IN a varied life certain years stand out for their connection with some special undertaking---1918 is my American year. At the Ministry of Information, as the months passed I became increasingly involved in the absorbing task of seeking to promote understanding between the British and American peoples. American matters now took up a major part of my time.

What exactly was my job? Not an easy question to answer, for it ranged over a wide territory. It was, subject to my two chiefs, to supervise the work of the Ministry in putting the British case and the story of British achievement before the peoples of the British Empire(1) and the citizens of the United States of America. We divided the English-speaking world into two sections, the British Empire and the United States. Each section worked separately although they both came under my jurisdiction. Our activities were very varied. They included the distribution of leaflets, books, diagrams and maps and posters in every language spoken in the Empire; the sending of lecturers on speaking tours throughout this vast territory; the inviting of distinguished educationists and university professors from across the seas to study the British effort at first hand; and, finally, the inviting and welcoming of Dominion and American journalists to the old land. The series of parties of United States editors, newspaper correspondents and journalists whom we personally conducted through industrial England and Scotland, and whom we enabled to see Ireland and to visit the Battle Fleet and G.H.Q. in France, was an unqualified success. Many of these editors and writers returned to their own country with an entirely new conception of the fundamental part Great Britain---and especially the British Navy---was playing in the world war.

The word propaganda has come to have an evil significance. But I agree with my friend the late Mr. Ivy Lee(2) who wrote:

The essential evil of propaganda, therefore, is not in the effort to disseminate ideas. That is legitimate. The evil is the failure to disclose the source of the information. You can defend yourself against the impact of ideas or emotions if you know whence they come.

Mr. Lee, in a paper written in 1934, asked:

What could have been more shocking than the vast expenditure which we know the Tsarist Government made to the French Press in 1906 to seduce the French people into the purchase of Russian bonds? The French people believed that their own Press was giving an opinion favourable to these bonds in the interests of French investors . . . we should exorcize secret propaganda.

Judged by these standards there was nothing reprehensible about our work. It was above-board: the world knew that our job was to present the British case in the best possible light and we threw ourselves with enthusiasm into the job. On the subject of War propaganda Mr. Ivy Lee has some qualifying remarks to make. He says:

War is but legalised murder, and the pragmatist may argue that since the objective is to win at all hazards but with a minimum of murder, any measures less criminal than murder are warranted in the pursuit of the primary aim. Hence the justification for deceiving the people at home and for lying to the enemy. It murder is moral, lying and deceit become moral.

Mr. C. R. M. F. Cruttwell, in a recent broadcast on "War---The opportunity for Mass Propaganda" said:

To practise a rigid economy in truth is necessary, both because the nerves of the people could not bear the full truth, and also because its knowledge would be of vital importance to the enemy. To take a single instance : If the British people had been told at the end of April, 1917, that nearly a million tons of shipping had been sunk that month, that there was barely a month's supply of wheat in the country, and that the Admiralty could think of no effective remedy, such a communication would have been merely equivalent to signing a capitulation with Germany.

Those who have devoted much time to the task of helping nations to understand the viewpoint of their neighbours come at an early stage face to face with the problem that the same set of facts may look entirely different when seen from a different geographical centre. Environment, education, mass suggestion, prejudice, reiteration, have all contributed to create divergent views. But during the war we had neither the time nor the inclination to dissect our motives. The immediate task was to win the war, to fortify the mental armaments of the English-speaking peoples.

Great events were happening in the spring and summer of 1918. By May we were told the danger of a German break-through to the channel ports had passed. By the beginning of July we knew that 1,000,000 Americans, largely by the aid of the British Navy,(3) had been landed in Europe. Allied hopes began to rise rapidly and the spirits of our foes to flag. In mid-July the world was shocked to learn of the execution of the Tsar and Tsarina and their family at Ekaterinburg. By 20 July the Germans had re-crossed the Marne and by the beginning of August the British offensive at Amiens had started. Hardly a week passed without some epoch-making event. In no period of the war was I less absorbed in the daily war news. I had become engrossed to the exclusion of all else in the realization of a dream. The moment in my life that I had been waiting for had arrived. Twenty years of longing and aspirations were being translated into fact. I hardly realized the things that were happening within me.

Not a day passed that I did not meet some of the increasing number of Americans who were hurrying across the Atlantic. Soldiers, sailors, professors, Y.M.C.A. and social workers, clergy, lecturers and journalists were to be found in my office. To me the American was a fellow citizen of the English-speaking world. Our two Commonwealths were engaged in the greatest crusade in history.

The coming of America to Europe to fight shoulder to shoulder with the allies was a very important thing from my standpoint. It was the great outcome of the war. Anglo-Saxon solidarity was at last a reality. I agreed with Walter Hines Page that the ending of the hundred and forty years' estrangement between the English-speaking nations was "the most momentous fact in the history of either people." The world for me could never be the same again. Since my school days I had imbibed Cecil Rhodes's teaching. I had first discussed English-speaking co-operation as a young man of twenty-three with Wilfrid Laurier at Quebec. As the years passed I had discussed the same theme with W. T. Stead, with Albert Lord Grey, Page, Northcliffe and Moreton Frewen. My conviction as to the vital need of a British-American understanding was steadily growing. Occasionally there were set-backs to my enthusiasm when the two nations seemed temporarily unable to understand each other. But I remember in 1908, on a railway journey to Philadelphia, hardly being able to sit still in the parlour-car because I so longed to be able to play a part in dispelling the fog of misunderstanding.

During America's neutrality I tried to forget my previous dreams. Evidently I had been wrong. When America threw in her lot with the other English-speaking nations I knew I had a distinct and personal part to play in the drama of reconciliation. I knew the time for starting my movement, which would do in the broader field of the English-speaking world what the Overseas Club had achieved in the Empire, was at hand.

In my wildest moments I had never imagined myself in a war job in which during office hours it would be part of my work to promote Empire unity and British-American friendship. There was no need now to put aside till the evening or till the weekend the ideas which thronged my waking consciousness. I was in a state of great mental elation. Spiritual forces are difficult things to describe in print. But my love for America and my longing for the coming together of the English-speaking peoples were sacred strands in my make-up. I could no more not have acted as I did than a cork on the surface of a river in spate can remain stationary. No outward event in my life, apart from my crusade round the Empire in 1912 and launching the All Peoples Association in 1929, has stirred me so deeply as the establishment of the English-Speaking Union in 1918.

WHEN I was a young man with Northcliffe I used to watch that great organizer at work. How did he manage to direct so many different undertakings simultaneously? In the course of a day he would turn from selecting a subject for a Times leader to discussing the autumn melodramatic serial for Answers, from planning some blood-curdling new feature for the Weekly Dispatch to considering further developments in the pulp mills of his company at Grand Falls, Newfoundland. His secret was concentration. Every undertaking had a compartment in his brain. When he had finished dealing with one problem it was shut up in its compartment; it did not exist while he threw himself into his next job.

But Northcliffe also possessed another merit. He only enthused about one thing at a time. He would be concentrating on the Times for instance. Perhaps for a month on end its welfare and development would be his major concern. The Times compartment in his brain always remained open during this period. The other compartments received but cursory attention. Then perhaps he would switch off temporarily from the Times to some "stunt "---in which he was interested---like standard bread, sweet peas or cheap cottages. For a brief while everything else took a secondary place. On a much smaller scale I have tried to order my life on a similar plan. When I was building up the Overseas League, I was primarily absorbed in it. When the turn of the English-Speaking Union came, I concentrated on British-American relations.

It was only when it was successfully launched that I was able to move on to something else.

When your whole being is focussed on some special object, you are lucky if you can find an outlet for it at the psychological moment. On occasions I have yearned to help certain work, such as slum-clearance, but no opening came and the enthusiasm had to be damped down. In 1918 fate was kind to me. The auguries were propitious and I launched the English-Speaking Union under exceptionally favourable circumstances.

In the spring of 1918 hardly a week passed in which outward circumstance, did not add fuel to the flame. My job suddenly brought me in contact with the leading Americans who had come to Europe to help forward the prosecution of the war. I met General Pershing, the American Commander-in-Chief. There was an unfathomable something about him ; you felt great reserves of strength and independence. Some time afterwards I learnt that two years previously he had experienced a terrible tragedy. His wife and three little daughters were burned to death at the Presidio Barracks, San Francisco, in 1915. No wonder there was a veil of reserve round him, which a casual acquaintance could not penetrate.

I also met on many occasions in 1918 Admiral W. S. Sims, who commanded the United States naval forces in European waters. Born in Canada, the gallant admiral was an enthusiastic worker for English-speaking friendship. When he came to England in 1910 he made a speech which got him into serious trouble with the authorities at Washington. The remark that nearly caused Captain Sims's dismissal was " If the integrity of the British Empire were ever to be seriously threatened by a European coalition, he was of opinion that the British nation could count upon every ship, every man and every dollar from across the sea." "To say that this raised Hell," said the Admiral when he discussed the episode, "would be to put it mildly." A demand for his dismissal arose. President Taft had to bow before the storm. But Captain Sims had influential friends and he got off with a public reprimand. No American was more welcome at British-American gatherings than he.

I am sometimes asked to explain wherein the English-Speaking Union differs from the Overseas League. The difference is fundamental. The latter exists to promote unity among the peoples of the British Empire and membership is confined to British subjects. The essential aim of the English-Speaking Union is to make the peoples of the United States and the British Empire better acquainted. Not only to introduce Britain to America, but Kansas to Cape Town and Seattle to Sydney. To promote by every possible means a spirit of comradeship amongst the peoples of the English-speaking democracies.(1)

The summer of 1918 is a jumbled memory. Ten hours a day at the office were frequently followed by some English-speaking function at night. Every day had its scheme or preliminary lobbying to be done. There was the task of selecting the committee and office-bearers; of telling the story to American friends. At my office in the Ministry there was a constant stream of callers. No one left my room before a membership form had been placed before him. Among my earliest victims were Sir Harry Lauder and Arnold Bennett; the latter complained that as he already "belonged to 40,000 societies he could take no active part in it!" In the first fortnight of the Union's existence I enrolled fifty members.(2) Everyone was fair game. By Christmas the total of my victims was 200. In those days I was a much better membership getter than I am to-day. I was carried forward by my enthusiasm no obstacle seemed unsurmountable. I genuinely considered I was conferring a favour in admitting the newcomer into our circle! As the years pass I have become more diffident. I often wish I could recapture my earlier technique ; nowadays I am too ready to sympathise with my victim. Why should he join another society ? But in 1918 no qualms interfered with the relentless pursuit of the quarry. I went to see friends who had affiliations with America. Lord Bryce, probably the most successful emissary this country, has ever sent to America, gave me cautious encouragement. Lady Bryce is, I am glad to say, still a valued member of our Committee.

Every time I walked to lunch at my club in Pall Mall I received fresh inspiration. Passing U.S. officers, wending their way to the Washington Hut in St. James's Square, were quite unconscious of the effect their presence had on me---they were fellow citizens of the English-speaking world, the entity which now claimed my ultimate loyalty. Every American uniform sent a strange thrill through me. I re-read as many of my favourite books on English-speaking relations as I could, including W. T. Stead's The Last Will and Testament of Cecil John Rhodes and Stead's original article addressed "To all English-Speaking Folk" in the first number of the Review of Reviews January, 1890. Stead's idea of establishing a magazine, to be published simultaneously in London, New York and Melbourne as the mouthpiece of his crusade, was a great conception. I hoped that one day the English-Speaking Union would possess a magazine of its own which would carry on the work of Rhodes and Stead.

In my vision of a re-united English-speaking world I refused to be drawn into the advocacy of any definite political scheme, nor did I suggest any formal alliance. Once the debris of past misunderstandings, bickerings and jealousies had been cleared away the relationship of the two sections of the English-speaking race would take care of itself. Cecil Rhodes had at the back of his mind a definite political unity. In 1891 he expressed to Stead his readiness to adopt the course from which he had at first recoiled---viz. that of securing the unity of the English-speaking race by consenting to the absorption of the British Empire in the American Union if it could not be secured in any other way. In his first dream, he clung passionately to the idea of British ascendancy---this was in 1877---in the English-Speaking Union of which he thought Great Britain was to be the predominant partner. But in 1891, abandoning in no whit his devotion to his country, he expressed his deliberate conviction that English-speaking re-union was so great an end in itself as to justify even the sacrifice of the monarchical features and isolated existence of the British Empire.

Events had moved since Rhodes's day. Even the nations within the British Commonwealth had become virtually independent states. Provided the two great English-speaking commonwealths acted in unison there was no reason why Great Britain should not have a constitutional monarchy and the United States be a republic. I recognised that the race centre of the English-speaking peoples was now on the North-American continent where two-thirds of its number were to be found.(3)

I longed for the help of Rhodes's or Carnegie's millions.(4) I went in search of rich men. In 1918 I was much more successful in collecting large donations than I am to-day. I got a thousand pounds each from my friends John Astor(5) and Sir Thomas Latham. My American friend Alexander Smith Cochran of Yonkers once more came to my aid. After a dinner à deux at the Café Royal he sent me a cheque for £1,000. I then started to collect a hundred pounds each for three years from twenty friends. I considered that the task of putting the society on a self-supporting financial basis would take that period, as proved to be the case. Amongst those who came to my aid were Northcliffe, Sir William Berry,(6) "Jimmy" White, " Solly" Joel, Claude Johnson, F. E. Powell(7) and Sir George Mills Makay.(8) Collecting money in the summer of 1918 for British-American friendship was comparatively easy-the tide was with us. Usually within ten minutes T emerged with a substantial cheque in my pocket. During this particular campaign I only had two turn-downs. In after years when engaged on similar tasks I have thought longingly of the combination of circumstances that made the appeal practically irresistible. I wore an invisible armour of belief in my cause and confidence in myself. I was certain I would succeed. Every extra name on my list sent me with even greater assurance to the next victim.

The new organisation was first referred to as "The English-Speaking Union" in my diary on 12 June----previously I had called it "The Overseas Club of America." In the first issue of the Landmark.(9) I thus described our ambitions

One day it hopes to have buildings in London, New York, Chicago, Washington, Cape Town, Montreal, Melbourne, Sydney, Wellington, St. John's and elsewhere, dedicated to the cause of the English-Speaking Union. Perhaps it is not too much to hope that the day will come when the local branches of the E.-S..U. will be as widespread as offshoots of the Y.M.C.A.---a great chain of fellowship which will encircle the globe.

In New York and London we envisage great buildings, with the comforts of a well-equipped club, with newspaper rooms containing all the leading journals of the English-speaking world, with a library of many of the greatest works telling of the history of the English-speaking peoples, with a lecture hall open to every movement dedicated to the services of the English-speaking peoples and of humanity.

The actual launching of the scheme took place in the sedate atmosphere of the private dining room of the Marlborough Club on 28 June, 1918. I invited fifteen friends(10) to dine, all of whom were sympathetic to the idea. Among them were John Buchan, Ian Hay and Boylston Beal, private secretary to the American Ambassador. Professor MacNeile Dixon said, "Why, it is such a very simple idea, I can't understand why no one else has done it before." After an excellent dinner the assembled company were in a receptive mood, and I outlined the scheme. The guests in five-minute speeches gave their views. Seated at the large round table were representatives of:

England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Iowa, Massachusetts, Victoria (Australia) and the British West Indies.

The assembled company, despite a knowledge of the difficulties, were unanimous that the time was ripe for starting the movement. They promised their support. Extracts from letters written at this period follow:

87, Victoria Street, S.W.1.         
Sunday, 16 June, 1918.

I have had one of the busiest weeks in my life.

I am looking after the U.S.A. Section at the Ministry as well now, but it is all extremely interesting and I can't tell you the difference from the Air Board work.

87, Victoria Street, S.W.1         .
23 June, 1918.

 . . . .  I have had another very full week with constant interviews and any spare time I had was spent in thinking out my English-Speaking Union, which I hope to get going soon. I am enclosing the aims and objects and when I am ready I will write to you again as I want you to get as many members as you can in Ireland.

I think Cochran may help me in connection with it, but I shan't know till next week. Claude Johnson of Rolls-Royce has given me £100 and I am busy getting a committee together.

I am much upset by Lord Curzon's speech and if the Government has no scheme ready for Ireland it will have a disastrous effect in the Dominions. Among others I had interviews last week with Lord Bryce, Sir Edward Kemp (Canadian Forces---he is in charge of all the Canadians in Europe), E. Price Bell of the Chicago Daily News, Sir R. Baden-Powell, Harry Brittain and many others.

I find Ian Hay Beith a very nice man to work with.

I had two or three talks with Professor McLaughlin of Chicago University and was able to help him to get into touch with people. He was my first American member.

Elmwood, St. Peters, Kent.          
Sunday, 30 June, 1918.

I got down here at 5.0 yesterday afternoon and found Northcliffe by himself. He is much better but still has this bronchial cough. He could not possibly have been nicer and we went out into the garden and ate strawberries and then lay on the grass and had a good all-round talk about the war. I told him about my English-Speaking Union and he was much interested and I think will help. As we were lying out in the garden we could hear the guns in Belgium every now and then!

I had my dinner on Friday at the Marlborough Club to discuss the E.-S. Union and to decide on plans and it went off very well. I had the private room and very sumptuous fare.

We have formed a little committee to draw up a plan and the large committee will meet again in 2 weeks' time. So I felt well pleased.

87, Victoria Street, S.W.1.          
Sunday, 7 July, 1918.

I have had a very busy week but I am glad to say all went off well. The Inter-Dependence Meeting on 4 July at Westminster was a great success and everyone was pleased about it we must have had over 3,000 at it. I was especially glad as a week before it came off Beaverbrook got anxious and it was left entirely to Ian Hay and me to run. After the meeting I lunched with Hay and Sir Randolf Baker at the Savoy and we went on to the baseball match afterwards. I only stayed an hour as I had to be back at the office. The King and Queen went in a simple open carriage without any outriders and he talked to the baseball players and altogether struck just the right note.

The "E.-S.U." is going strong and I have enrolled over 50 members myself so far. We had our first Executive Committee meeting on Friday. We have taken as offices a nice top floor in Lennox House, Howard Street, a building about 50 yards away from the Ministry of Information and just on the other side of the Strand from the Overseas Club. So my two shows are within 200 yards of each other.

87, Victoria Street S.W.1.            
Sunday, 21 July, 1918.

On Tuesday I went to a public lunch to the Canadian editors and next week we expect the Australian and New Zealand pressmen. The E.-S. Union is getting on very well. Northcliffe gave £100 and two other people gave me £100 and everyone seems to be taking great interest in it.

On Thursday I lunched with a man called Hawkins who is secretary of the "Atlantic Union " to see if there was some way we could cooperate.(11) The present membership of the E.-S.U. is 130, so it is moving

Everyone is much cheered up by the war news and it certainly looks as though Gen. Foch was all that he was said to be. If only we can stand up to Prince Rupprecht's expected offensive we should soon be in a good position as American troops are still pouring across.

87, Victoria Street, S.W.1.           
Sunday, 28 July, 1918.

On Tuesday we had the second dinner of the E.-S.U. at the American Officers' Club---Mr. Powell in the chair. We have got some good Americans interested. I am doing a lot of spade work and all goes well.

On Thursday night I dined at the Marlborough Club with Loring Christie, Sir Robert Borden's right hand man, a very interesting young Canadian of the Philip Kerr type. He is very much in the know and I liked him greatly. On Friday I lunched with a Major Dunning, in the American army, whose ideas run very much on my lines and who is going to help a lot. I think he will be very useful.

Then the New Zealand journalists arrived late on Friday night and I had to look after them yesterday and go to a lunch in their honour given by Beaverbrook. I have seen quite a lot of the latter and like him very much. The President of Cornell University is also over here and I have to look after him so you can see that there is not much time left over. (Letters to Parents.)

The first printed reference to the English-Speaking Union was in the Daily Mail on 10 July and the first reference in the American press was in the Philadelphia Ledger.

For six weeks my enthusiasm was red-hot; all seemed plain sailing. Then came the inevitable reaction, perhaps accentuated by an attack of influenza. After nearly all moments of great elation in life there follows a period of flatness. It comes to all young organisations and is the testing time. Sometimes it lasts for weeks, sometimes for months. In the case of the English-Speaking Union it was of comparatively brief duration. I soon recaptured my initial fervour. I have often thought that starting new undertakings is comparatively easy. At the outset everything seems to be going well. The creator of the scheme is engulfed in his own enthusiasm and generates further energy as he progresses. But frequently some extraneous circumstance or maybe ill-health brings him down to earth with a bang. He feels like a pricked balloon. In a detached manner he critically looks at his recent activities. How could he have felt such transports of emotion ? But if his cause is destined to endure, the enthusiasm will return, and with it an abiding conviction that he is building on solid foundations.

AS the war continued we became increasingly accustomed to restrictions of every sort. When the fourth anniversary came, Government control was so much part of our lives that we found it difficult to jump back in our minds to the pre-war world in which we lived in July, 1914. The individual did not count. Without realising it Europe was being prepared for the age of dictatorships, when an attempt would be made to dictate even the thoughts of the citizen. But there was one aspect of this interference with our liberties which was stimulating. It made us feel linked up with our fellows as never before. The knowledge that the King and Queen and the humblest citizen had the same ration cards and were subject to the same restrictions was invigorating. All shared alike. We were all part of the State. Its welfare was a matter of supreme importance in the life of each individual in a way never realised before by our generation. The increasing control of our food supplies had been so gradual that it had not been irksome, and Lord Rhondda performed his job with tact.

In the Press food news was only second in importance to war news:

The papers, in spite of the incredible amount of news for which they have to find space, are devoting columns to the food problem. In a copy of the Daily Mail through which I glanced recently, there was a leading article on "Pigs and Potatoes," a column on "Horse Steak," numerous letters on national kitchens, paragraphs on Food Card queues and on eggs, and there are actually "Rationing Notes" in The Times.(1)

By now we were adepts in filling in official forms and no longer demurred at sending our signed declarations to the grocer when applying for our sugar tickets entitling us to our weekly ration of half a pound, although my sister wrote at the time, "There have been many heartburnings over the household cards, for the age as well as the name of each person has to be stated and I know a parlourmaid who much resents the grocer's errand boy knowing how old she is." When staying with friends we brought our meat, butter and sugar cards with us. In the case of meat it was necessary to send the card in advance. Many persons learned for the first time that by dispensing with meat and by rising from table still hungry their health benefited. We lived in an age of communal kitchens and food queues. We realised anew how dependent we were on other nations for our daily comfort. There was a growing scarcity of paper. We carefully opened the letters of our friends so as not to spoil the envelopes, using them again by the aid of gummed labels on which the new address was written. Every scrap of paper was jealously hoarded for future use.

No one knew how long the war would last. Some of the best-informed journalists were furthest out in their calculations. Rothermere anticipated a further three years war in July, 1918, while Northcliffe said to Hamilton Fyfe in September, "None of us will live to see the end of the war."

Sunday, 4 August, 1918.

It seems extraordinary to think that it really is four years ago since the Sunday I went over to Paris and found things in that state of turmoil. In the Sunday Pictorial this morning Lord R. writes of another three years of war!

I have had another very full week meeting all sorts of people including President Schurman of Cornell University, and Melville Stone of the American Associated Press . . . . I have seen quite a lot of Beaverbrook. He is a very "live wire."

Our War Memorial Fund is not running quite as rapidly as I should like, but still it is always the first rungs of the ladder which are the difficult ones. It is £2,500 so far.

One evening I dined with a man called Lee Murray to meet several of the Labour leaders---Barnes, John Hodge and G. H. Roberts. I thought they were fine simple men.

The war news is very cheerful and everyone is much bucked up. It is a great vindication for Lloyd George as he wanted the Unity of Command from the outset.

Sunday, 11 August, 1918.

The war news has really been wonderful, in fact it has been so good that one is almost afraid that it can't last It is perfectly splendid and will do a lot to re-establish belief in Haig. The Germans have certainly had all they want these past four weeks and if only Foch is able to keep it up the war might really be over by the end of next year. I should not be surprised if Foch comes out of the whole thing as the greatest General.

I have been in constant touch with Northcliffe and he could not be nicer and I think wishes he could get me back to the fold! I saw him on Monday and he is always discussing American problems with me.

I had President Judson of Chicago University to lunch with me on Wednesday. He is such a nice old man and is going to Persia in charge of an important American Mission.

The Australian editors are due to arrive to-day. The South African editors are due at the end of the week. Among my other visitors was the Prime Minister of Newfoundland. (Letters to Parents.)

The task of financing the war during 1917 and 1918 was one of the Government's major problems. An old friend and colleague of Carmelite House days, G. A. Sutton,(2) then the Chairman of the Amalgamated Press, was summoned to the House of Commons by Bonar Law in the Autumn of 1917. The Chancellor of the Exchequer came straight to the point: "The Government is in need of twenty million pounds a week for an indefinite period. Will you see the matter through?"

Sutton readily undertook the task for which he was so well qualified. For nearly thirty years he had been closely associated with the two Harmsworth Brothers. He was in charge of all Northcliffe's major advertising schemes. Sutton was a complete master of the complicated business of launching new enterprises. He understood how to spend twenty thousand pounds on Press advertising in three or four weeks with the maximum result.

Bonar Law could not have made a better choice for the post of Hon. Director of Publicity to the Treasury. For fifteen months Sutton was in entire control of the National War Bond publicity campaign and was primarily responsible for raising over £1,600,000,000---I believe a world record. Incidentally, Sutton's campaign opened the eyes of the British Government to the power of advertisement. Sutton prepared his campaign with great thoroughness. He was determined to startle the public out of its apathy---and he did.

"It was just like a big game," Sutton said. "First we had to popularise the idea---make saving fashionable in fact---hence the advertising campaign. Then we had to utilise the spirit of local patriotism to the full by getting the larger towns to compete for results." Huge posters soon appeared on every hoarding, whole pages were taken in the Press, editorial write-ups were obtained and every cinema proclaimed the country's urgent need of money. Then followed the Tanks campaign, during which these ungainly landships toured the country and raised millions of pounds. A "Feed the Guns" campaign was also organised during which batteries were sent throughout the land. A "Business Men's Week" was launched and raised £145,000,000. Large cities were asked to provide the funds for a super-dreadnought, costing two and a half millions, smaller towns were invited to provide a mere hundred-thousand-pound submarine. I have often wondered why the post-war Government did not employ equally intelligent methods in dealing with the slum problem.

My last war-time holiday consisted of ten days after an attack of influenza in August, 1918. I went to stay in a Hertfordshire village within thirty miles of London. The village pub in which I lodged looked out on the green, where browsed a friendly nanny goat. I took my meals with cousins who had hired a red-brick cottage proud of its title "Mafeking Villa." After long days spent bicycling in Hertfordshire lanes we would return to Mafeking Villa with ravenous appetites for supper. Our meal, consisting of eggs and home-grown salads, watercress and cheese, was served in the parlour. Owing to war-time rules the dark blue blinds were drawn, and by the light of an oil lamp when the weather was bad we devoured our repast. Even the stuffiness of a sultry summer night could not affect our appetites.

The beauties of Hertfordshire were a revelation. Ribbon development had not yet desecrated the Home Counties. We hired bicycles at St. Albans and experienced forgotten joys of cycling again. In 1918 there were few cars in the lanes.

Near military hospitals and camps we passed Australian and New Zealand soldiers enjoying the unknown delights of a summer in the Old Country; for escort they had village maidens. During the war I tried to collect a symposium of oversea soldiers' first impressions of the Motherland. Among them I find:

The old country is like a cultivated garden. I never saw anything like its roses and green country lanes. (A Newfoundlander.)

Your sun is much less powerful and strikes me as being several sizes smaller than ours---quite a toy sun in fact. (S. African.)

I love your long twilight and the beautiful rivers fringed with willows, and your winding streams. And the hedges running at all angles across the countryside. (Australian.)

I was surprised to see so much pasture and park land lying idle. (Canadian.)

Not so welcome were the comments:

It is a pity our boys so often meet English girls of the Piccadilly type. (Canadian.)

It is almost unbelievable to us that a nation whose standard of civilisation is so highly respected throughout the world should allow such terrible slum conditions. (Australian.)

I was amazed at the miserable, bedraggled poverty I saw, at the women hanging round the public houses and at the poor undersized children. (American.)

The first time I ever saw a drunken woman was at Devonport, the day after I arrived. It was the saddest thing I ever saw. (Canadian.)

 

The last twelve weeks of the war were breathless---all concerned with the Dominions and United States sections of the Ministry had to work at high pressure. Parties of editors from Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa were either coming or going. At fortnightly intervals specially selected groups of the leading journalists in the United States arrived at Liverpool. Each party was treated as if it alone were visiting Great Britain, the battle area and the Grand Fleet. I established personal contact with every individual; many warm friendships date from then. Welcoming our English-speaking visitors from across the seas was no empty ceremony, for our hearts were full. I think all of us connected with the Ministry regarded the visits in the light of a great homecoming. The leaders of the newspaper and periodical Press in Anglo-Saxondom had come together at a dramatic moment. The journalists were determined to like one another. Their anticipation was keyed to high pitch, nor were they disappointed. Many of them arrived at the most exciting period in the war. From mid-July the tide had begun to turn. We were emerging from the four years' tunnel of frustrated purpose and continuous disappointment. The dark days of the spring, when we wondered whether our line would hold, when we had prepared our minds for the fall of Amiens, the separation of the British and French Forces and the digging in of the British armies along a modern Torres Vedras, were now but a hideous nightmare. In July the moment we had been waiting for had arrived. Marshal Foch, now the Generalissimo of the allied forces, struck, and Haig began his hammer blows.

Day after day came encouraging news. At first we were sceptical, we could hardly believe in our changed fortune. We waited apprehensively for a German counterblow on a grand scale. Continuous reports from many quarters stated that the German morale was weakening; the initiative had passed to us. This time the optimism really seemed justified. We were living in a state of great mental elation when the editors were with us. Our joy was only outdone by theirs.

London was temporarily the centre of the English-speaking world. All America seemed with us. I had hoped originally to go to the Front with two of the most influential parties of editors, but to my grief I was unable to leave London. Important American statesmen and Congressmen were arriving every day---men such as Swager Sherley, Chairman of Committee on Appropriations in Congress, Carter Glass of the United States Treasury, and Carl Vrooman of the Department of Agriculture. They required personal attention.

The appearance of the American troops in the battle area had now begun. Daily bulletins recorded attacks by General Pershing's forces on an increasing scale. The American army was very much there. The moment for which the war-worn Allies had waited had come. The United States troops might still have much to learn of modern war technique in the hard school of experience but their presence was beginning to make itself felt. Those lanky "doughboys" yearned to be in the thick of the fight. A French officer was heard to remark "Ils n'ont l'air de trouver rien de plus simple que de se faire tuer." Their presence depressed the spirits of the enemy in proportion to the stimulating effect it had on the British and French. I have often thought that there was a tendency in Europe in after years to minimise the part played by America in bringing the war to an end. After the Russian débâcle, Allied man-power was getting used up. The knowledge of the existence of that potential army of twelve million unscathed Americans waiting to cross the Atlantic, and of the vast financial resources of the United States, was a fundamental factor in creating the will to victory. A leading British war correspondent wrote in July, "They (the Americans) are going to be a decisive factor in the war"---and they were. Mr. Hamilton Fyfe thus wrote of the American Expeditionary Force in the summer of 1918:

But of one of my prophecies I am proud. That is the prophecy that the troops raised by conscription in the U.S.A. would make as fine an army as any in the field.

I visited a camp of U.S. soldiers in the autumn. I found in the ranks men of French, Italian, German, Austrian, Swedish, Norwegian, Russian, Turkish, Filipino, Cuban, Porto Rican origin. Many had to be taught English words of command.

The young American is taller and more sinewy than the European. He has a look in his eye---I call it the Fourth of July look---which speaks of self dependence, resolution, freedom from anxiety about his livelihood, freedom from conventions which cramp the right to live fully and without fear.(3)

But in the late summer of 1918 there was no tendency to minimise the American effort. Fifteen months cooperation and the growing magnitude of the American preparations made us forget the days of American neutrality. The American editors had, I think, expected to find a lack of appreciation of their effort. To their surprise and gratification they found enthusiasm for things American. Never before had the relations between the English-speaking peoples been so cordial. We almost forgot from which part of the English-speaking world we came. What did it matter whether we had been born in Ulster or Utah? In a supreme moment of the world's history Americans had no inclination to look for British condescension. Britons had no desire to criticise American lack of reserve. We were language-brothers, and even more important, we shared a common outlook on the things that mattered. Our peoples had rediscovered each other. Never again should we be divided.

I went down to Liverpool to welcome one of the parties of editors. After a thirteen days' crossing they were overjoyed to be on shore again. We talked incessantly on the way to London---the journey was like a meeting between old friends after a long parting. Happy friendships with Edward Bok, of the Ladies' Home Journal, Ellery Sedgwick of the Atlantic Monthly, Frank R. Kent of the Baltimore Sun, Mark Sullivan, Albert Shaw of the Review of Reviews, and Richard Oulahan, date from this period. The editors wished to meet the Sinn Fein leaders, in view of America's deep interest in the Irish question. I gratified their desire. They were free to talk with whomsoever they wished. We made no attempt to influence their views. We knew the right policy was to let them see exactly what they wanted. It was for them to make their own conclusions unimpeded by official interference.

A special feature of our programme was a series of small dinner parties that I arranged. I realised for the first time how easy it is, if you are part of the official hierarchy, to carry through almost any scheme. All doors are open. Government departments stick together. If you are on the inside you possess a magic formula denied to outsiders. This was the only period in my life when I was able to entertain lavishly at the taxpayer's expense! A subservient Treasury in those happy days made no bones about passing expense sheets for work of national importance. I would invite some leading statesman such as General Smuts, Mr. Prothero or Lord Eustace Percy; among newspaper proprietors Northcliffe or Burnham; or among editors Geoffrey Dawson, Owen Seaman, Leo Maxse or J. A. Spender; among writers John Buchan; and leading divines such as Dr. Jowett or Dr. Horton, to join each party. Twelve Englishmen would be sandwiched between twelve Americans. We tried to place those of like interests side by side.

One dinner especially stands out in my memory. We were a party of twenty-four in a private room at the Ritz. General Smuts had consented to act as host. After dinner there were informal addresses, and General Smuts made a delightful speech about the war effort of the British Commonwealth. Later in the evening General Jack Seely(4) passed me a chit asking who was going to propose the Chairman's health. And he added "As the only man present who has actually had a shot at him (I admit a reflection on my marksmanship) and then sat in Council with him, I should like the job." I had already asked Edward Bok of the Ladies' Home Journal to propose Smuts' health but I naturally invited Seely to support the toast. Our American guests were spell-bound. In a witty speech "Jack" Seely described how he had taken careful aim at Smuts during the Boer War, fortunately without success. This was unrehearsed propaganda with a vengeance! Here was a Dutch patriot who had fought Great Britain sixteen years before, and now was one of the supreme directors of the destiny of the mighty British Empire, exchanging chaff with a British General who had tried to shoot him among the boulders of a South African kopje. The conception of Great Britain as the oppressor of small nations portrayed in some American school books and so frequently proclaimed by Irish-American patriots, was evidently as dead as the dodo. We had many other exciting parties at eating houses ranging from the Carlton to the Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street, but we never staged anything quite so dramatic as that dinner at the Ritz with its unrehearsed chaff between Smuts and Seely.

The culminating event in the visits of the oversea editors was the informal visit to Sandringham when they enjoyed the hospitality of the King and Queen. I have heard many Dominion and American editors extol the friendly bearing of their royal hosts and the amazing grip of world affairs displayed by the King in his talks with his visitors.

And so the days passed and life seemed almost like a fairy story. Everybody was pleased with everybody else. I never had so many compliments paid to my work. We all shared in the bouquets that were being thrown. There were no worries in those last war weeks, from our standpoint. Not that we were indifferent to the sufferings of our men at the front. But we were engaged in promoting unity among the English-speaking nations and undreamt of success was attending our efforts. The news from the various fronts was continuously good. There was no doubt about it now. We were really winning all along the line. We were surfeited with great events. We had no emotion left. One week I recall good news from the British forces in Bulgaria, on the Sea of Galilee, in Arabia, in Serbia, at Archangel and in Africa---truly the war effort of the British peoples was stupendous. We had, of course, likewise to admit the tremendous achievement of Germany in the past four years, when her troops were engaged from the Belgian coast to Baghdad and during which she was the mainstay of her allies. Few nations in history can have faced such odds.

The last weeks of the war were like an explosion on the battle front. For weary months the sappers had been laying their coils and fuses, they had been digging and delving, they had been making careful preparations, tunnelling here, burrowing there. Then all of a sudden the great explosion rook place and a hill was blown into the air and a landscape changed. Metaphorically speaking, the hopes of the Central Powers were blown sky high in those weeks as the result of the patient work of the previous years. Within thirty-two days the following events took place in quick succession, starting with the surrender of Bulgaria on 29 September : the fall of Damascus, King Ferdinand of Bulgaria's abdication, the taking of Le Cateau by the British, the clearing of the Belgian coast, the resignation of Ludendorff, the suing for peace by Austria and the granting of an Armistice to Turkey. And in ten weeks the allies captured a quarter of a million prisoners.

The following are extracts from letters written during the last ten weeks of the war. The chief impression they make is that of their inadequacy. I should have expected dissertations on the great moment of history through which we were passing!

Sunday, 1 September, 1918.

I had meant to have gone over to France for three days with the Dominion journalists but I simply wasn't able to spare the time. On Tuesday I lunched with John Buchan. He has helped me a lot about the E.-S.U.

I have seen Beaverbrook several times and he is always most friendly.

Everyone is very cheerful about the war news though I think it is much better not to expect miracles and be satisfied with our steady progress and then we shan't be disappointed.

Sunday, 8 September, 1918.

I have seen quite a lot of Beaverbrook and he has been very appreciative, and I find him such a nice man to work with.

Sunday, 15 September, 1918.

It has been a very full week and on and off I have been seeing a lot of the American Editors, and I really think I have made friends with most of them and that I shall always be able to keep in touch with them on a friendly basis in the future. On Tuesday night a dinner was given in their honour at the Ritz Hotel, at which Mr. Prothero, Board of Agriculture, Lord Islington, Sir S. Worthington-Evans, Minister of Blockade, Mark Sykes and others spoke. . . 

On Wednesday the E.-S.U. had its first public function and entertained the American Editors to lunch and Arthur Balfour presided. It was a most successful function at the "Criterion." I sat between Balfour and Dr. Shaw of the American Review of Reviews. Balfour said very nice things about you, F., and said he was so sorry he saw such a little of you nowadays. I had to introduce him to everyone and he spoke charmingly. . . 

Everyone was very pleased and I roped in the four most important members of the party as Vice-Presidents and eight as members of the E.-S.U., so I was well satisfied. . . 

Everyone is much bucked-up by the War news. They are certainly having their troubles in Germany and only beginning to realise what they are up against.

Sunday, 6 October.

The Dominion Editors left yesterday and I saw them off at Euston, they all seem to have enjoyed themselves very much.

I lunched with Campbell Stuart one day, he was the Chief's right hand at the British War Mission to the U.S.A. They are rather pleased with themselves for doing their Bulgarian propaganda so well! On Thursday afternoon I went round to see Lord Reading and had a talk with him, as I expect he will soon be going back to America.

Sunday, 13 October.

I have had a tremendously busy week. The party of American editors arrived late on Monday night after an awful journey---13 days, the last in a real gale---in a bad ship battened down for several days and Spanish "flu" on board with many deaths and one of the convoy driven ashore on the Irish coast.

We came up to London on Tuesday and I have been at a whole series of functions. On Wednesday, as Beaverbrook was ill, I had to welcome them at the official lunch, on Thursday they lunched with Northcliffe At Printing House Square to which I went. I sat opposite Conan Doyle. On Friday the E.-S.U. gave its first big public lunch---200 people present at the "Criterion." It was a tremendous success and Balfour made a great speech. I sat next Admiral Sims and next but one to Balfour, with the Editor of the Daily News on my other side. In every way it was a success. In the evening I took them to the Cheshire Cheese and I had to speak. They went down to see the King to-day.

How terrible it was about the Leinsler. I wonder if it will have any effect in Ireland, one would certainly think so.

Admiral Sims told me he thought the war might be over in 6 weeks' time, but I think he was unduly sanguine!(5) The news has been wonderful and I believe the Germans are having a really bad time.

Sunday, 20 October, 1918.

On Tuesday the first party of American editors left and I lunched with the Chief at his home first and then went up to Euston to see them off. They all took away with them the happiest memories and I think the visit was a great success and that when they get back to America they will do the British cause a lot of good. The Chief continues to be very affable.

On Friday night Rothermere gave a small dinner at the Marlborough, in Arnold Bennett's honour. Lord R., Arnold Bennett, Mr. Hughes (Prime Minister of Australia), Sir Henry Dalziel, who has recently bought the Daily Chronicle, Blumenfeld, Editor of the Express, Eric Hambro, Caird, Admiral Sims, Hulton, the newspaper proprietor, Winston Churchill and myself. It was very interesting hearing all their views on the ending of the war. I think the general verdict was about 6 months' time. Though prophecy is a dangerous game.

Sunday, 27 October, 1918.

The 2nd American party of journalists is in France and the 3rd doesn't arrive till the end of the week and the 4th next week. The third party consists of religious editors and the fourth of trade journalists. There is no question that these tours are having a great effect and the tone of the American Press towards Great Britain is changing very much.

Sunday, 3 November, 1918,

The fourteenth rainy Sunday in succession! Another full week. I was very sorry about Beaverbrook's resignation as he was a most satisfactory man to work under and his loss will be greatly felt at the Ministry. Owing to the war news, there is great uncertainty about the whole future of the Ministry and I think it is quite likely that it will be shut down. It will be extraordinary to be a free agent again and to get back to one's own affairs, though I have not yet made up my mind what I shall do as regards finance.

You probably saw in the papers that Lord Cowdray had given £100,000 for the Royal Air Force Club. The Air Ministry has asked me to join the Committee of Management which is very nice of them and which I will do.

On Thursday I lunched with Sir George Riddell,(6) a great friend of Lloyd George's, and heard much inner gossip.

On Thursday evening the third party of American editors arrived ---they represent all the leading religious papers in America, one of them is the son of the famous Moody. (Letters to Parents).

On 9 November the abdication of the Kaiser was announced and his flight to Holland took place the following day. The great event we had been living for had come at last, for to us the Kaiser was the symbol of Prussian might, Prussian efficiency and the Prussian war-spirit. Once the influence of the Kaiser and of the military clique was eradicated, we believed that Germany would adopt a democratic form of Government and settle down as a happy member of the European family. It was unfair to visit on the heads of the German people the sins of their rulers.

In an article in Overseas in December, 1918, Lady des Voeux relates the story of an old prophecy concerning the Kaiser's downfall. I recollect her recounting this story in pre-war days:

Stories of the Kaiser are amongst the earliest recollections of my childhood. Princess Amelie of Schleswig-Holstein, who was the aunt of the Kaiserin, lived for many years at Pau, in the south of France, where we spent the winters, and she used to tell my mother many interesting details about the German Royal Family. Her niece's marriage had been very unpopular with her own family. The proud Schleswig-Holsteiners looked upon the young Prussian much as some old world family may look upon the parvenu their daughter is marrying, and they bitterly resented the condescending attitude of the royal bridegroom.

There was a curious prophecy in Schleswig-Holstein said to have emanated from some famous old witch a hundred years or so ago, to the effect that a great monarch would arise in Prussia who would hold sway over the German peoples and become one of the mightiest potentates that the world had ever seen. He would be the father of six sons and one daughter and be crippled in one arm. His boundless ambition would win for him unparalleled successes; he would rise to the dizziest heights but before his death would be able to assemble all his possessions under the shade of a lime tree.

How well I remember hearing this story again and again and seeing the interested excitement with which the Princess watched the growth of her niece's family specially do I remember the occasion of the little daughter's birth, the seventh child, and of the Princess saying almost triumphantly to my mother, "Well, all the first part of the prophecy is now fulfilled."

Sunday, 10 November, 1918.

The E.-S.U. lunch on Thursday at the "Criterion" was a great success and we had 200 people there and Lord Robert Cecil took the Chair.

On Thursday I had quite an interesting party to meet the American religious editors at the "Cheshire Cheese." Geoffrey Dawson (Times), Owen Seaman, Leo Maxse, Stanhope, Lionel Curds, Thorp and others, and it all went off very successfully.

Late that evening at 11.0 the fourth party of American editors, trade journalists, arrived at Euston and I escorted them to their hotel, so altogether I have done my duty in the cause of English-speaking unity

There were enormous crowds for the Lord Mayor's Show yesterday and everyone was in a very cheerful mood. (Letter to Parents.)

During the last weeks of the war the English-Speaking Union made rapid headway. It is a great moment for those who start movements when their idea assumes concrete shape and when for the first time they can look at a large gathering of supporters. This moment came for me at the lunch given by the English-Speaking Union at the "Criterion" on 11 October, when I asked Mr. Balfour to welcome the American editors. The news of the sinking of the Irish cross-channel steamer Leinster the previous day by a German submarine had just been received and the atmosphere was charged with electricity. It was on this occasion that Mr. Balfour coined the phrase, "Brutes they were and ... brutes they remain," which was flashed round the globe. Mr. Balfour spoke with great feeling and when he sat down his remarks were greeted with a hurricane of applause. Doubtless a German speaker could have roused his hearers to similar transports of emotion if he had dilated on the massacre of German women and children as a result of the British blockade. From the German standpoint, death by drowning on a steamer torpedoed in broad daylight on the high seas may have been speedier and more humane than death from starvation. This is not the place to compare the methods of carrying on the war adopted by the belligerents. I merely record the first large public function(7) of the English-Speaking Union because it was a notable occasion and brought our society prominently before the world. I think this was the first occasion on which our name was flashed along the cables on the bed of the Atlantic. Mr. Balfour was an enthusiastic believer in the cause of the English-Speaking Union. He became the President of the British organisation in response to a formal request which John Buchan was kind enough to make to him on our behalf, and Mr. William H. Taft became the head of our sister society in the United States.

Beaverbrook retired from the Ministry at the end of October owing to ill-health. His place was taken by Arnold Bennett. I was sorry when Beaverbrook left us. I had always enjoyed working under him, and I found him a most appreciative chief. He wrote to my father, "Evelyn has done exceptionally well in starting the English-Speaking Union. In fact, all his work has been of the greatest use to the Ministry" ; and from the Hyde Park Hotel, where he was laid up, he wrote me a farewell letter expressing the hope that work or pleasure might bring us together again. Arnold Bennett was a very unalarming chief, and on the first morning of his term of office upbraided me for calling him "Sir"! He was a very likeable man. There was something appealing in his manner. I liked his stutter, his tousled hair and his laugh.

WHEN I drove down to the office on 11 November, I knew that the result of the armistice discussions between General Foch and the German envoys would be announced at any moment. Peace seemed a certainty, but nevertheless there was still a lingering doubt in my mind. The unexpected had always happened in this war. Just after ten my cousin rang me up from the Overseas Club to tell me that a girl on our staff had rushed into her office out of breath to say that she had heard privately from her young man, who was behind the scenes, that at eleven o'clock the firing was to stop on all fronts.

At eleven the maroons sounded and I flew down the stairs of the Ministry into Norfolk Street and across the surging crowds in the Strand to my cousin's office at the Overseas Cub at General Buildings. She told me that a member of the staff was in her room when the maroons sounded and that she had burst into tears, saying "Frank will not come back." Poor woman, her married life had consisted of just a few war-time leaves. Every day during the war there was gnawing anxiety at her heart. And then one day after three weeks' silence a letter came, the long-expected letter, as she hoped, from her husband. Instead it was a letter of sympathy from his friend who was with him when he was shot through his heart. And now what did the ending of the war matter to her? There was nothing to live for. He would not come back. All her determination to enter into the universal rejoicing when the maroons sounded was swept away. She knew there were tens of thousands of war widows. Cold comfort. Her thoughts were back again in June three years before, on the honeymoon at a Surrey Inn.

It is impossible now to recapture the intensity of feeling of Armistice Day, 1918. Although its coming had been expected when the maroons sounded something seemed to snap inside us. Mixed emotions swept through me. Great gratitude for peace, an outburst of pent-up excitement, a sensation of participating in mass-consciousness, a feeling of uncertainty as to the future, an eager anticipation of a better world, a deep compassion for all who had suffered, and above all the lifting of a stupendous weight. The haunting fear-never admitted in words---that the forces of darkness might triumph and everything the English-speaking world stood for be swept away was banished once for all.

But it was no time for ruminating. I yielded to the desire of the moment to share in the general excitement, though my emotions did not take the form of those of a friend's elderly cook, who despite her rheumatic joints kept running up and down three flights of stairs and finally collapsed in a chair in the pantry ! London was a city gone mad. I was swept along by the crowd past the Admiralty Arch to Piccadilly. For that one day we were all members of one great family. Everybody talked to everybody else. All our defences were down.

"Where is your British reserve ? We thought you were an unemotional nation," said my transatlantic editor friends. "Why, Broadway couldn't go madder than this."

A November drizzle did not affect our spirits. London was a mass of excited and happy human beings. We were children once again. Nothing surprised us. When a pretty girl rushed up and kissed a blushing French officer in his pale-blue uniform no one was astonished! The crowd cheered. All London, that could afford it, drove. A pound for any distance was the recognised taxi fare. London vehicles must have good springs---I saw taxis loaded with fourteen or fifteen singing, shouting mortals. The passengers sat on the roof or beside the driver, or stood on the footboard. When the buses came to a standstill, the crowds danced on the roofs and blew whistles or penny trumpets. In the excitement bus conductors forgot to collect fares. The Londoner just jumped on to a passing bus and sat on the bonnet or wherever he could find space.

Australian troops, in response to the cheering of the crowds, gave such coo-ees as had never been heard before in Whitehall. Outside Buckingham Palace, when the King and Queen appeared, there was a roar of cheering, and salvoes were given for Lloyd George, Haig and Foch. Canadian soldiers yelled their refrain:

Everybody joined in.

My sister thus vividly describes a drive on a bus through London on Armistice Day:

In Victoria Street a group of Australian "boys" accompanied by a band and their girls decorated in red, white and blue were swinging down towards Whitehall to the huge delight of all spectators. Later I saw them again in the Strand wheeling carefully at their head two legless companions in a bath chair. In Whitehall we got blocked, but what did it matter? We danced on the 'buses, we danced on the lorries, we danced on the pavement, we shouted, we sang. I never knew before that a small car could carry twenty folk who did not mind how tight they sat, or that forty happy men and girls could caper on the roof of a 'bus, but so it was, for I am only telling you what I saw with my own eyes. And the din! Everybody was making a noise; some soldiers on the top of the Admiralty had seized the office coal-scuttles and were banging them with sticks ; the office boys and girls at the War Office yelled to their companions across the way ; we cheered and cheered again and again, while the Church bells rang out a peal of jubilation. . .

As I passed down Charing Cross Road I noticed a Scot playing the bagpipes and some elderly charwomen and wounded "Tommies " dancing in a circle to his tune---a crippled soldier was waving the Belgian flag from his crutch. Turning into the Strand---a sea of laughing, joking people---I came in the nick of time to see the King and Queen drive by in a carriage and pair escorted only by four mounted policemen.