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OVER 6000 IN MOVING
SHRINE SCENE/
" o
It Was Again The
Sacred Morning"
/By. ALAN DOWER
In the breathless hush that fell , .when the autumn leaves had
. stirred in the dawn breeze and " the last cry of a night bird had
echoed and died, we lifted, our eyes . to the unfaltering light that
had burned through the night as a sentinel over sacrifice and as
a lamp oi liberty and hie.
It was again the sacred morning, when memories
surge, down through the arches of the yeers as
quickly as the stars wink weakly and retire, that
had been dedicated reverently and with some pas
sion to those who kindled our lamp of life — our
Vital Lampada;
The poor and the rich had
assembled here underneath
the "wond'rous glory of the
everlasting stars" . . . 6000
men and many women —
young and old — a record post
war muster, to give tribute
and renewed avowals to those
who fell with an example,
and a message "flung to the
hosts behind."
They had trekked — as they
did when the war-clouds burst
— from the north-east high
lands where the towering
pines of Beechworth sway like
the poplars near "the battle
fields of France . . . from the
hills and vales of the West
ern District where the flocks
graze on grass as green as the
rolling downs of England . . .
from the singing timber mills
of misty Gippsland and the
warm vineyards of the Mur
ray .. . from the mansion
and the cosy villa, and the
mustv doss-house in the dingy
city lane.
Stood In Grim
Phalanx
THEY stood in a grim
A phalanx under the grey
but majestic austerity of the
Shrine. Humble, yet proud-
strangers, most, but united
forever by tlio spirit of chill
Anzac dawns, by common
imnto onri Hia ffli'iwnf hnnpg
of years to come.
Behind the.great bronze
doors of the 'sepulchre, as
the distant clock struck
6 a.m., stood the head-
bared admirals, generals,
and marshals of the
forces, a pace or two be
hind the warrior Gover
nor, wearing th'e decora
tion of the Distinguished
Service Order won in
battle.
On the simple but telling
stone, consecrated to those
who had "no greater love,"
lay the Governor's wreath —
"in honored memory."
Out in the paling night,
under neat homburgs and
battered felts, shoulder to
shoulder In costly tweeds or
tattered macintoshes, were the
men of all birth . and breed
wb" make a mighty army.
Now, there is no sound but
flip steady trudge of pilgrims
'filing past the rock with hand
on heart. Thirty-three min-
utes— 10 more than last year
—pass before the last has gone.
They file through .to the
southern door and see the sun
rise splendidly in the- east as
the cooks crow distantly - and
the flags of the nations are
broken in the frosty air.
Above, the lamp still burns.
. . . Steadily, silently, elo
quent with' its message to:
"Bear through life like a
torch in. flame,
I" And falling fling to- the
host, behind—
"Play up! play up! and
play the game!" '
It Was A Long
Time Ago
'T'HE long, cold drift of the
bugle sounding G for a
silence that is felt and meant,
is a carrier wave for memor
ies of other days, before
women were weeping,, and
fathers' eyes were bright, but
moist ... before little re
mained but the message from
sparkling eyes that shone
from the leaves, of an album
of treasured memories.
It was a long time ago. But
not so long that the memories
of you£h that died with a
smile or a challenge that was
lost in the thunder of guns
could be forgotten.
This man bv mv side is
thinking that, although he
does not murmur or move a
muscle of his finely-chiselled
face as his knuckles gleam
white around his cane, and
the light glistens on his Croix
de Guerre, and another
award for valor,' on his right
breast, which tells that a
gallant airman son did not
come .home.
Just here is a grey-haired
man with Queen Victoria's
medal and several campaign
bars who saw some of .tne
finest regiments of the Brit
ish Army cut up by the hard-
riding Boers at Bloodriver
Poort and Tweebosch 50 years
ORO.
Firm-Jawed Men
OS Ansae
ANOTHER, there, whose
Mons Star shows that he
sailed - with General French
in the Channel packets 36
years ago . . . who stumbled
back night after red-eyed
night before the onslaught of
the . German Army . . yet
lived to thrill and cheer on
the darkest night of the great
retreat as the weary Grena
dier, Coldstreamer- and Irish
Guardsman turned with the
bayonet and Landrecies and
won one of the greatest sol
diers' battles of all time.
Here are the firm-jawed
men of Ahzac, whose Cold;
steady steel triumphed when
regiments, were sawn in half
and their comrades, coughing
last encouragement and the
challenge to oppression that
rang -clearly down the years,
died in the wired shallows or
on the erupting beach at
Gaba Tepe. .
Tremulous Motes
Over City
AVE think these things as
.. the tremulous notes of
Last Post float as a requiem
over the dew-tipped trees
and the sleeping city.
It was a war to end war . . .
But soon the world was
trembling again under the
rolling mignt oi tne Army ot
. the Reich. Poland, enveloped
by Panzer pincers . . . Hol
land, crushed by aerial might
. . . Belgium, that tottered.
The silent night when France
fell, when- peace and liberty
lay bleeding,'- and. . men the
world over wept quietly with
the. women. .
Then,- . again, the youth
that make the armies that
fight like devils for a Chris
tian peace . were on the
march,' while women filled
. their places. In the factories
and the farms, or stepped
out with . the- troops and
nursed them where they fell.
Dim Light Within
v |he Shrine
'T EST we forget, the dim
light "within the silent"
Shrine caresses the carpets of
fragrant blooms laid with
tender, hands. .
All : night the light has
burned. All night the
scent of blooms has filled
the marble vault and
wafted to the cold night
air j where ' the sentry
strides his steady beat.
All night it has lingered
on the simple rock dedi
cated to the ghost bat- .
taliohs; '
..- They, should grow not old
.while the lamp of life /Is burn-
- ing and their message is en
graved on the hearts of men
who" keep the soldiers' faith
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