THE LITTLE TIN SOLDIER

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 305, 24 December 1937, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE LITTLE TIN SOLDIER

A Christmas Fantasy

(By-

Lindsay Clinch

i r T"’he little tin soldier sighed miscr--1 I ably. This Christmas Eve was s * going to be just a repetition of j last Christmas Eve- yes, and the one ■» before that. , Hundreds of boys and girls had J looked at him casually and passed him f by, hundreds of fathers and mothers j s had paused for a moment Tcmornberi ing the days wh n they were rhilor'-n and red-coated soldiers counted for - something. • “Remember when we io o<-t those tin soldiers in boxes?’ : rniled one elderly man Io another. “Kids j don’t want them now it’s: tmiks-. and I . aeroplanes, and motor-cars, ch?” I I His companion nodded, and • passed on. too, lea-. ;:. ' the i; tin [ soldier sick at heart. .So it 1; d Hr -n ‘ for years, He was obsolete. He .'.!■/ i ■ on his shelf, a lonely figure, stiff and 1 . straight like a ramrod, not betraying ' by one flicker of an eyebrow the tor - • ture that was going on within. Time had been when he had stood ' with eleven red-coated companions, a i thin red line sturdily defying the on- 1 ward march of armaments. Then one ; by one the little company had disap- I peared to make room for steel-grey tanks, khaki-clad troops, machineguns, aeroplanes, armed cars, and other weapons of modern warfare. The little tin soldier had become more or less a curio. The khaki figures were gradually edging him out, and although his heart was still young, he was now a veteran. “Mummy, what is that funny little man with the red coat?” asked a very small boy. “Oh, that a soldier of long ago. They fough at the battle of Waterloo. You remember the story of the < brave Duke of Wellington and the j naghty Napoleon?” The tin soldier, despite his years of j discipline, squirmed beneath his old- ] fashioned rifle. So had faded the i glories of Waterloo, the Duke of 5 Marlborough, Wolfe of Quebec, and ] countless other heroes of the era of \ red coats. f Eight-thirty and the shop assistants 1 were making a final burst before the doors closed at nine. The crowd be- t came thicker than ever. Men, with ) their hats knocked on the side of their j heads, struggled out into the night f laden with motor-cars, bicycles, toy i furniture, scarcely concealed by their 1 brown paper wrappings. But what did it matter? It was a Christmas Eve and all the world was f happy—all except the little tin sol- t dier, and even he tried to cheer up by t thinking of Wellington’s heroic red s squares that withstood the charge of the French cavalry and turned the ♦ tide at Waterloo. / So engrossed was the little tin sol- a dier in his hopes that he did not notice fi the very old lady until she put out a f, withered hand and touched him. She o smiled kindly and turned to her com- h panion, another very old lady. 0 “What do you say, dear? What a nice soldier. It’s a pity they don’t s< dress the presen A soldiers up as ft smartly as that. Shall we buy him?” p asked the first old lady. o “I think it would be very nice j; Sarah.” said her companion. “It’s a b pity there are not some more.” fi But there were no more. The shop assistant was apologetic. It was very e old stock, he said. No call for redcoated soldiers now. Children wanted S j modern soldiers. Why, they were v even making them in gas masks now. u “Well, we’ll get John something £ else, but we’ll put the little soldier in his stocking too, for a surprise,” said fi Aunt Sarah firmly. 3( The little red soldier’s heart beat wildly. He thought he was going to j r burst his tunic, he was so proud. a: People after his own heart these. Lovely old ladies who knew what was S( what. V( The two old ladies rode round for jf a while, but finally they alghted at a £) tall suburban residence and, taking etheir parcels with them, they went in- sc

side and met Santa Claus. He wal ju .t putting on his crimson coat whea Hwy arrived. “My, you look hot, Tommy," I laughed Aunt Sarah. I The throe ladies started <o heljj hi.-n arrange his toys. I “Ha, ha. a good, old-fashioned Ln 1 ohli'-r ’ used 'o have a whole ’company of them,” said Santa Claug reminiscently. “Many a great battle The little tin soldier was so happy. He didn’t mind a nit. when Santa Clau.g itucked him into a stocking. He went Ho sleep almost immediately, having I found a home at last. He did not waken until he found .hirnself dragged forth in the light of! Christmas morning by a chubby, pink! 1 hand. Two blue '’yes stared at I Fingers played around his face, his tunic, tried to detach his rifle, to take off his boots. The little tin soldier stood it all stoically. His head went into an inquisitive mouth, and his was very nearly smothered by a soft, red tongue. Finally he was dropped over the edge of the cot while little Tommy Smyth junior delightly examined his trains. “Can you eat him?” asked Tommy’s sister Betty, pointing to the red figure lying on the carpet. Tommy shook his head, and so the pair forgot all about the little tin soldier. For a while the fox terrier dog, Pat, played with him, and then he, too, finally discarded him. In fact, Pat fell fast asleep on top of the little tin soldier. Then everybody left the nursery and the little tin soldier lay all day alone, hearing faintly the sounds of revelry from other parts of the house. It was dark when Aunt Sarah came in io clean up. She picked up the little tin soldier and placed him carefully on the mantelpiece. He was standing there, rifle on his shoulder, \ head erect again, when the lights / were put out and the tired children fell asleep. Pat lay directly beneath him, nose into the empty grate. It must have been midnight when the little tin soldier heard a faint, hissing sound. Something was burnng. For a while there was just a ’aint odour of burning wood, but soon t began to grow stronger, and the ittle red soldier began to see a light. Small yellow flames were licking ilong the mantelpiece, advancing with tungry bounds up on the soldier. The ongues grew longer and more fierce, )ut still the children slept on, unconcious of their peril. Death stared him in the face, but he little tin soldier showed no fear. Hl that stood between the children ind the fire was this red-coated igure. The flames started to lick his ect. They were making for the mass f paper decorations and holly that iung above the mantelpiece, and went fit across the children’s cots. Only the head of the little tin oldier could now' be seen above the Ifpnes. It started to move forward, t was disappearing, the soldier was ying at his post. He was melting. / lis legs had lost their colour and his 1 ody was falling forward into a grim ' ittle heap of lead. A small, molten stream ran over ;he dge of the mantelpiece, and. like a rop of blood, the first of it fell on the leeping Pat. Pat sprang to his feet iith a terrific yelp. So bewildered .as he that he barked excitedly at the ames and woke the household. It did not take long to quell the re, but Mr. Smythe looked very erious and spoke of a dangerous bare lectric wire. Mrs. Smythe was cryig, hugging first the sleepy children nd then, the excited Pat. Nobody thought of the little tin Didier. His body lay at his post- a cry small piece of molten lead—and . was not until next morning (Box’ng ►ay), when Aunt Sarah found it, th.-.t verybody knew' how the little tin sldier h" t house.