A MOTHER NEVER FORGETS.

Taranaki Daily News, 21 August 1917, Page 2

A MOTHER NEVER FORGETS.

HARRY LAUDER TELLS HOW A brave WOMAN ItHAIEMBERS her SOLDIER LADDIE. Sitting in my little parlour—Mrs Lauder one side of the fire, and mo tho other side of the fire—we camo to the conclusion, that I might say a few words to the mothers of Britain. . 1 may mention here that Mrs Lauder is a great woman, and far cleverer than me. And it was natural when . X thought of writing such a thiu<* as this present article that I should "ask her advice. So you'll understand that tho following words come equally from Mrs Lauder and myself. Nobody but a mother can understand what sho gives up when she gives up her son. There's a tie between father and son which can never be broken, and the loss of ''my boy leaves me with a sinking, broken, lonely feeling round my heart. For wo were pals, my boy and X.

Lut the mother's loss! My dear T .vifo bears it very quietly, and very ..quietly at. such moments as these she tells mo a little of what she feels.

From birth up the child is so near to her—from the time when somebody tell« her "It's a boy!" to the time when sho tells her husband with K lad and fearful wondc: "lie's ;i man, now, John," or "Harry" as the case may be. At first lie's just a wee bundle in lier arms. And how she has to care for him then. Every moment of the day and night her thoughts are with him.' Such a to-do with feeding and minding and soothing. Such a dressing and undressing'. Knell a, making and making fine of baliy clothes. Such a ceaseless watch and guard to keep away the thousand littlo ills that baby flesh is heir to. The wee bairn is still part of her, and his faintest cry goes through lier heart. THE WEE BUNDLE IN HER ARM SHE REMEMBERS NOW. Oh, be sure that the mother of a dead soldier sees her Von as lie was in those old day.-j. He sure that in the lonely night v,•etches, in fancy she ;,1 ill holds liim against her breast, rocking him gently to sleep, and .crooning over him the old world songs her mother sang to. her. He was a- great strapping fellow when he vent, owl io the war—six feet, maybe, with, broad shoulders "ml tierce moiishiehe. Bill to lu's mother he is always, first and foremost, that wee bundle in ]u\r arms. And then he-learnt to toddle. That's a grand day when, lirst lie toddles from his mammy to his daddy and back again. And he loams to talk. Was ever pocky as wonderful as those nonsense. baby words? Ajid now lie's hang in® lier aKrte fill day, peering from

behind them at; tho greAt world and. the* postman. And now he's breeched. His daddy's a proud man, and maybe Iris, mother in proud, too. Yet stio sighs as she- folds up the baby petticoats and' puts them in the press with a eprig of lavender and a tear. Care l'or him! How a mother 3ms to' care! All the childish mishaps, ay! and all the childish naughtinesses, fall upon her. 'Tis :-\w must send him out to school with shining morning face., and welcome him bar); to dinner—black from head to foot from a roll in tho mud viDi lang Sandy Tamson's Sandy. Oh. hf.'l vex Jier often enough (what lad that is worth his salt doesn't?); but she's proud of him. he's the applo of her eye, and even the seveNaS reproofs

All this tho mother remembers now, an she sits v.ith her man, or maybe by herself, at tho fireside. Those childish ham' : ; still pull at her skirts, that childish treble still echoes round the house. A heavy-footed young rascal comes clattering down tho stairs, and a ' beloved little voice seems to ask "Hither, should I buy some sweeties wi' nui penny?"

More, much more, sho remembers. She remembers the boy growing up into the man; she remembers tho jealous pang she had when first his eyes wore i.ast upon the lassies. £he remembers him passing; from school to work, or to college. Perhaps lie still comes to his mammy,, when he's hurt. And what a pride sho has in his achievements. How her heart exults (though only tho flash in her eyes betrays her pride) when sho hears one neighbour say to another: ''Rah Anderson's Wully is a clever bov!"

SHE THINKS OP HIM NIGHT AND DAY. for him? Does she not care fo? him nig'lit and 'lay? Has she not plan-, ned and prepared for him since his birth ? Does sho uot still plan and prepare for him? Is she not always .dreaming of what-her boy will become? Does not. all that has been, and all that might have bcen.fiash beforo her eyes, as she sits lonely before tho fire, and knows that it is all over and knows she will never see her son again? Never again? Blot out those words! She knows she will sec liim again. She knows it as 'surely as that the fire bnrn3 before her and the wind whistles in the street. Not on this earth, not with these poor eyes that -have looked upon him so often and with, such fond lore. No here, oh, not here, dear bravo mothers, but somewhere else, where love is never more parted from true love, a lid mothers and fathers are never more parted from their eons. Tliis is her consolation; this is hor strength. This givos lier courage to face the world and her daily round of duties; though her heart seems empty ami tho purpose of lifo seems gone. God for His own good purpose" has taken this boy. Wei], she will -just bow her head and endure—and wait. After al), it is only a few years of waiting Then sho will hold him by his strong shoulders and look iuto his face again. Without' that conviction tho agony would be too much to be borne.

God knows it is hard enough for a man i/O bear the lof>s. Yet the man goes.ont into tlic world; he takes up his work, and in the eights and sounds of everyday life he xvi 11 nob be constantly reminded of his loss.

Tha mother stays at homo—in tha homo ivhero one© lie was. And everv moment slio _is reminded of her boy. 35very room is full of his presence. In this chain Ih> sat; hero lie played ; ,at EVERY MOMENT REMINDS HER.

this table he did his leteons. That iron-inould in the table-cover wa3 an iokstilin once, Thw is his bedroom. Seated beside him here she ofttimes crooned a low song until the little sleeper stirred no u'jorc-, and the room grew so quiet that you could hear the night air nudging at the window pane. Supposing all that, supposing all those memories were really buried out in Franco! Why should the mother so bereft live on?

But just here, in the old house, belief comes to her. are not dead memories. She does really feel her boy beside her, feel his arm around her neck, hear his voice, feel Jits check against her cheek. The poor, heroic: fiesh of her boy is out in France, but ho himself is here, hero now, nearer to her than he has. ever been.

So the brave woman tells herself over and over again, yet cannot stifle tho dull aching of her heart. Since I have learnt what sorrow means I have thought much of you, mothers of our dead soldiers, and wondered at your splendid courage and resolute faith. Tho times arc hard, and somo of 'you do not lead easy lives. Yet you never fplter. We. eould'well havo forgiven you had you cursed the country which demanded of yoii thi.\ stupendous sacrifice. Your patriotism puts lis men to shame.

And. in the hearts of many of you there is no thought of mevo revenue , Just now I said- to Mrs Lauder, ''lf only I could go out as'a.-sniper, and get my one!" And she said to me "Harry! Harry! "Vengeance is mine, saith tlni Lord." Oh, women, women! we are dirt compared with you."

Yet to Mrs Lauder Jol)n was more than most sons are to their mothers. I'or I was oiten away from home, and they were always t-ogther. When at last I had more time to be with him I found him a man and my equal. That was great, too, but his mother liad walked with him up the years. GOD'S JUSTCE BE DONE! All the same, my wife has no patie.nce with tho sentimental cowards who woula let murderers escape without, punishment. T ( et God's justice bo done, she says. And so she hopes that- if the • is tiiken it mil not be by' tho British. She knows our softness when our blood is not up. But if the French take liihi they will givo him his deserts. And what would you think of us, mothers, if we men failed in our great purpose, and were false to you ;md your sons? You would esteem us little better than those unmoutionablo things, fit for service in every way except the way of courage, who iet brave men go out. to die for them. You accept your loss becauso of the greatness of our cause. What, then, if wo betray that cause? Your sons went forth to battle with no mesn purpose in their hearts. A doar friend of my boy has written to us: "Hd has .died for the cause lie believed to be the best and greatest that had ever been at stake in the world—the fier.dom of his country. He gave his life—not impulsively," nor in adventurous recklessness —but with a settled enthuiasm belonging to the depth, and not tho tumult of tho soul." ' !

In that spirit our sons went out to fight, in that spirit they died. And in that spirit, bv God s l.elp, we will endure, oli, mothers of Britain \ till the cause they iought for is triumphant.