Imperial Valley press., 1936-12-15
SPORTS
PARADE
By Henry McLemore

NASSAU, Bahamas, Dec. 10. U.R)
1t is quite possible that this is
not, strictly speaking, sports
column.
But I have the idea that we In
the deep Bahamas saw something
on this particular occasion that
transcended anything that the
greatest golfer of them all ever did
in a championship, or any poloist
or boxer or runner ever accom-
plished in the heat of competition.
We stood in a humble little
square, surrounded by humble
Negroes, the whole entire army, SO
strong-a platoon, mind you, in our
own organization-a platoon that
one single hand grenade might
wipe out-stood at present arms to
hear the proclamation read by the
provost marshal, that Edward VIII
had abdicated the throne, and that
George VI, now was Imperator Rex,
defender of the faith, Emperor of
India and, as we know, King of
England.
At the end of this simple pro-
clamation, the little banda home
made affair, in homemade cos
tunes, gave to the air the oldest
of national anthems; an air that we
stole to fit our own words, the
stirring simple song that our British
cousins sing as God Save The
King"
1t was still on this small island.
There was hush that covered
Nassau from the old fortress to the
older watch-tower that the piratical
Blackboard built on its topmost
eminence; there was strange quiet
as the provost-marshal read the
short, formal lines that changed the
monarchy of the greatest empire in
the world.
In front of me, sweat pouring
down his face (for it was blister
ing hot in the unprotected square
with the simple statue of Victoria
Regina in the centeD stood a stupid
little native boy, with a big game
rooster in his arms. During the
playing of the anthem the rooster
started to crow. The little black
boy said shut you mouth" and to
be sure he did, stifled him with
choke of his brilliantly-feathered
neck. What the little black boy
thought I do not pretend to know.
but he stood there, a tiny, ebony
representative of the far flung
British empire, paying his own lit
tie tribute, in his own little way,
to the new king, his new king.
They stood there, this little crowd
in tattered, dirty clothes, three
thousand miles from headquarters.
and can tell you this-that If YOU
were standing in Trafalgar Square,
with one hand resting on a lions
shoulder, you were in no more
British place, than in this little
square before the postoffice in
Nassau.
After the crowd had formed they
marched in which the tiny colonial
army first, and then came the BOY
Scouts-the black boys in the lead
led by a drum-major whose swing
made you forget his tan shoes per-
haps didn't match his Hopping hat:
and then white Boy Scouts. and
they all lined up to form British
square.
When your correspondent, seek
ing better view, started to cross
before these same boy scouts, stand
ing at attention with broomsticks
Tor guns, he was stopped formally
and politely by black police Of
ficer, and firmly told:
Please do not pass in front of
the ranks"
1t was a request that Pershing
would have obeyed.
Then came Sir Bede Clifford. six
leet four, moustachioed, in the uni
form that made him the perfect
picture of the British colonial gov
ernor There were cockatoo feath-
ers on his cooked hat, his sabre was
at his side, and his white gloves
swung. He reviewed the bow scouts
black and white-inspected their
broomsticks, and then the old En-
field rifles of the standing army of
so. Then he walked to his car. with
The Union Jack flying on both sides
and was whisked away.
Then the provost-marshall came
out on the white washed balcony of
the postoffice and asked for cheer
Tor the new king. "Hip-Hip' he
yelled.
"Hurray" answered the crowd.
Three times he hip and
three times the natives "bI,rrahed -