Evening star., 1941-05-17
BY ERNEST POOLE.
BY Radio TO The Star ana the MANA.

6y Haoio 10 Inc star ana tne NANA'
LONDON.-Because with the i'm
pact of bomb, his death has
brought so close to me this vast,
dark, murderous attack on human
liberties everywhere, I now set down
my memories of young pilot offlcer
In the Royal Air Force. He had
become so dear to me that I cannot
bring myself to write the more
intimate memories here.
Robert Manchester was his name.
He was broad-shouldered, 8 feet 2
inches. His features we're large.
his voice was deep and he spoke
never long, but had a great, slow,
radiant smile and could say so much
with his eyes.
How that boy did love his work!
I can picture him seated, leaning
intent over his drafting board at
home; for he was an architect and
often worked at night. He had
worked so intensely and so well that
at % he was already a member of
the Royal Institute and a partner
in time -honored Arm, with work
at Oxford's colleges.
Planned a Rebuilt England.
His firm had built churches, large
town halls and hundreds of small
workingmen's homes. They were
town and city planners, too. and
remember him on so many long
evenings, while we smoked our pipes,
speaking of the new England to be
built when this war is done-speak-
ing slowly, speaking low, but with
that smile and those eyes revealing
his fresh, strong vision of the new
world that lies ahead.
He loved his work and he loved
his life. In London at his several
clubs hts quality of gaiety had made
him stanch friends, young and old
He loved his home. He had Just
been married. He saw no glory in
this war; for him 1t was only a grim
ugly job, and yet, though he might
have stayed out, he went in and
through seven months of grill and
drill in classrooms and up in the
sky he made brilliant record
passing fourth in q class of So. And
yet he took small pride in that.
In this last month, what talks
we had-not of the war and killing
but Of life and building-talks until
l and o'clock in the morning
talks that lifted me back into the
glad, fresh Joy of being young
And the jokes and the kidding
How that boy did love to kid his
Yankee friendl 4s~e.-a.,e... .
| His Friends Look Ahead.
1t is all gone now. He was killed
last month-for this is a war that
demands such things. His station
is England's greatest r. A. F. sta
ton. Behind the gun carriage on
which he lay covered by the Union
Jack, walked slowly to the death
march through one of the station
busiest days. while the men and boys
of the r. A. F. abruptly stopped
work, alone or in couples or in
armed squads, to salute him as he
passed.
So we reached the burial place
The chaplain's prayer-the firing
squad-that last bugle call AS il
died away, the eight young offlcers
of his squadron came one by one
to the open grave, rigid but with
the presence of mind to look straight
forward and not down In salute tc
all that was left of that passion
for building. that joy in living.
He would not have liked my writ
ing this tribute. I can hear hin
say, please don't do that" But II
thinking of what is now at stake
in this dark moment of danger to al
the world that we hold dear, I be.
lieve he would agree with me tina
we put our personal feeling aside
For he was q symbol of millions
not only obys and men In arms, bu
women and children. too, all broueh
suddenly close to death and desola'
ton by this savage onslaught or
free people all over the globe.