FORTY THOUSAND FACES.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2629, 11 October 1909, Page 7

FORTY THOUSAND FACES.

THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE.

TUMULT AND SHOUTING

(Melbourne “Argus.”) There was only one calm, unruffled faco in the Melbourne Cricket-ground on Saturday afternoon, and that was the face of the clock in the smokers’ pavilion. It alone was expressionless, while over 40,000 faces brightened, darkened, and changed. Its hands never quickened tlieir pace, although the pulses of over 40,000 people throbbed with excitement. The clock looked down upon a great spectacle. Enthusiasts had taken their seats in the front rows in. the outer ground before 1 o’clock. They rushed from work at midday, met their wives dr friends “at the corner,” and sped to the ground. They brought their lunch with them, and seasoned it with a discussion on the weather and the coming match. They went to the match to enjoy every detail. It was' long after 3 o’clock before the stream of spectators had ceased to flow into the ground. There was no rush. Jt was just a steady pouring of people into a circular enclosure. Row after row formed. Good humor and expectation was tho mood of the'crowd. The rows deepened, and a thin line pi bobbing heads, like a moving thread m a great width of carpet, wound its way round the enclosure to the western scoring-board. It seemed as if tho thread must lose itself or become entangled, but it never failed to find a way for itself. Meanwhile the empty spaces in the members’ reserves were disappearing. They were, however, not all filled. A couple of thousand vacant seats were left-Miare, empty benches, barren, brown, like sterile rocks jutting above a luxuriant valley. Boys climbed the roofs of sheds, sidled along tho ridges, and were exhilarated by the clear prospect of green turf below them, while their ciders planted both feet firmly on the ground, and were glad to catch a glimpse of grass over somebodv else’s shoulder. Mon and boys climbed the elms, and hung suspended over the arena, while high up. on the topmost point of the smokers pavilion, stood the figures of men, clearly outlined against the sky. The members’ side was gay with hats of many colors. The opposite side was a great picture of faces, so many being grouped together as to efface any impression of hate or colors. Yet at times, when the crowd, with a common impulse turned its collective head, the eye saw only hats, and nearly all were boxers. Next Saturday straw hats will probably predominate. When the sun shone on the upturned faces in the outer crowd such a bright picture vas produced that, in comparison, the colors in the ladies’ hats in the shade of the members’ reserve appeared to fade and lose their bloom. So many faces showed from the open stand .at the Richmond end that it seemed impossible to get another into the picture, and the standing crowd in front of the stand was a solid body of men, wedged closely together, save where the moving thread traced its onward course. Between the lips of nearly everyone was a oipe, cigar, or cigarette, and the air was suffused with smoke—smoko which did not seem to want to leave the crowd, but curled itself lazily above the people’s beads. A great clapping of bands greeted the central and boundary umpires as they filed on to the ground; but it was a feeble demonstration in comparison with the mighty “Oh!” which arose* the sounding of a great note of exclamation, when the umpire bounced the ba'l and the eager players threw themselves at it. A great, good-humored crowd then became keen and partisan. Long before the end was reached a girl, with her hair still in plaits, was yelling to Essendon, “Tear them to pieces. Close to her white, set face was the smiling visage of a youth—ugliness transfigured with joy. Carlton was winning. It was a hard-fought game on the grass. It was a hard-fought game on the asphalt. Everybody worked hard —straining necks to see, and uttering shouts of encouragement. A wag said to a neighbor, who had been giving instructions to Essendon all the afternoon, “Shout a little louder, old man, and then they might hear you.” His hoarse voice might perhaps have been heard across the compartment of a railway carriage. An old man, with, a cracked voice which would not have disturbed the peace of mind of a sleeping cat, railed at Carlton, and. was satisfied that the players heard him. But, although these individual voices appeared lost in the tumult, they all iplaved their part in the chorus of barracking. The exclamation 1 of a girl .was simultaneous with the note of indignation which arose to 40,000 lips, and the single note was converted into a roar. The big crowd was pitiless in its criticism. The 80,000 eyes missed nothing. They saw the trip before the man fell. They saw the hand shoot out before the victim staggered. Even when EssendonAs chance became hopeless the crowd did not relax its .intentness. Nearly everyone remained with eves riveted on the players until the bell rang, and then there was a wild rush through the gates for home.