each \yeek ; that somewhat compensates for your silence, doesn't it? You have a severe examination ahead of you in Matriculation. 1 hope to hear that you pass. Let me know, won’t you? I am so glad you find so much to interest you in our pages. We have many able pens among us now. Some of the letters would do credit to writers many years their seniors. I can promise you something fine for the Christmas issue. lam quite excited about it> The poet, Robert Brooke, and his poems will. I think, live in our memories forever, for I have not read a greater tragedy than the life and death of this poet of the modern school. What might be attained had he lived? Write again soon, won’t you?—Wendy.