THE CHILDREN OF FRANCE.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XL, Issue 12541, 12 May 1915, Page 7

THE CHILDREN OF FRANCE.

Mr Philip .Gi'bbs, in the "Daily Chronicle." writes-. What do they think about tin- war, tlio.sc little oiles uf France whose fathers have been away ior half ;l year to light the Germans? ... . . ~ I often used to wonder what tile child s point of view might be about this grisly business oven as far back as the first day.; of August, when the war began, and all the voumi fathers of France were called to tlie colours. It made a difference to the children even then. They were conscious, even the smallest of them, that something had happened—a queer mysterious something; called "la guerre," which made a sudden change, in I Lie ianiilwr aspects ol their lives, just as in u dream the. nio=l peculiar things hap|>el), transforming their little bedroom; perhaps, uim » great lorest where some' ugly moiisluv • voams .hidden behind the trees, but known to \w there, ready to make a pollute upon any small bov with a uig fear in his heart. ljetauc'e "la guerre" had tome, on that second dav of Aimust, the children playing in the Xuilerles gardens and under the russet trees of the Champs KSyscrs lostone of their verv best friends. It way old Punch, the chief actor of the Petit Guitfnol. who gave a.'last wild squeak of terror and then "lied. with-.Udg Toby, the Policeman, Old -Man .Deatli (they have other names in French}, and the whole company of the children's drama. "It was because 'ol the war, alsu. that strange things were happening at home, so that small boysand girls stared with big eyes to see their father tome home how his office one day. not in his ordinary clothes, but with' a blue coat and red. trousers, but like one of the "pious-pious who used to stroll about the garden's of the. Luxembourg making funny eyes at the "bonnes" in their white caps. It seemed very amusing and very glorious .of- Monsieur, papa to. dress .himself up as a soldier—because of "la- guerre'—but it wa; stranger that his face was all v.-ot when ho kissed his children, and that he squeezed them so close and hard when he said "Adieu, mes petit*!" that he hurt them in his hug. And what was the matter with manmu .that she could go all white like a pierrot with llour on his lace when she said good-bye to this soldier father a.ud then come back into the room like a drunken woman, so that she walked unsteadily, and then wept with little cries of pain, such as "U la guerre, ia

guerre: Su they know quite soon, these little ones of France, that war hud happened to thai;. At'first it was rather cxut.ng ami joliy, in spite of the way in which" their father and mother had behaved. There were regiments passing in the streets, with ■lowers twined about their rifle*, and with great bouquets in the hands of oliieers, who kissed their petals and smiled up to women in the windows. Gun carnages went by with a fine rattle of wheels over cobble-stones. Cavalry rode by on horses whose thinks gleamed Very glossily in the August sun, " There was a thrill in the air.' a quicker movement in the life of the world. ' The children beat upon their drums and marched like the soldier.-: '*un, deux, nil, deux —battel"

It seemed that mi war people were really killed, not like children, who sham dead and then get up again, but like dead birds who lie so very still under the trees in the Tuilories when there is a hard frost of winter. Thousands of people were being killed. Hundreds of thousands. Did the children understand that? Not much at first. It- was only when maman put on ugly black clothes one day and sawl : "Your" "Uncle Victor i-s dead, my little ones. He was lulled bv the Hermans." ft wns only then that they began to understand the'meaning of death. For Uncle Victor had been ' a bustling young man. who alwavs pulled Suzanne s pigtails, and growled nke a bear under the table, and (lid all kinds of droll tricks when lie came. It, would be a pity nut to see him again. But he was not the only uncle t-o ho killed. It seemed that, the Gmuans had also killed Uncle I'iirre ai d Uncle Louis, ■-o that it would make quite, a dilforcno' to the Christmas presents. Then one day came the news the : r father's death, iu a erv from the mother at I'm- breakfast table. . . .

Now tbev understand the meaning of war. these' children of France. Thousands and even hundreds of thousands, of them, at. lea-1 kimw that there is no! much fun for Hie children of Ut'lbi and Armentieres. lietlusne a.ml Arras. Soissons and lilieims. and s.:ur'-i of towns. iM id hundred.- of villages, along a line of five hundred miles in France. For all the children of Franc there is one object- le.-son of war's meaning which has sunk into their luarf-. It is the sigh' .01 the wounded who have cmc hack- ill these, officers and men who limp along th,roads of France. k'amtig heavily on crutches and sticks, al! these line men ndio have left a loot or an arm behind, "iabas,." as that mv.-tcrious place is called children watching these men with grave, thoughtful iyes, out becau-e childr.ni hid" their' thoughts I never hoped to know wdiat ideas' were working' hi those: little heads.

\cl now 1 iiimw what one little girl thinks, for she has written it all down In." me I others who would like to read it. 1 believe this ehihl ei eleven upoaks for all the children of France, thuiigh she writes only for herseit. 'She is a" little "U'.cotcusc," one of those imumierabh: knitting- girls v. iiu spend ui;ir evenings after school noms m muk.ng caps and vests and sock* for tin- soldiers at tiie Irout, and seeing her so busy the question was asked, "\\i'ut will y.m'g.rls no witn vour needles wlun the war is nnished This, translated into Lnglish, is the answer she wrote :----

What shall we do with our knitting needles when the war is finished? Well, the onlv Hung we can do, it seems to me, is to go on knitting for the little ones who hav.' been left wiiuout the r lathers, anil for a long, long tune there will be k.lifting in France.

When we. take our work to a poor I'aindc, if cue of the children thanks us we .-.'nail say: "Little ones, you needn't thank us; it isn't worth the trouble. What have we given you? A little bit, of wool, a little b,t of our time. But think ot what you have given ! You hav..' given us your father, who. after your mother, was dearest to you in the woild, because it was to defrud all of us that he gave his hie." . . . The child will go away, warmlv clothed, and when he gets to sehool he will find other children "who. not having lost the.r lathers, will lie aid.' to go with their mother to buy their clothes in big shopsfine clothes of gay eoleui'.s, with striped collars and ctill's." I'.ut he. the oiphan boy. won't envy them: he will he all the more proud of "his black jer.-.y--not very well made, perhaps, because he will think that this jersey, given in memoiy of his lather, is almost as though his I'ailicr had sent it himself, Ids father, the hero, v.hom all Ihe world r.dmin's.

Am! that is why. with so many orphans ol' tlir war. mi French -ill will put away her knittiie.' needles.