HISTORICAL EVENT

Wanganui Chronicle, 27 May 1948, Page 8

HISTORICAL EVENT

INVESTITURE OF THE ORDER OF THE GARTER LETTER TO WANGANUI RESIi DENT FULL OF DESCRIPTION | “It was a most spectacular sight, • something one has read about, in his- | tory but never expects to see,” writes • Miss Betty Sussmilch in a letter to ! her mother in Wanganui, describing j a visit to Windsor to see Princess i Elizabeth invested in the Order of the ! Garter, with the Duke of Edinburgh i and other knights. Sister Sussmilch, ; who is the daughtr of Mrs. Sussmilch, ' St. John’s Hill, is at present on the nursing staff of the Moorfield Bye Hospital, London. During the war ypars she nursed at Bishopstorford, a military hospital just outside London. Trained at the Wanganui Hospital, Sister Sussmilch was in England for seven years and at the end of the war she returned to New Zealand. She took up duty at the Wanganui Hospital remaining for over two years. Just over a year ago she again left for England, and hopes to return here at the end of the year. Her letter continues: “It was a beautiful day and I was one of the milling crowd trying to get a look. A kindly policeman showed me to a good vantage point exactly opposite to the George’s Chapel where I had a good view. Undoubtedly Queen Mary carried the day. She looked every inch the part, and oh, how proud it made you feel of this little island which has survived so much and has so much to show that other countries haven’t. The writer enclosed a newspaper clipping which she said aptly describes the service. It reads ‘‘The history of England unrolled like a tapestry when, between the green spaces of the Lower Ward of Windsor Castle, the premier Order of Chivalry, the Most Noble Order of the Garter, paced slowly to hold the first full chapter and installation service since the year of Trafalgar 143 ■years ago. For the Order goes back to Edward Plantagenet; the blue velvet and white plumes of its robes and headdress recall his claim to the Crown of France—for the Knights Companion still wear the livery of the Capets, not the colours of the English Throne. The heralds in their stiff, broidered, emblazoned tabards link democratic with feudal England; the cut of the velvet crush hats is pure Tudor; the burnished steel of the Household Cavalry, in the dazzling splendour of restored full dress, captures the vividness of an earlier day. Yeomen of the Guard strike a note of Henry VIII., while the Gentlemen at Arms are themselves Victorians in the cascading cocked hats of the Georges. And the 10,000 who lined the path; the other thousands without the walls, hoping to gaze, but only glimpsing the magic within; the thousand privileged within St. George’s Chapel—these were the eternal people. The contrast of the living past with the living present brought tears to the eye; a baby enthroned on a rug on the grass, vibrating the peas in its rattle as the trumpets spoke in a fanfare; the crowd, breaking ranks to stream across the .grass to snatch a second view, as the Guard of Honour—blue and scarlet, whitei breeched, black-booted, plumed and 1 helmed—stood rigid, their swords , perpendicular streaks of silver light; he cry of an infant as the bells of Curfew Tower pealed in a paean of salutation; the throb of an aircraft overhead as the sopranos soared in the Te Deum.

St. George’s Chapel is physically—and today was temporally—cut in Lwo; physically by the screen dividng the main body of the church rom the eastern end,, the choir,

vhere hang, above the heavily carved wood of the Knight’s stalls, their banners and crests draped with their ambrequins. The western half of the chapel was modern; morning .oats, lounge suits, new’ look and old; a woman with medals jingling on her bosom; a gallery lined with modern faces. Up the nave came the procession, with the Knights Companion; handsome Alexander, sharp featured Montgomery, sallow’ Portal, ruddy faced Gloucester.

Queen Mary was z a picture by a great painter come to life—but no painter could capture the majesty of ner bearing, the prismatic dazzle of diamonds. The Princess was grave, pale, even overawed as she passed up the aisle besides the handsome young Duke. The scarlet coats of the pages bearing the trains of the Sovereign of the Order (who is also King of England) and the Queen stabbed the eyes. “Gravely the ceremony was carried out. ‘lt is the pleasure that H.R.H. the Princess Elizabeth be installed,’ —and a herald led the heir to her new place. ‘lt is our pleasure—’ and another Knight took his position. . Into the cloister-hush intruded a harsh bark of military command, the blare of fanfares. A pause, and the great ones were gone in a swish of cars, a flutter of banners. But in the sky the sun was shining; on the fat-bellied Round Tower there flamed the Royal Standard. It was St. George’s Day. And everywhere w’as Merrie England.”