AFTER FIFTY YEARS

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 151, 29 June 1931, Page 8

AFTER FIFTY YEARS

TWO SISTERS MEET AGAIN BRIDGING THE GULF OF TIME A white-haired old woman stood cn the arrival platform at the Waterloo railway station in London on May 11, with a bright bow of yellow ribbon tied on the ferrule of her umbrella. The Southampton, boat train curled into the station and steamed to a stand still. The old woman peered through her spectacles and hoisted her yellow ribbon over the crowd like a banner. The signal was answered. Down from the train stepped another whitehaired, spectacled old woman, with luggage and a bundle of rugs and an umbrella. And on the ferrule of the umbrella a flaunting bow of follow satin ribbon.

The women stared, hesitated, snatched at each other, and embraced with tears. They were sisters who had not met for fifty years. Jn 1881, when Ophelia was twenty and Mary seventeen, they had said good-bye. They had married, lived and grown old at opposite ends of the world. Now, when they are sixty-seven and seventy years old, both widows and tho last survivors of their family, they had come together again. Later, on upright chairs in Ophelia’s little parlour behind her son’s newspaper .and sweet shop at Kingston, the two sisters, Mrs Stannard and Mrs Lund, told an interviewer the story of their lives.

“Do you remember, Ophelia,” said Mrs Lund, “when father and mother and I went out on rhe emigrant, ship, and you were the only one left behind? . . . .”

“IDear, yes!” said Mrs Stannard. “T was married at twenty, and had a little baby; but you werq not turned seventeen.” “I had my birthday in the boat. ’ continued Mrs Lund, “a sailing ship, you remember, that took five months to get to Australia. “Oh. Mary, I never thought to see you again, though we wrote four times a year! When you left you a child, and now your hair’s white, and I'd never have known you except you’re just like mother was before she died. .’. . And how different London must look to you, Mary!” “That’s true, OplxTia. When T left you this town of Kingston was beauti ful greon fields. But, oh, dear me, it’s good to come home again. ...”