The Bemidji daily pioneer., 1917-09-13
ROSES AND::'TEARS..
GREET WOUNDED
Busy London Strand naIts
When Ambu|anceS Arrive.
ENGLAND GRIM, Determined

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Twice Each Day In tho Bright Sun.
light and In tho Gloom Of Night, Wks>d \
Millions Fit Through Darksned Lon.
don, Comes q Picture More Tragic
Than Any Dramatist Can Write. =.
Tears for the living, tears. for the
dead, show the aching hearts today in
the Merrie England of former years.
tears for those who are leaving, tears
for those who will never return, tears
for those who are home again, scared
and MANNED by the fires Of DEATH
England weeps unashamed. as sbe
fights unafraid. Tenderness for thed
manhood she is sacrificing brings Bit
terness for the foe that is destroying
it. Tears that come from gentle hearts
leave a void filed by the iron of hate.
A nation once laughing and care free
now is fearful and determined. says
Junius B. Wood, writing in the Chica-
60 Daily News.
All London Now Changed.
Il wonder whether London will ever
be the same happy, thoughtless city it
was in the old days." said a British
army captain one day as our train roll
ed through the parklike country with
the tiny green fields, winding lanes
and thatched stone houses.
His name was famous wherever the |
union jack waves, just as are those Of
Mathewson, Wagner and Cobb under the
Stars and Stripes, for he was one of
England's famous cricketers and had
played in every part Of the globe where
the British game has followers. Just
( as he had played for the national hon.
or on the field of sport, he was fighting
for it on the field of battle.
"It's the same buckle up and face
the ball. for British spirit never dies,
but the smiles, the laughter, and, tho
music are gone," was the way he
phrased it.
Tears well from the eyes Of gray
haired mothers in black, from the,I
stern faced soldiers back for a, breath
of home after the months of fighting,
from pale young eyes Of British blue.
Along the Strand, favortte OF toplcal
song, the stream Of humanity never
ceases. Twice each day, afternoon
and evening, it halts as, the ambs.
lances slowly make their way to bis.
toric Charing Cross station, just of
Trafalgar square. One ambulance at
the station draws the curious. This is
not one, but. hundred or more, SOM
ber gray vans marked with red Nal.
tese crosses, filling the long, billy road
way at the station side.
A train is coming from the coast
bringing the wounded, and only a few.
from the fields Of France. On . train
shed platform, side by side and end to
Z end, the stretchers are spread, cover
ing it with a mantle Of tan canvas.
The hurrying station crowd stops.
Some were elbowing to gates for coun-
tryside homes, some arriving from
lands beyond the seas, others bidding
fearful farewell to loved ones, healthy
and strong, leaving for the front. on
long trains from opposite platforms
to the grim symbols of the, future
Homecoming, If there be a homecom-
ing. The train glides silently to q
stop. a white clad nurse In each door
along its side, the ambulance orderlies
pick up their stretchers. Wrecked hu-
manity is to be carried away. 1t Is
part of every days routine in London,
as regular as the twice daily mail In
any Of the 10000 small towns in our
home country. The first ambulance ls
loaded and rolls out of the station.
When tho Vans Arrive.
It was only q narrow lane through
the crowded station courtyard and
down the bustling Strand, hushed for
4 the time save for the stifed sobs for
those who will not return, those who
have gone or others who In their young
manhood are to go. Another follows,
then another, each one brings q thou
sand heartaches.
Under the first archway stood chit
of girl. A, cheap ribbon was the only
ornament on her little hat, the lace on
her waist of frayed lavender silk was
torn, her spindly shanks were set In
soiled white boots with heels Of ludc-.
rous height The little purse she open
ed held a big English penny and only
one. "A rose for penny" said the
flower woman, and the last penny went.
for a red rose. Some had bought
dozens, others had armfuls.
!. She ran behind one of the gray am
; balances slowly picking Its way
through the human lane. A skinny
arm flashed in lace and lavender and
the rose fell inside. Tears streaked
the little rouged cheeks as she faded
into the crowd. Others threw their
armfuls. For every ambulance there
we're roses. Sometimes in the shadowy
interior a hand would wave. Occa-
sionally one would feebly try to rise.
It was home again in England after
1,11 - TIono11v nr,tV a nl1Hao,