CENOTAPH AND ABBEY

Hokitika Guardian, 11 January 1921, Page 3

CENOTAPH AND ABBEY

A GREAT -PILGRIMAGE

i LONDON, Nov. 18. i For four days all wheeled traffic was ! diverted from Whitehall, and this usualI ly very busy thoroughfare, handed over I to the Glorious Dead, became strangely I noiseless, silence being broken only by the patient orders at intervals from i the police, “Pass along, please; keep moving.” Its silence was most impres- ; sive, yet it was full of movement, for : the procession of pilgrims was neverI ending. Many were overcome with 1 emotion. By the end of the week, over a million people had filed past the Cenotaph, many of them carrying flowers—- ■ irom simple hunches to huge trophies, ! some so large as to need two men to j bear them. It was the most solemnly ' inspiring week-end that .London has i ever known. No one had ever imagined I that anything so wonderful coitld take ' place as this vast popular pilgrimage to J the Shrine of the Dead. j ' As it lias been aptly remarked, the ( State provided tho opportunity for the ' public to give fitting expression to their 1 grief for the death of those who gave j up their lives in the war. It was a ! worthy idea and worthily carried out, hut even so, its true greatness would , not have been realsied if the public had not at once grasped its extraordin- : ary beauty. The people seized the idea , while it was still a germ, and converted it into a celebration that stands out alone in the history of the country, and almost in the history of the world. |

There were miles of queues on Sunday, pilgrims going both past the Cenotaph iind past the spot in the Abbey, which lias been daily opened from early morning till the approach of midnight. A r ery few realised until Saturday how many thousands of ehiUfcen were made fatherless in tho great war. It was like a big nursery round the Cenotaph —babies horn after their fathers were killed, little lovable boys and girls who even now can’t quite believe that daddy will never come home from those wars, and growing lads who had just begun to look on father as their biggest pal, had come with bunches of flowers. There were parties of school children who were orphaned in the war, and parties from the great, orphanages. Long after sonic l of us have forgotten the events of these times they will remember how they were taken to AVestminster to give l honour to daddy. On Saturday they were thrilled with pride.

“It’s fine to think they put tiie Cenotaph up for daddy, mummy,” . one little hoy whispered. j Two things struck the observant onlookers—the silence and the discipline.' Hardly anyone spoke above 1 a whisper, so that AVhitehall, still closed to all traffic save these long columns of i mourners, was as still as a churchyard, 1 and (lie police hud an easy task to keep order. No one tried to push ahead of | liis or her turn ; none broke tho ranks or made tho handling of the vast crowds -

c e difficult. A remarkable feature of i the demeanour of the crowds was the - absence of anything in the nature of, mere curiosity. One felt that no motive of that kind had influenced these countless thousands to spend many hours under trying and irksome conditions. Many thousands of pounds worth of florai tributes must have been deposited on tho Cenotaph during the week-end. The workmen of the Office of Works were busy during Saturday night arranging the wreaths, in order to secure the best effect possible. It was noticed on Saturday morning by the officials of the Abbey that on unknown mother had placed some medals on the grove. These eloquent symbols of gallantry could have found no more fitting resting place. They are the Moils Medal, the General Service Medal, and the Victory Medal, and belonged to her son, who was wounded three times and was reported “missing” at Hooge, in September, 1915.

Thousands ot poor homely iolk bereaved by the war—folk who have never been in London before undertook long journeys for the purpose of joining in the great pilgrimage. They were everywhere. From distant parts of Wales, Scotland, and Ireland these pilgrims have come, even from such far-off places at Shetland, and the islands 0 f the Outer Hebrides. There has probably never been any parallel to this extraordinai y gathering of widespread pilgrims at a common shrine. The nearest approach maybe found in the famous visitations to Lourdes, hut those who have seen both admit that the scenes in Whitechapel and the Abbey during the last few days excel in simple pathos anything they have ever seen. The pile of flowers continues still to grow,'and, seen from the top of a motor omnibus, the great flood of blossoms, washing the sides of the Cenotaph is an unforgettable sight. The policemen on duty, broad, massive men, seem to put an earnest devotion, into their work of an-amdim them. Three wreaths are now mounted"on easels and stand up above the others. One of these was laid there by the King on Thursday t and the other two are from the Prince of Wales and the Prime Minister. Every day a procession has filed slowly by the flower bordered grave in the Abbey, with its processional cross of Abyssinian gold at its head, and its four yellow wax candles set, round it in tho form of a cross. By Monday nearly 700,000 people had walked by the hallowed spot,

One morning, a woman, dressed in mourning, and with a white face, in which there was a depth oi griet approached the queue in the Abbey with a wreath of red flowers in her hand. Tho queue was stopped for a moment as the Dean of Westminster laid the tribute on the grave close to the myrtles of Ypres. The woman in black was a Princess ,whoso sorrow was the same as that of the humblest of those at the trrave. She was Princess Beatrice, who lost her son in the war—at Ypres. The Princess moved quietly away, and the unending pilgrimage went on. Tliero was no break in it 'except when a mother gave way completely and sobbed aloud. Then the tender-hearted people left a little space for her. It is agreed by all that the general arrangements in connection with the unveiling of tho Cenotaph and the service in the Abbey wero highly satisfactory. Every effort was made to give preference to those who have been sorely stricken. This was the expressed wish of tho King and the Government, and it was loyally curried out by the Office pf Works, which bore the brunt of the

work. The applications for tickets exceeded 15,(K)0. Of these 14,000 were received in time for the ballot, which took place on November sth. ,and were sorted into the various categories and approved by the Cabinet Committee. The work of allotting the tickets*'and arranging for seats fell upon Mr Ernest Bright, Director of Contracts at the Office of Works, assisted by a staff composed of Lieut. D. L. Maclntyre, V.C., Mr Lovell, and nine clerks, who worked sometimes for 48 hours at a stretch. Letters of thanks and congratulations have been received from the highest quarters, from the Cabinet , Committee, and the military and police authorities, whose arrangements have been equally approved. Since vehicular traffic lias been resumed all drivers and all passengers oh the ’buses show their respect as they reach the hallowed spot. It is the rule | on all 'buses that the male passengers ! istand with heads hared as they pass I the memorial. ’There was a striking I scene when “G’’ Company of the Offi- ' cers’ Auxiliary /Division of the Royal 1 Irish Constabulary laid a beautiful wreath of chrysanthemums and evergreens to the memory of their dead comrades. The men approached the Cenotaph at the slow march and with reversed arms, -and whilst the Commanding Officer placed their gift at the foot of the Cenotaph they rested on their arms reversed, the officers standing at the salute. It is related that in the early days of tin; war two very gallant and youthful officers- one belonging to a battalion of the Devon Regiment, and the other to an Irish regiment—had tho ill-luck to fall into the hands of the Germans near St Quentin. By the good offices of the French inhabitants t]iey obtained some civilian clothing and tried to get hack to the British lines, only, however, to ho recaptured. What their fate was can well he imagined. Their bodies were, buried together in a small patch of ground. A French lady, who knew the story, grew flowers on tho grave, |

and at the beginning of last week she gathered a red rose that was still bloom ing. She sent it to the War Office in London with a Request that on Armis- | tire Bay it might be placed among the flowers to “The Glorious Bead.” A | well-known Staff-Officer performed the duty, and he had the honour of put- j ting this rose in the centre of the . wreath laid there by the King. Two mornings ago, early, a car laden ' with wreaths arrived. Tt was from . Brurv Lane where tributes from all the London theatres had been collected, j They were laid on the ground in front ' of the barrier. The inscriptions were for the most part from Shakespeare. | Matheson Lang’s company took the lines from Julius Caesar. Nature might stand up And say to all the world, “This'was a man.”