THE VETERAN.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 6, Issue 274, 11 May 1917, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE VETERAN.

A STORY OF FIFTY YEARS AFTEB By TWELLS BREX.

Sir Reginald Whikkershaw (grandson of the Whikkershaw who gained his baronetcy in 1017 l»y tho invention of tho synthetic potato) utrolled out of Victoria Station on his. way to hijuclub on tho fiftieth anniversary of Peace Day.

Tremendous crowds filled tho streets. It w;us universal holiday. Flags waved from every liu'ldmg; bands played in every open .space; public fountains ran with non-alcoholic ale; all the women wore the quaint and piquant national costume of litlG-17. From the windows of the Government offices, extending from South Kensington to Temple Bar, half a mill'on fair Civil Servants rained confetti on the crowds.

Whikkershaw was oM enough to remember the days of the great war. Too young at the time to understand it> greatest errors, he yet recalled his mother paying £'loo wages for a cookgeneral, his uncle's fatal seizure when the gclf course was ploughed up, his aunt 'n her field-marshal's uniform of tho Women's Contingency Corps. Tho war veterans converged to St. James's Park for their review. Grizzled and snow-headed, some in tlicir ancient klmki uniforms, some in civilian dress, some hale and upright, many hobbling with honourable wounds, the old soldiers pushed through the cheering people. Whikkershaw was borne in tho crowd: h's heart filled with emotion as lie looked on the old warriors. Ono tall old man n mufti caught his special attention. He hobbled with a crutch, his back was l>ent. his eyes were shaded by tinteJ gla=se-. Whikkershaw thought of the price this old fellow had paid, in the heyday of life, for the sako of him, Whikkershaw, safe and happy in a world made free of war. A generous, impulse seized him; he would take that old fellow to his club; he would lunch and wine him like an Emperor.

Whikkershaw strode up to the old man, shook hands wth him, called the blessings of Heaven on him, took his arm, and ?riod, "Now, hy Jove, you're com'ng to lunch with mo at my club, and I won't take 'No' for an answer. The veteran tried to speak. Whikkershaw haled him off to the club .

Many of his friends were gathered there on this festive day. They were delighted to meet the old veteran. Whikkcr.*haw introduced them to h'm —a couple of Peers, a bishop, celebrities of all sorts. The old man tried often to speak, but nervously broke down. He seemed anxious to disclaim tho honours heaped on him, but they would not listen to him.

And thus they bore him to the top of the big table, .with a Poor on his right and a bishop on h'B left. The old man's plate was plied with the finest viands and li's glass with the rarest wine. "Think," whispered Whikkcr-s-haw to a fellow clubman, "whit it must mean to the old lwv!"

And then came the'spoeches. W'nikkershaw surpassed himself—he always surpassed himself atfer Pommery. He pointed to the guest of the day and asked his fellow clubmen to think what that crippled old man stood for, "tho world's dawn after darkness, the burial of barbarism, the lasting enthronement of security and freedom for all mankind." The old man here, tried to interrupt, but friendly hands pushed him into his seat and recharged his glass. Whikkershaw concluded: "He. still bears his wounds m fter fifty years, his wounds for you, for me, for our wives and children of this aeg of light. We aro inheritors of the fullness of life he •pawned for us." Whikkershaw was weeping; the Peers wept; tho bishop wept; tho waiters wept—and then the old man rose to reply. He was unsteady; he was terribly nervous. His speech was brief. "Gents," he said, "I tried to tell that kind gentleman (pointing to Whikkershaw), but ho would not listen. I've tried to tell you all, but you wouldn't listen. It ain't —though I says it myself—my fault. I ain't one of them veWinarJcs of the war. I only came out to look at them. You've been very kind, gents, very hospitable, hut-; " "Then how were you wounded?" demanded Whikkershaw hoarsely. "Bless you, sir," answered the old man, "that's soon told. This here bent back I got 'n the great war through having to bend down so much, lwing a tall man, for Indies to stick .flags in my buttonhole. A motor-'bus took this leg one night in the streets mighty dark they were in the great war. This here scar on my face I got from one of them war-time wax matdKjs fizzing its head off. As for these b»J eyes—perhaps none ->f you gents is old enough to remember the light in the railway carriages in 1917." Tt was hard on Whikkershaw.