ENGLAND SHALL STAND

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 11, Issue 2, 5 March 1947, Page 4

ENGLAND SHALL STAND

—V—r--- . "is l Reeling from the stress of battle Bowed beneath the weight of peace Her people sore, distressed and weary As troubles manifold, increase; < . Her long traditional leadership Challenged by ambitious powers England, stalwart champion of freedom, Grimly behind her ancient towers, Bathes her wounds, regroups her ranks, Prepares to hold her honoured place, At the forefront of the nations In this troublous year of grace.

Sceptics scream that she is finished! That her glorious sun has set, Pointing to the staggering burden Of war’s accumulated debt.' Yet rationed to the breadline limit With privation, face to face, England gladly shares her substance With a starving vanquished race! Here lives her ancient greatness! Here her impregnable will!; The spirit of a thousand years, Of England—unbroken still! For greatness is not born of numbers, Or vast productive skill and might, Of armies, or of mushroom navies And the power of death-winged flight! Let those who think her finished Pause and think again; Let them look at history, Study her unbroken reign; Go back to her beginnings, Catch that far-off cry, As the charioteers of Boadiced Dashed into Roman ranks to die That the honour of ‘their’ England, Forever should remain The heritage of men unborn, And England live again!

Thus from a tiny acorn The giant oak of England grew, A sanctuary of free men, That stood against, the winds that blew From every corner of the earth, And challenged by relentless strife Flung forth new rootsl and branches, Clung tenaciously to life. Thus ’England with unflinchingcourage Stood strong against the Years Guardian of the rights of men Companion of their joys and fears.

“Is England down—and finished?” Let a Londoner reply. “She’s been battered, bombed and blasted,But she will never die!” Never! The spirits of her ancient dead, Red-coated ‘squares’ of English fame Stand beslide her as she struggles To retain her mighty name! Can the glory and the spirit Of Dunkirk ever die? What of “the few” who grimly held The ramparts of the English sky? Who, at the bridgehead of history, Alone, through a year of hell Could have held the modern horde Before whom, Europe fell?

The spirit of the Cockney, Joking as swift death rained down. Shouting “Blimey, we can take it! Long live old London town!” Carefree ‘Algy’ debonair and bored Glancing up with rare disdain Watched the “blighters” swooping grimly Then slowly said “It’s going to rain" But took his place with nobby Smith Donned battledress or air force blue, “Dipped his lid” to Churchill And went forth to ‘see it through’l Behind them stood the ancient shore, Ahead a job to do, Within each heart the English spirit The bulldog courage, too! Will men like these, accept The status of a lesser power? • Tho’ midnight shroud the. ‘white ' cliffs’, Big Ben awaits ’ To sound the new day’s hour! England shall live, and rising Phoenix-like, with strength renewed, Vouchsafe to none her heritage, The birthright of her brood! This commonwealth of kindred blood, These far-flung branches of a mighty oak, Shall stand against the storms of time That England live, And men of every creed and clime, Accede to her with one consent The age-old place of a mighty land; But come what may— Tho’ the old oak bend and sway, England—shall—stand! William Richard Whiteside, Whakatane.