Methodist Church (Great Britain) -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
Indeed, while I am anything but a puritan, I felt sorry that the hundreds
of lads home from the front, many of whom were wounded, had no better
fare offered to them. God knows I would be the last to detract from
their honest enjoyment, and I would make their leave bright and happy;
but after all, the nation was at war, life was a struggle, and death
stalked triumphant, and this was but a poor mental and moral food for men
who, for months, had been passing through an inferno, and many of whom
would, in a few weeks or days, go back again to see 'hell let loose.' If
those men had been merely fighting animals, if they were mere creatures
of a day, who went out of existence when the sun went down, then one
could understand; but they were men with hopes, and fears, and longings;
men into whose nostrils God had breathed the breath of His own life, men
destined for immortality. And this show was pagan from end to end.
When the entertainment was over, I led the way to a fashionable hotel for
tea, where a large and handsomely decorated room was set apart for that
purpose. A gay crowd of some hundreds had already gathered when we
arrived, so that there was a difficulty in obtaining a table. This crowd
had evidently, like ours, come from the various places of amusement in
the immediate vicinity, and had managed to get there earlier than we.
The men folk were mostly officers, while the women were, I imagine, in
the main their relatives and friends. The latter were very gaily and
expensively dressed. As far as I can remember, the cost of a very poor
tea was half a crown for each person. Every one appeared in great good
humour, and laughter was the order of the day.
'Not much suggestion here that the country's at war, eh?' I said, looking
round the room, 'and but few evidences that the appeals to the public to
economize have been taken very deeply to heart.'
'No,' replied Edgecumbe, 'except for the khaki, it would be difficult to
believe that the country is at war. Still, I suppose it is natural.
Most of these lads are home on leave, and their women folk want them to
enjoy themselves. This is their way of doing it.'
'It shows that money is plentiful,' I said; 'we are a long way from
bankruptcy yet.'
'But the big bill will have to be paid, my friend. There are no signs of
it now, but the country can't spend all these millions every day without
suffering for it later on,' and I saw a thoughtful look come into his
eyes as they wandered round the room.
After tea we went for a walk along the streets, and then, at half-past
seven, I took him to another fashionable hotel, where I had ordered
dinner. Again we saw a similar crowd, met with similar scenes. Whatever
London might be feeling, the fashionable part of it had determined to
enjoy itself. At night we went to another theatre, which was also packed
to the ceiling with a gay throng. Here also were crowds of soldiers,
many of whom were, I judged, like ourselves, home from the front.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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