THE WOMEN WHO WAIT

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 5, Issue 55, 20 May 1942, Page 6

THE WOMEN WHO WAIT

By .Laurence Hope. A veiy dear friend came in to sec me the other evening. It did not ncec the sight of that dread little envelope, clutched tightly in her hand to tell me something A\as wrong. I could sec it in her face. She was calm; very quiet. There was a look of pain in her eyes. Ant yet too, I caught in their depths i gleam of triumph—a look that eouh have been born only of faith anc courage. She carried her head high. Hei face, stamped Avith sorrow, yet lick a look oj , , pride. Her boy—an only child—had hcei killed on the battle front. "I felt I could come and talk t( you about it," she said. '"It wil ease my mind." "I am not Bitter" And' so we talked. About him; hei pride in him, her hopes for his future, which can never now be re alised; his cheerfulness, his sunns laughter, his zest for living. Now he was dead. My heart achr <nl for her. She stopped talking, am a silence fell between us. "I am not bitter," she said at last "Donf think I am bitter. Of course I knew it might happen, but I hac hoped. . . He was so young—so i'uT of life. And yet I coukl not have had it otherwise. I could not, have kept him back —would even il [' could. "He felt he had to go. I felt it too. 'Greater love hath no mar than this-—that he should lay clo-wr his life for his friend.' I feel thai is what he has done. He has giver his life that others might live." There is not very much you car say to a woman who has , lost one o) her dearest things in life. I said nothing for a time. We were sitting on the verandah looking out over the harbour. The scent of flowers were borne on th( warm brezc. The night closed ir around us. The stars pierced the dark eanopj T of heaven. We sat and watched "the lamp; being lit in the Mansions of th< Lord." Somehow, it seemed a strange peace stole out of the night anc brought a message of comfort. Although they did not fit the individual case, I thought of Tennyson's words of consolation to Queer Victoria on the death cfthe Prince Consort: "Break not. O wotnan's heart, bul still endure . . . May all love—His love, unseen but felt —o'ershadow thee: the love of all tin' sons encompass thce, the love of all thy daughters cherish thce, the love of all thy people comfort thee —till God'si love set thee at his side again." I found myself repeating them aloud. "Yes," she said, "they're beautiful. He's all I had. But that lasf 'Till God's leve set thee at his side again,' is a marvellous message of cheer. Do you believe it?" "Yes," I said. "I do. I don't know how or why—but I believe you'll meet 'beyond, the river,' when the time comes. "It's a comforting thought," she said, "but I still have my work to do-—here . . .'" At a loss for words of my own, I reminded her of blind George Mat heson's Avonderful hymn of praise and faith, written in the darkest hour of his life: r 'O love that will not let me go ... D JO3- that seekest me through pain ... 0 cross that liftest up my head . . ." "I know," she said—and I shall never forget that brave look in her ?ycs—"l know. I'm net going to break down. I avouUl not haA~c him ashamed of me." Then she laughed. "'V for Victory'," she said. "We must make that more than a slogan.. 'They also serve who only stand, and Avait.' AVe ' must not let them break the spirit of our Avomen." Faith Fighting Fear I looked at her, and thought; Thciy never Avill—thank God. j There Avas lillle light on the harbour. But the vaulted domr of , was ablaze Avith stars. There ivas hope in those points of light. [laming defiance at the dark—the promise of a glorious morrow. "I j trace the. rainboAV through the rain, l unci feel the promise is not vain,, that morn shall tearless be." Long after she had gone—that fine raliant woman—l sat in the. darkless thinking—thinking, not only of the heroism of the men avlio are facing death or mutilation on the bat:lefields of the Avorld, but of the :juict, patient heroism of the avolien avlio are Avaiting at homo— 1 read ing the postman's knock, the Tt'l of the telegraph boy, the issue

of the casualty list; carrying on with the daily round, the common task, a smile on their faces, a cheerful word in their lips, a grand faith fighting a craven fear. And: I thanked God for the heroic women of Australia and far-oil' Britain, where death has taken a heavy toll, but left the spirit still unbroken . War releases, the worst there is in mankind and, perhaps by the law of compensation, it produces the best. My woman friend who was looking bravely and undismayed in the face of death, who had suffered a cruel blow, was only one of thousands in this Avar-torn Avorld. Humdrum Heroism 1 take off my hat to them. It (is not for our women to light, but perhaps they luive the harder task. With all its perils, the thrill of battle brings a stimulus that helps the lighting man to meet the test. The pressing danger, the compelling challenge to life, often creates the courage toi meet it. But those who stay at home are not called to spectacular achievement. There is nothing dramatic about Uieir effort. Theirs is the humdrum heroism of CA'ery day. There are many heroines among the AviA r es and mothers of Australia to-day—the Avomen Avho Avait, with a brave smile masking the gmvwing fear in their hearts. UnknoAvn, unhoneured, unsung—Ave salute them. Their courage, their faith, their unbreakable spirit is helping us on to victory. And remember, death is not the end: We know, if Ave have faith, that ca'Ll must l)e overcome at the last. There Avill bo times Avh'en Ave shall find it difficult to believe that "all things Avork together for good"; when doubt Avill OA'erwlielm us and the Avay seem dark. But the Great Spirit Avhicli Avatclics over the uniA r erse and supports our splendid Avomen and inspires our courageous men Avil 1 give us strength in our hour of need. And in his oavii good time, the God of Battles avlio can also Avipc aAA-ay all tears from our cye<s, Avill bring us into that peace Avhieh passeth understanding.