THREE FAREWELLS.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 5, Issue 223, 3 November 1916, Page 7 (Supplement)

THREE FAREWELLS.

Sergoatt Roland L. Armit, who died of wounds received in France on September 15th, edited "The liokoan," published by the 4th Battahan of till N.Z. Rifle Brigade, during the voyage to Egypt on Troopship 43 (Feb., 1916). The following extract is one of his contributions to the journal:—

She leaned bad;, resting her beautiful head in the hollow of my shoulder, her hair touching my cheek. All around was still, the purpling shadows of night having brought a cool quietness. We had said the innumer. able things lovers say at parting, and now the dread hour had arrived. We were upon the highest pinnacle of emotion. "And you will come back to me," she whispered. It was more a statement than n question. 1 thanked God for her faith. "When I have dons my job." J answered. "You will always think of me?" "Yes, always, just as I want you to remember mo." She sighed and went on, "You wil? be brave." Again it was more a statement than a question. "Because 1 will remember your courage," I answered. It was time for me to go. I kissed her tenderly—with a tenderness ipringing from the dctphs of my cioul —and, with my arm about her t rose. With arms entwined we walked to the gate. A car was waiting in the shadows. She leaned out over the gate. Her exquisite eyes were shining. 1 could not speak. But she. whom T had elected the greatest girl in God's creation proved herself in that last moment and gave me a religion to carry. "1 would not have ycu stay," she ■.aid. ".Much as 1 love you I want you to win your spurs. Good-bye, dear, —May God grant all my prayers for you." * * * * Her silvered hair glistened under the ray of lig'it escaping through the shade of the reading lamp, and ! caught the glinting play or the needles as the lands that had ministered to my infant body knitted comforts.

J stood upon the threshold of my greatest sorrow. But as the sense of my great grief came home to mo and made my throat burn, my mother helped me again as she> had helped me a thousand times before. "You will see much, dear ," she paid. "Yes, mother. - ' "You will write often-" "Often, mother." She looked at me, and T became conscious of her pride. Yet she spoke to me—to whom manhood had come many years ago—as she would havo spoken to a child. "When you go on your way, dear boy, you will find yourself in many situations which will demand of you all the moral strength your father and 1 have tried to give you. Remember your mother who always prays that your soul may be as white and your body as clean of disease and hurt as when you nestled in hor arms." An hour later T lade my mother farewell, and she jmiled through hor tears. * * * * The old Dad opened the door of what used to be my room. The room is now filled with the boxes of Rcldier brothers who have gone thewav of all men. "You haven't got long now. boy,'' he said between the long puffs he took at his pipe, for, though his seventieth birthday has gone to join its predecessors in the garden of memory, the dear old boy still relishes his pipe. "Only a little while. Dad. hut 1 m Kind to he going. I've been a long time in ramp. "It seems onlv a day or two since you wont.'' he said, and then he gave :no his farewell blessing: "We've done what we could for you. b<;y We're proud of you and glad you'iv on your way to join your brothers and your cliums. T" know you will take your gruel without complaint. Ee glad of it because it will make a man of vou. *!< d bless you. and the cause you are to vindicate." These were the most bitter partings- of my life. I tell vol of them l-cause they gave me a soldier's need- fo win my spurs, to keep my soul an,l lied." clean and to lake my gruel.

And (o this I say. as Hato f.'iid: "Anything more?" This prayer, 1 think, is enough for mc.