WHILE THE KETTLE BOILS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 3, Issue 74, 22 November 1940, Page 48

WHILE THE KETTLE BOILS

Dear Friends, To-day mothers all over New Zealand are watching their daughters being caught up in the fever of war correspondence. As they watch, some funny little twist must come to their hearts, for twenty-five years ago they were those same girls, writing dreams of romance into their carefully-penned notes to the Front. Many of these women married their men who came back, and their daughters now have taken up the pen that they laid down a quarter of a century ago. That seems such a long time. Yet the present war has wiped out the dividing period, and memory and reality have joined forces in to-day’s bitter struggle. The memories that they laid away with the signing of the Armistice in 1918 have been resurrected — particularly letters to the Front. I was a schoolgirl during the last War, and I remember I was awakened one night by the muffled sound of marching feet. We rushed to the balcony, and there, swinging past in a shadowy column, were several hundred men on their way to the troopship. There was something eerie in that curious, muffled tread along the darkened street. A halt was called in front of our house, and we threw down cigarettes and sweets to the men. One soldier threw back a military badge with his name and regiment wrapped around it. I immediately adopted him as. my correspondent. I wrote faithfully for two years, then I heard, to my immense pride, that he had been awarded the V.C., and was to be invalided home. He called, of course, but I did not make the romantic impression I had anticipated. I had forgotten he could not see me that night he marched past-and, when he returned, my hair was still in pigtails! Another woman I know has continued corresponding with her "lonely soldier" for twenty-two years, He lives in Aus-

tralia-and they have never seen each other, But one day they are going to meet, Many girls, however, married lonely soldiers with whom they had corresponded. These were the romances of the last war. Girls to-day are still the same, and the identical sentiments and hopes are being written by romantic lasses all over the world. In Sydney, an organisation has been formed called "Letters from Home." The founder was a girl of eight years, and her mother took on the task of establishing the club. Notices are posted on all outgoing troopships, notifying the men that correspondents await them at the club’s address, Every member adopts a "lonely soldier,’ not in any romantic sense, but in a spirit of friendliness and comradeship without sentimentality. Boxes are packed and magazines dispatched overseas. These women are doing fine work. What do you say in your war letters? For young girls, it is so easy, but for the wives and mothers it is an even heavier task. They must hide their heartache behind cheerful and carefree words. They must keep their men happy; hiding from them all their anxieties and worries. Your man is doing a job. See that he does it with a lighter heart because he knows all is well with you at home. It is that he is fighting for. Write him all the foolish, inconsequential chatter of your daily life. That the cat has had another litter of kittens; that his favourite rose is blossoming bravely in a New Zealand garden. He will need that message-the light touch against the sombre background of war. It will keep up his heart. That is our job, Let us do it faithfully. Yours Cordially,

Cynthia