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Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 November 1938, Page 10

CHAPTER I. Along the whole of the route a dense mass of people. had waited patiently for hours. Thousands had been there overnight, sacrificing sleep in order to get a good place, and refusing to suffer any dampening of enthusiasm through the shower that fell shortly before dawn. When the sun rose majestically over the serried roofs of the great city a murmur of delighted surprise sounded like the breaking of a giant wave on a sand carpeted beach. Royal weather this. The promise of a perfect day could not be misunderstood. Everybody forgot about the earlier rainfall as they basked in the gathering warmth of that English summer morning.

It was still early, but even the reserved stands were filling up rapidly. Tier after tier rose from the pavement level, and there were few vacant places at an hour when normally the streets would have been almost deserted. Previous obstructions had taught a valuable lesson. Now they all knew it was useless trying to force a way through a packed mass of humanity at the last minute.

In front of the throng mounted police were continually keeping back the surge that threatened to overflow on to the roadway, and blue-clad colleagues on foot came to assist. The time was drawing nearer and nearer. With a strangely sober tramp that brought a new disciplined orderliness to the scene the thin line of khaki-clad soldiers began to . take up their positions on either side of the street, leaving a lane that was swept so bare of movement that the occasional passage of a policeman was a relief to the eye.

Nelson’s column rose from an unfamiliar array of wooden platforms. On one of these, a little higher than the rest, and broad enough to provide freedom of movement, a privileged band of photographers snapped away to their heart’s content. Cinema-cam-eras whirred silkily, collecting pictures of the crowd, the methods of control, and the coming of the troops. Here were “star” men of the world’s press -and newsreel companies assigned the task of showing these momentous scenes to far-away folk who could not attend in person.

They knew their jobs from “A” to “Z,” these collectors of history—were sure when to work with wide-angle lens or with telephone. A deft adjustment here,another there, and they were' ready for anything. Every one was a picked man attached to an accredited company, for this was an important assignment allowing of no mistakes.

From their vantage point the crowd was a conglomerate blur, but when necessary individual groups could be sorted out and photographed as recognisable human beings. Occasionally faces were turned upwards hopefully. People delight to see themselves on the screen. They like to point out to friends that they were present on an occasion important enough to figure in the newsreels. Time after time the word went round that a cameraman was sighting on the crowd. Some giggled a trifle self-consciously, others automatically preened themselves, but only a few kept their heads turned away from the all-seeing eye. There was envy, tod, for the men who were so' favoured by the authorities that they could acquire an unobstructed view. From the platform the advance of the procession would be visible long before those at road level could glimpse it, 'and even those in the public stands and crammed at every convenient window had not the same advantages. Thin strains of music in the distance told that the period of waiting was nearing an end. From “Stand-easy” the soldiers stiffened to attention and the police again had to press back the throng as it surged uneasily forward. Now the band could be heard distinctly enough to distinguish the tune. Feet were tapping as though swayed by magic in the martial air.

Hoarse cheering rolled like a slowly gathering wave, with the peculiar stridence of occasional feminine crescendoes rising above the deeper throated sound.

And all along the line of route the military orders brought the Clap-tap-click of presented arms. Men and women gazed, starry eyed, filled with a deep emotion that expressed itself in different ways. There was no shame in the trickling of a tear, no surprise in the choking lump that rose unbidden to the throat. Even the strangers within the gates were affected. It would have been impossible to remain unimpressed by a nation demonstrating a fullness of loyalty and affection at once the surprise and envy of a whole world.

Truth to tell there was plenty for eye and ear, as well as heart. Here was pomp and pageantry beyond imagining. All the colour and bravery that anyone cotlld desire suddenly introduced into an age of utilitarian drabness. Before the flaming uniforms the colourful dresses of the women paled .into insignificance, and the restrained garb of the civilian menfolk was a sombre background to something that was dazzling to a most satisfactory degree. Fine material this for the cinematographers. Every camera was whirring continuously, soaking in this unique display that would arouse further frenzies of enthusiasm when the reality of it all was only a gracious memory. Cheer echoed cheer. For visiting potentates there was a warm welcome. Dominion delegates had a more intimate reception. Then there were representative detachments of Navy, Army, and Air Force, high officers and rank-and-file marching proudly as they realised the reality of accorded tribute. Great ones of the Empire, too. Men who had devoted a lifetime of service that a splendid symbol should endure. This was their hour of reward, to share in some small degree the greater’ triumph. No wonder they ,were tight-lipped, for it would be easy to give way to deep-seated feelings that for once tried to well up to the surface.

Very noticeable was the thoughtful cnoice of representatives in this procession. The splendid figure of General Sir Vincent Parminster was no surprise introduction. His public record justified such recognition. This was also his day-of-days. In all the glory of his full-dress uniform he sat his

grey charger with conscious dignity, the plumes of his hat nodding in time to the restrained prancing of his mount. '

Not everybody knew him by sight and the acclamation, was probably as much due to admiration for a fine figure of a man as to realisation of what he had done in the national cause. Despite some threescore years and five, his back was straight as a ramrod. Hawk nose and keen grey eyes were set off by a somewhat bristling moustache, greying but still showing traces of the blonde bleaching that comes of much exposure to strong sunshine. A soldier of the old school. Thus he would be labelled at once. There was no mistaking the breed, or the product of his training. Though he glanced neither to right nor to left-there was little doubt he was conscious of his position. So intent was he on appearing un-selfconscious that he revealed his suppressed excitement. Suddenly the general reeled. A surprised look came over • his face and he swayed slightly. The passing of a blaring band had distracted attention, though plenty of eyes were still rivetted on the general. Some wondered why he seem to smile grimly, and they observed that he made a brave, effort to carry on. '

A passing faintness, perhaps, born of the heat and the excitement? It was not unusual. Other men, younger by many years than Sir Vincent, had been overcome. But he could not hold himself together. To a brazen accompaniment and the throbbing of drums he slumped slowly' forward until only the stirrup kept him from falling to the ground.

A quick-witted police officer stepped forward and gently led the horse, with its sagging burden, out of the procession, which then wound its way onward as if nothing untoward had happened. Curious glances were cast at the group which formed by the kerbside, but there was no undue anxiety when it was marching sedately along, apparently oblivious of the falling out of the most distinguished of their number. On the outskirts of the crowd ambulance men hurried ‘to render first-aid. There were many on duty and they had already had a busy time attending to fainting cases. “'Stand back, please,” ordered a pol-ice-sergeant as a little knot of sightseers began to gather round. Even the close-by pageantry could not hold attention when there was something decidedly unusual to arouse curiosity. It was peculiar to say the least, for a general in full-dress uniform to collapse in full view of hundreds of onlookers. ’

“Give him air-give him air.” “Get him away from here,” observed a St John’s man quietly, but with an air of determined authority.

“Is he very ill?” asked the sergeant.

“Never mind about that now. We must, get him to the aid-post at once. Where’s the stretcher?”

Two other helpers came hurrying forward, unrolling the grey canvas and tautening it with a quick flip. One of them was about to cover the recumbent burden with a blanket when the man in charge snatched it up and dropped it negligently on the ground.

“What’s the idea?” A movemerit to recover the blanket was deftly circumvented.

'“Let it alone.” At the urgency of the words, spoken through set teeth, the ambulance man gave a puzzled shrug and turned away.

A police inspector, still holding the reins of his horse, was close at hand. He came over at a beckoning gesture and there was a hurried whispering. Whispering. What was said appeared to give the officer a sharp jolt, for he handed over the care of his mount to a constable and began to get together a small squad which set about clearing the immediate vicinity.

It might have been noted that it was done with a view of keeping people away from that blanket over which the St John’s man stood guard. Then, at a command from the inspector, the police formed into line in such a way that they completely invested the mysterious spot.

Meanwhile, Sir Vincent was being conveyed to an ambulance which drove away as quickly as possible. People stared at the incident and muttered questions.

“Poor man,” exclaimed a motherly old lady, “you can’t wonder at ’im feelin’ the ’eat with all them ’eavy clothes.” The cue seemed to satisfy public curiosity. After all, accidents and illnesses were everyday affairs but a fine procession was a rare sight. And there were still many glowing things to be seen.

At last the glittering cavalcade passed. The bands could be heard in the distance but the guards along the route were beginning to relax, as if they could not keep up the strain of statutelike immobility for long.

A gentle breeze flapped the flags and swayed the bunting. Every tall pylon with its regal ’draping seemed to be in slight motion. The wind also lifted up a corner of that oddly disposed blanket and a constable quickly anchored it down with his foot.

One or two higher officers had also drifted to the scene. Now that the pageant was ended those near by expected the posse to march away as the soldiers were already doing. But they stood fast, occasionally being called to attention, and then allowed to be at the easy. “Curse the crowd,” muttered a superintendent. “Will they never clear?” “It’s going to be awkward,” agreed the inspector. “They’ll be wandering about looking at the decorations for hours.”

“That can’t be helped. So long as those who were about when it happened clear off we can carry on without much bother. You did right in keeping it hushed up.” “I’m not really entitled to any credit, sir. It was the St John’s officer who spotted something amiss and managed to keep it out of sight.” “Well, whoever was responsible, it was smart work. Naturally there’s bound to be a shindy, but at such a time a general windup would have been disastrous.”

“Quite so, sir. I suppose you don’t anything?”

Not a thing. Those Yard men and