CIVILIAN HEROES HONOURED

CEREMONY IN GREEN PARK

Mons and Zeebrugge, and the whole tale of deeds “under and sometimes in an alien sky” (to quote the happy phrase of the Marquis of Crewe) are not the whole story. You may have ridden on a ’bus-top on Saturday with a quiet man wearing no uniform at all, or a girl who looked as though the most exciting thing in her life might have been food hunting in the days of the queue. Had you completed the journey with them you would have gone to the Green Park, to discover each had in utter selflessness risked his or her life in great danger that came suddenly, and made hero and heroine of them before they knew. For the King on Saturday, through Lord Crewe, his representative, pinned on the breast of the man and the woman the medal of the Order of the British Empire, and the light fell a little on the unseen waters of civilian heroism, showing them pure gold. Lord Crewe was there as Lord-lieutenant of the County of London, and who more essentially civic than the Lord Mayor and the chairman of the London County Council? Behind were the Mayors of the seventeen London boroughs out of which had come this band of unprofessional heroes, and the Mayor of Westminster (in which city the ceremony took place); the prelate of the new Order, the Bishop of London; its secretary, Sir Edward Troup; and Sir F. Kenyon, Gentleman Usher of the Purple Rod, which came in with the new decoration, lent to the occasion a little of the pomp of Court; and Sir Edward Henry came to see the brave men of his force receive the King’s Police Medal. One on the list who could not come died in hospital from an accident a few hours before the ceremony began. Heroes and heroines sat together companionably and unassumingly; but we had not the right to remain seated when the band played “See, the conquering hero.” Lord Crewe’s speech was in tune with the occasion: it said the right thing in the right way. The King, he said, made it a rule to confer in person the insignia of honours won in the field only. These were numbered now by thousands, and nobody grudged these sailor and soldier heroes that special mark of distinction. Indeed, in the present hours of crisis, we were tempted to forget everything but the great fellowship of the British Empire and the Allies, fighting and dying abroad for the freedom of the world.

CHEERS FOR THE WOMEN

But that, the speaker went on – his references being cheered by the civilians around – was not all, and never had been all, and he pointed out how recognition for the last fifty years had been given to civilian heroism through the Albert and the Edward Medals, and now by the medal of the new Order. The war had brought two new sorts of risk, the bombing raids on London, futile in military results, but destructive of many innocent lives, which men and women in responsible positions, in telephone exchanges, in schools and factories, had confronted with calm courage and devotion, and the multiplication of danger-points in the manufacture and handling of high-explosives which held equal opportunities of disaster as of quiet heroism. In all the cases of all the men and women whose names were on his list there was one attribute that was common. In a moment of danger they were able to think not of themselves but of others. “Self-forgetfulness,” said Lord Crewe, “is the parent of all the grander virtues. And thus it comes about that this company is gathered to pay its tribute to those whom the King delights to honour by the grant of these medals because they set duty first and thought of themselves last.” And in this mood we watched the passing of the heroines and heroes. Had we been impartial we should have cheered them all equally, but being an English audience and sentimental, we gave our warmest cheer to the women, to the Mons man who, with unconquerable spirit, worked “long hours in a hostel in spite of physical disabilities”, to the man who rescued a driver who was “underneath a railway engine which had begun to move,” and to the constable who, with bombs dropping all round, “stopped altogether six of the unattended horses from bolting in all directions,” and besides these gallant actions, “assisted injured persons, warned others, and helped to convey yet others to the hospital”. Lord Crewe had a pleasant word and a ready smile for each one of them. London may be proud of her children.