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D'Arvelles' Mission Presently he heard a soft knock at the door. Opening the door d'Arvelles found one of the Cardinal's personal warders standing before him. "His Eminence desires your presence in his study, sir," he announced. D'Arvelles nodded acknowledgement and at once proceeded to the Cardinal's study. Richilieu was alone, sitting behind a massive, oaken desk piled deep with papers of state. The expression on the holy man's face told d'Arvelles at a glance that he was in some difficulty. He was leaning back in his seat, his eyes closed, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his hands clasped. D'Arvelles broke the silence saying, "I have come, your eminence." Without so much as opening his eyes, or otherwise recognizing d'Arvelles' entrance, Rlchilieu said, "I am in trouble, d'Arvelles." Then, assuming an attitude of intense interest the Cardinal sat up and leaning over his desk, said, "You are my friend and 1 trust you d'Arvelles. Tonight, I am going to send you on a mission which means the saving of France and the life of her King. The task is a dangerous one. Do you volunteer d'Arvelles?" Inwardly revelling at the thought of real action d'Arvelles instantly replied, "I am at your service, your eminence." "Good! I shall give you all information at my disposal. Last night a rider came from Paris. He bore a message from my agent M Lavois who, for a good reason, has befriended the very disagreeable person of the Marquis de Cinq-Mars. The King, on my advice, dismissed Cinq-Mars from court two weeks ago. Infuriated by the disgrace and goaded into action by his evil friends, he has plotted against the Crown. M Lavois has acquired knowledge of this treacherous scheme. By the plan the King is to be assassinated and a regency established. Today a boat docks at St Valery to discharge cargo from Paris. She is expected to sail on the ebb-tide tomorrow. On board will be one Monsieur Fontrailles bearing a message from Cinq-Mars to the Due de Bouillon. It is expected that this message contains certain dates, names, and places the knowledge of which is necessary. Your task is to learn the contents of the message. Return here when your task is completed. I shall wait for you." "I shall return with the information," said d'Arvelles quietly, thereby taking leave of Richilieu. On the way to the village d'Arvelles tried to formulate some plan. His first call was to be at the village inn. Long before reaching the door of the inn, the sounds of laughter confirmed his suspicion that the crew was ashore. Now to ply one of the more talkative sailors. Clouds of tobacco smoke practically obscured his entrance into the place. D'Arvelles took the scene in from a table near the door. Nearly every table in the spacious barroom was occupied by hardy, bearded men whom d'Arvelles judged to be the crew of the boat. Wine was flowing more than freely and all were talkative and happy. Shifting his gaze to the table immediately next to his d'Arvelles saw a short, drowsy, stubby bearded sailor sitting alone. Sauntering over to his table d'Arvelles jauntingly said, "Join in a drink with me garcon?" "Gladly, m'sieu," was the sleepy reply. After giving his order to the servant, d'Arvelles casually asked, "Docking at St Valery long?" "We sail tomorrow on the ebb." Feeling his way carefully in questioning the man, d'Arvelles next asked, "I will see you here at the inn tonight?" "Oui, m'sieu, we will be here. We are paid double this trip so there will be money to spend." D'Arvelles pricked up his ears at this. By this time the sailor was becoming excessively talkative. "We have a passenger on board from Paris. I know not his name but he must be on important business. He never comes ashore and a guard is posted at his door every night. Marillac, who is so attracted to yon maid stands guard tonight. He hails from this village, y'know." Following the sailor's gaze d'Arvelles saw the young and handsome Marillac engaged in what seemed to be a very intimate and agreeable conversation with the innkeeper's beautiful and very attractive daughter. Presently the couple left by the side door. D'Arvelles followed, leaving his sailor-friend half-asleep over the table now littered with empty tankards. He followed, as unobtrusively as possible, down a narrow, beautfully shaded path leading to the village church. They disappeared from view into a tiny clearing off the path where the monastery well was situated. D'Arvelles ducked behind a huge oak tree when he came within hearing range of their voices. Peeping from out his hiding place d'Arvelles smiled at what he saw. The sailor kissed the girl. Then he said, "To-night I stand guard at the door of the passenger. To-night the moon is full and I will meet you here at ten o'clock. Yes?" D'Arvelles made his exit at this point. He had found out all he needed to know. At the inn he made arrangements for a private chamber where he might partake of his evening meal. His time was spent making plans for the final and most important task. All events had turned in his favour. The crew would be on shore; the guard would have left by ten o'clock; but, what about M Fontrailles? It wasn't M Fontrailles that worried d'Arvelles; it was how he was going to board the ship without attracting Fontrailles' attention. One sure way of getting on board unnoticed would be to intercept Marillac en route to his rendezvous, bribe him or, as a last resort, steal his clothes and pose as the guard before the door. It was absolutely necessary to have as little stir as possible for otherwise the crew might be summoned. That was it; he'd intercept Marillac! Before d'Arvelles realized, the ponderous clock on the mantlepiece was striking the half hour between nine and ten. He sprang to his feet and was presently out in the cool evening air making his way to the wharf. Judging by the noise and laughter from the inn, the crew of the ship were in attendance 'en masse'. D'Arvelles soon reached the understructure supporting the rickety old wharf. Groping his way among the gnarled and rotten stanchions he reached the waterfront. He hid behind one of the larger pillars near the place where the crew had docked. The light of the full moon which cast a ghostly, white light on the calm waters enabled d'Arvelles to clearly distinguish every detail of the ship as she quietly rode at anchor. Soon he saw the silvery flash of dripping oars in the moonlight. Pulling his handkerchief up over his face d'Arvelles stepped back into the shadows to await Marillac's landing. The sailor pulled his boat up and proceeded along the path directly passing d'Arvelles hiding place. As he approached, d'Arvelles tossed his poniard onto the gravel path a few feet behind Marillac. Surprised, Marillac wheeled to see what had been the cause of the commotion; he was a deal more surprised to feel the icy tickle of d'Arvelles' rapier at his throat when he turned to continue on his way! "Easy, garcon," hissed d'Arvelles, "if you value your life. Into the shadows here; I would bargain with you." Unarmed and so closely guarded Marillac had no alternative other than obey. Emerging into the moonlight a few moments later, the two stood facing each other. "More than fair I've been with you," said d'Arvelles, "a thousand francs, and a chance to serve your country is not to be scoffed at." "I'll do my part, sir," was the enthusiastic reply. They soon reached the side of the ship. Marillac clambered quickly up the rope ladder followed by d'Arvelles who was hindered by heavy boots and dangling rapier. Stepping onto the deck the sailor whispered, "Yonder are his quarters," pointing to a door almost directly opposite where they stood. D'Arvelles removed his clumsy travelling boots and put them by the rail. He handed Marillac his poniard saying, "Lead me to the Captain's quarters." Inside they lit two tallow tapers and placed them side by side on a desk near the door. Leaning across to Marillac, d'Arvelles whispered, "When I call for you, come in." So saying, he crossed the floor as quietly as possible and gently opened the door from the Captain's quarters to Fontrailles'. Inside he could clearly see the sleeping form of his very inactive adversary by the light of the moon streaming in through the porthole. Tip-toeing to the side of the bed he glanced at the upturned face and quickly recognized the man as one of the suspects in the conspiracy against Richilieu. He was snoring loudly. Muttering something under his breath to the effect that he never did like men who snored, much less traitorous ones, d'Arvelles drew his rapier from his scabbard and, raising it high in the air, brought it down, full force, hilt first into the very pit of the sleeping Fontrailles' stomach! Unable to cry out or even utter a groan the man lay in the bed writhing in agony for the breath had been completely knocked out of his body. Before he recovered from the shock and pain, d'Arvelles had him gagged, blindfolded and trussed like a fowl. He summoned Marillac and together they lifted the limp Fontrailles to the centre of the floor. "Stand careful guard over him," he ordered, "and look to the shore once in a while should any of the men be returning." D'Arvelles then lit candles and proceeded to hunt for the documents. After thoroughly looking under and around the bed he began removing the bed clothes. His search here was a short one for on lifting the mattress a black leather portfolio was disclosed. Extinguishing all the candles except one placed on the floor by the prisoner, d'Arvelles withdrew to the outer room. Quickly thumbing through the papers in the brief case, he laid the important ones on the desk. He drew up a chair and carefully read and studied every date, name and place mentioned. Re-entering the bedroom he shoved the case back in its place under the mattress and together they tossed the now conscious but helpless Fontrailles into the middle of the bed and covered him with plenty of bed-clothing. Outside d'Arvelles put on his boots and they clambered down the ladder into the boat. At the wharf, after the sailor had tied the boat d'Arvelles asked, "Where do you go now, my friend?" but before Marillac could answer continued, "I think I could secure a permanent position for you in Cardinal Richilieu's guard. The only stipulation is that you must be single and remain as such as long as you are in the Cardinal's employ." The sailor's eyes immediately fell to the ground and d'Arvelles, thoroughly enjoying himself at the other's expense, burst out with loud peals of laughter. "No matter, my friend," he said clapping the totally downcast Marillac on the back, "the ranks are overswelled now. And anyway, the requirements are rather rigid ones, don't you think?" So saying, d'Arvelles left the sailor standing there in the moonlight marvelling at the man's insinuations and assumptions. Once again in the Chateau, d'Arvelles hastened to the Cardinal's study. First knocking gently, he then entered. He found Richilieu sitting at his desk in the same position he had found him that morning, leaning back in his seat, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his hands clasped as in supplication. Seeing d'Arvelles instead of one of the servants whom he expected, he quickly rose to his feet. He said, "You have succeeded as I have prayed you would since your departure. What information did you get?" D'Arvelles then began, "The documents contained orders from the Marquis of Cinq-Mars to the Duc de Bouillon commanding him to withdraw his private forces to the castle of Sedan. The proposed assassination of our King is to take place in Paris in the private chapel of the Palais Royal on the morning of June the fifteenth. Cinq-Mars is to perform the deed unaided and alone. The Duc de Orleans is to be the new regent." "You have done well, d'Arvelles," said Richilieu, "but what of Fontrailles? Was it necessary to harm him?" "No, your eminence, he still breathes I think," said d'Arvelles chuckling and tapping the hilt of his rapier. Smiling the Cardinal said, "Your mission has been most successful, captain. What will be your reward?" Drawing himself up d'Arvelles replied, "Am I not captain of the finest guard in France, and is not that reward?" Sinking into his seat Richilieu wearily said, "You have performed a service for your country for which you will never be repaid and you will accept no reward from me. Without that information France would have probably been at the mercy of a madman. Goodnight, d'Arvelles. At dawn we leave for Paris." Without further adieu, d'Arvelles simply said, "Good-night, your eminence," and withdrew. W Lingard, Grade XII "But then, I'm not as young as I used to be," he mused, his mind going back to those happy, carefree days at Oxford followed by the long, sad days of the war, when he had risked his young life to fly one of his country's crate-like planes on the Western Front. "Several young men are waiting, sir. Will you begin now?" The voice of a junior officer shattered his thoughts to many little pieces. "Yes," he agreed with a sigh, "bring the first one in." "Yes sir," and the young man turned to the door and beckoned to a boy in the outer office. "Come in, please." The boy walked quickly into the room and glanced around him. Crossfield sized him up. He was a tall, fair boy probably in his early twenties, with clear, straightforward, blue eyes. The young officer turned and left the room. "Sit down, please," said the older man indicating a chair in front of his desk, "I'll have to ask you some questions. First! What is your name?" "Winthrop Lansing, sir," answered the boy. "Winthrop Lansing?" repeated the officer in a questioning voice, carefuly regarding the boy again as he thought, "Yes, that other boy, about twenty-five years ago, had had those same piercing blue eyes." "Where is your home?" "I'm an American, sir, from Massachusetts - Boston." "He must be his son," thought Crossfield, feeling suddenly as if that young friend of long ago was standing there before him now. "Did your father go to Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar just before the last war, son?" "Why, yes, he did sir. I - did you know him?" "He was one of my best friends," answered Crossfield with a sigh. "He was a fine fellow, too. I somehow never thought of his having a son as old as you. - You look very much like him - same little-boy expression." "I'm twenty-five, sir. But can you tell me something of my father? I never saw him, and my mother died when I was about eight. She left me some papers and his medals, of course." His eyes began to mist over and he bit his lip. "I'll tell you all I know." The officer shifted a little in his chair. The leg had begun to hurt like the devil again. "Your father and I were fine friends. We were very fond of each other. He used to come down to my place in Kent for holidays and weekends. We had wonderful times together." The older man's mind went back to those days once again. "Oh! to be able to live them all over once more!" But the boy's shining eyes urged him on. "Then in 1914, as you know, the war began. I joined the air-arm of our army and went to France. Your father took a boat for home, thinking that the United States would be in in a few months, and we planned to meet each other in Paris as soon as he got over. In the spring of 1915 I got a cable, probably weeks after he sent it, that your father had joined the Lafayette Squadron in New York and would see me soon. I was overjoyed at the thought of seeing him again! I met him in Paris about a month later. He told me then that he had been married just a few weeks before he left, 'to the most wonderful girl that ever lived' - your mother, lad." Yes, she was wonderful. I can just remember her." The boy's voice caught in his throat. "Then we went back into the thick of the fight. Every leave we could wangle we spent together talking over old times and the people we knew, and about your mother a lot. In January, 1916, Win sent me a message that he had the most wonderful news. I met him in Paris and that night we celebrated your birth. We really celebrated, too." He smiled across at the object of the celebration, hardly believing that it could be so long ago. He saw as though it had been yesterday, those blue eyes so like those of his son, this boy, happier than he was ever destined to see them again. "And he was killed in February." The boy repeated the words that the older man could not bring himself to utter. The tears glistened in two pairs of eyes staring unseeingly past each other. It was several mintues before the officer brought himself back to the present - to a war even more terrible than the last one had been. "Well, son! You want to join the RAF?" "Yes sir, I do. I want to carry on where my father left off in 1916. He is buried over there in French soil, and if I have anything to do with it, it is going to be free soil - free soil for a free people to live and worship the way they please." Those blue eyes had now turned to a steely grey and they flashed with anger and determination. Crossfield could remember the father's eyes flashing in just the same way long years ago. "You're the kind of young fellow we need to carry on this war. We can't lose when we have men like you in our front line." The officer spoke from his heart. "It is your type of fellow that will keep democracy alive for us older ones and for the younger ones yet to be." Lansing nodded his assent. "And if we fail - but I'm sure we won't - our sons will carry on." The young man spoke with pride and complete confidence, because he knew that his own son, far across the Atlantic, would one day be as willing, as he was now, to give his all for democracy if that should be necessary. Margaret Mary Sheehan Bob knew that he had been letting the team down, and was worried. He entered the room where the Coach sat reading. "Sit down, Welland," said the Coach, "I've got some questions I'd like to' ask you. first, have you any reason for missing the rebounds? Can you see without your glasses or do you think wearing them under a cage would help?" "No sir, glasses don't help matters any. I've tried them but they're no correction to the reason that I'm missing rebounds. I've been to the Doctor and he said my eyes were all right. But you asked me my reason for missing those rebounds, and here it is. Every time I see the ball bounce off the backboard, instead of only one I see two coming at me, and if I chase one the other hits me." "You see two balls! Why that's impossible! It's just imagination!" "It's the truth sir, not just my imagination, and I see two every time." "Well," said the coach, sighing heavily, "we'll shelve it for now. But Friday night we open the series and on a strange floor. You're captain and we're depending on you." "I'll do my best," replied Bob as he left the room. And on Friday night he made his word good. Every ball that bounced off the backboard he got, and many of them went up again and in. But back on the home floor it was a different story, for again he missed the rebounds. This was the way it went all season. Away on the road he starred every game, but at home, he seldom got a rebound. On the Monday of the week of the final game, Bob was again summoned to the Coach's office. "Welland," said the Coach, pacing the floor, "Friday's game means everything to this school, to the team, and to you and me. It's a home game and you know what that means. Got any suggestions?" "Yes, sir. Could you have the four corner lights twisted away towards the corners, and away from the centre?" On Friday evening Bob played, wearing light brown sunglasses under a cage. The result? Bob played his best game of the season and the team took the championship. The mystery of the two basketballs was solved and Bob certainly made up for the earlier games. His only comment was that the shadow thrown by the lights on the ball had fooled him and by sticking to it, he had overcome the thing that had caused so many spoiled rebounds. W G Hodgson "Well, good-bye chumps - er chums, I bet you'll miss me when I'm gone." "Yeah, we sure will," they chorused, "like we'd miss a dose of rat poison." So saying, he swung into the staff car which awaited him and was swiftly conveyed to Headquarters leaving a strangely silent group of comrades behind. On his arrival he was immediately ushered into the office of Brigadier Westlake, the Commanding Officer. "Lieutenant Winterbottom reporting for duty," said Algernon snapping to attention. "Oh, yes," yawned the brass hat staring at him through his gold-rimmed monocle. "I read your report the other day. From now on you're to be known as X2Y2...something to do with your name I believe. Algebra or something they told me. Oh yes, Captain Hartmann will show you your quarters." So X2Y2, as we must now call him, saluted and followed Hartmann from the room. At first sight he had taken a dislike to the Captain. There was no reason for it. It was pure instinct. Later when he released his mechanized black widow pet, purely for Hartmann's benefit, he felt sure that his dislike was well founded. The Captain simply could not take a joke. The look of intense hatred that he had briefly turned on X2Y2 had certainly been real. And in that moment of stress, Algy thought he had heard him mutter "Mein lieber Gott." No one seemed to appreciate our hero. Why he had even heard the Brigadier remark that if the trick had been played on him, he, X2Y2, would soon be sent back where he came from. Rebuffed as it were, by his lack of appreciation of his talents, he decided to go to bed. But he couldn't seem to sleep. Strange music kept him awake. Hartmann was evidently playing the piano in his room, which was next to X2Y2. He knew Hartmann was a musician. But why should he play it this time of night. Oh well, musicians were queer anyway. About an hour after the music had ceased he slipped quietly down the hall to Hartmann's room. "There's something funny about that fellow and I'm going to find out what it is," he said to himself. Just then Hartmann emerged from the room and X2Y2 had to flatten himself against the wall to avoid being seen. "This is my lucky day, or rather night," said Intelligence's darling as he stepped into the recently vacated room and adroitly closed the door after him. He stepped to the piano and ran his fingers lightly over the keys. There was nothing extraordinary there. Then he lifted the outer panel. There, cleverly concealed in the piano was a wireless set, operated by the piano keyboard. Hartmann was a spy! He had just been sending the enemy a message. "Raise your hands, my clever friend," said a guttural voice. "Yes, you have discovered my secret but you will never use it. My work is done. Tonight I leave by plane lor the Fatherland. I am Kapitan Von Seiter, at your service," he finished ironically. Our hero called for help and received the butt of the Kapitan's revolver on his head in return. But the officers were aroused. Quickly they disarmed the spy. Meanwhile X2Y2, having recovered from the blow and not knowing the later turn of events, hurried out to where von Seiter's plane waited on the tarmac. In the inky darknesss his movements were indistinguishable. Then he hastily returned to barracks which were now ablaze with lights. His entrance gave the frantic German spy the opportunity he had been waiting for. Quickly he seized X2Y2's revolver and using him as a shield, he made for the door. The Intelligence men slowly lowered their guns. They couldn't shoot one of their own men. As the door slammed Brigadier Westlake said bitterly to Algy, "You fathead, it's all your fault he got away." "Well," said the fathead, "why don't you go and recapture him? I just pulled a couple of control wires on the plane and I doubt if he can even lift it off the ground." A week later Algernon was on his way back to the 45th Air Drome. Luckily he had remembered the Brigadier's threat, or promise as the case may be, and had, so it seems, allowed his mechanized spider to creep on to the Brigadier's plate at dinner. And the Brigadier, as good as his word, had quickly ordered Algy to get back where he came from, (in slightly more expressive language). S Harness In one of these cities - Rotterdam, there was quiet everywhere, and one German officer - Captain Kail Heilbronn was particularly glad, for in this city he knew many people. He had spent his childhood here, away from his native Germany, on a big pleasant farm not far out of Rotterdam. This larm belonged to a typical quiet, respectable Dutch family. Karl had hesitated to visit them, for was he not now their enemy. But when he did visit them the next day. he stopped in the road before entering the gate, and gazed long at the old barns with their thatched roofs, and the quaint old windmill he knew so well. How different was this visit from the one twelve years ago! He remembered so well when he had arrived in the summer-time! Little Hans and Greta had rushed out to meet him and had taken his hand to lead him into the house, where old Margreta sat in her wheel-chair. "Welcome, welcome, Karl," she had said to him kissing his cheek. Old Margreta had been the head of the Jordaiens family, for her son and his wife had died, leaving Hans and Greta under her care. And then, when Karl had been left alone in the world too, she had so kindly offered to bring him to her farm in Holland. He had spent many happy years here, calling Hans his brother, just as Greta did, but when he had been recalled to Germany by the Nazis, he knew that he loved Greta more than he ever could a sister. "Promise me you will return soon," Greta had said to him before he had left. "Yes, I have returned, but only to take their country from them," Karl thought as he opened the gate and walked up to the door in his stiff, trim, uniform. No one came rushing out to greet him this time. He knocked at the door. Hans, grown into a young, sturdy man opened the door. "Yes," he said, "what is it you want?" "Do you not recognize me, Hans?" asked Karl. Hans drew his eyebrows together and then offered his hand. "I had almost forgotten," he said. "There are so many uniforms, but welcome, welcome." "I am glad to see you again," Karl answered and went inside the house. From Hans, Karl learned that Old Margreta had died just before the invasion. "I am sorry," Karl said, "but I am glad she does not know what has happened to Holland." Hans said, changing the subject, "Greta is well." "And where is she?" "She is in the city working. The farm cannot support us now. Our business is run for German profit only." "I shall go and find her," said Karl rising from his chair, as his friend regarded him with grave dislike. Even though Karl had once been his best friend, he was now an enemy and he did not want his sister to marry one of those who had conquered Holland. Karl found Greta in a cage, sitting alone at a table. The cafe was full of people drinking out of tall glasses, and talking as though it were any summer evening in another year, but when Karl walked in, all talking ceased instantly. He sat down opposite Greta, who welcomed him in a cold distant voice. "I have returned as I promised," he said smiling at her. "You may have returned," Greta answered, "but not to me." She looked at him silently, "I thought you once wanted to be a physician," she asked, looking at his uniform. "That was when I was a foolish boy. Now am a soldier and have been successful," he answered. "Is it a sign of success to be hated and feared?" she asked. "That proves," Karl said, "how strong we are. We are now in control and nothing can defeat us." "In my country we leave the army to those who want fine uniforms and have nothing else to do. We are a small country and content to stay as we are - ruled by a good and gracious Queen," Greta said. "Some day there will be no small states in Europe. It is uneconomic. There will be one or two large states only," Karl said earnestly. "Perhaps instead there will be many small states all in one confederation like Hans dreams of," she said. Karl grew a little angry and shouted at her - "That is nonsense. Will you never realize that one country must rule the rest." Greta's eyes turned black as she flung back at him - "Then God grant that it will never be your country." Then she suddenly sprang from her chair and turned to the people in the cafe, "Who will sing 'Wien Neirlansch Bloet' with me once more?" she cried. She started to sing in a high strong voice. Not one single voice joined in. "Let him in whom Dutch blood flows, Untainted, free and strong, Whose heart for Queen and country glows Now join us in this song." Before she had finished the last line, Karl struck her across the face. "It was my duty, Greta, I had to stop you," said Karl desperately. "I am glad you did that Karl, for now I know that you are exactly what your uniform proclaims. You trampled on all us free Dutch people, by sheer brute force, and have betrayed our friendship, and now I know there is nothing evil enough I can think of you. You are no longer the shy young boy I once knew. Your uniform has changed you and I can no longer love you." Greta turned and walked out of the cafe. Karl hurried after her, and he - the great conqueror asked humbly. "Am I never to see you again,, Greta." She turned and looked at him - his boots, his sword, his uniform. "You have the power to order me into your presence," she said. And as Greta walked away from him Karl realized that a conqueror is doomed to a lonely bitter life. Arnold Baxter XIB There was a little place we know As the famous Coventry. Lady Godiva, pretty and fair, Known to us all because of her hair. Rode one day on a snow white horse And gave the village a feeling of remorse. Alas! there was one; As there always may be, Upon whose conscience there was no fee To gaze on her as she rode by, And Peeping Tom was thus a spy. The other villagers all Were in their homes behind a wall. They knew what was taking place, But did not dare to show a face. In this our world of today, Though many a year has passed away, Since Godiva rode with utmost pride To lower the taxes far and wide, There is another who also with pride Spreads destruction far and wide. Not so very long ago Disaster struck an awful blow, Upon those peaceful folk Living under freedom's yoke In the town of Coventry, Lying in splendour by the lea. Many a tear was shed that night As the light of freedom burned so bright. But tears may come and tears may go And the lifeblood of peace will flow. On into the waters deep Until reigning terror is put to sleep. It is up to us, the young and strong To defend the right against the wrong. We must be the staff to uphold The weary, the sick, and the old, So that in the years to be The world will be safe for you and me And for those who are yet to come. May English spirits not succumb To the drone of an aeroplane flying high Against the azure blue of the sky; But may God keep them safe and well And protect them from this reigning hell, That in their time they all may give The Truth by which we wish to live. Isobel Smale |