Читать книгу On the right of the British line - Gilbert Nobbs - Страница 6

I was soon comfortably settled in a first-class compartment and whirling towards Waterloo, with the worst ordeal of all still before me: the breaking of the news at home and the parting while the shock is still fresh.

Who are the true heroes of the war?

Our fighting men are cheered in the streets; every newspaper and magazine sings their praise; every shop-window reflects their needs; in theatre, pulpit, and workshop their praises are sung.

But are they the real heroes of the war?

Ask the fighting man himself. Speak to him of his wife or mother, and the expression on his face will answer your question.

There is no one to sing her praise, no one to paint the picture of her deeds; no one to tell of that lonely feeling when her hero departs and the door is closed behind him.

The fighting man looks upon his share of the war with a light heart. Events come too rapidly upon him to feel depressed. He does not feel the gnawing hunger of the lonely wait; the emptiness of the world when the parting is over; the empty chair at the table, and the rooms made cheerless by his absence.

There is no one to describe the terrors of the morning casualty list; the hourly expectation and frozen fear of the telegraph boy's "rat tat," bringing some dreadful news.

There are no crowds to cheer her; no flags or trumpets to rouse her enthusiasm and occupy her thoughts. No constant activity, thrilling excitement, desperate encounter.

Hers is a silent patriotism. She is the true hero of the war. And in hundreds of thousands of homes throughout the empire, her silent deeds, her wonderful fortitude, are making the womanhood of Britain a history which medals will not reward, nor scars display.

The fighting men know it, and when you cheer them, they know that there is still one at home who deserves your cheers, yet will not hear them; and who will seek no greater reward than the safe return of her own hero amid the applause which greets their homecoming.

Fighting men acknowledge it! And when your ears are no longer deafened by the cheers of others, take off your caps, fill your lungs, and cheer to the echo the real heroes of the war.

All honour to the woman who waits.