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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 12 (March 2, 1936)

“The King”

page 10

“The King”

The Two Minutes Silence of Tuesday, 28th January, was the most significant and impressive act of ritual ever performed in history.

In the uttermost corners of the earth, men stood, uncovered, to mourn the passing of a kindly English gentleman who was, as well, the ruler of an Empire so vast in domain as to exceed all the dreams of ancient seers.

The countless creeds of the world, its differing political doctrines, all its shades of colour and varying racial distinctions, were represented in the tens of millions who observed that solemn, reverential pause.

The strangest thing of all, however, was the quality of the thoughts of men at this time; the quality which was common to the miner and the peer, the Canadian farmer and the surgeon-commander at Malta, the Timaru clerk and the pearl fisher at Broome, and the Sydney factory-hand and the commandant of an Indian frontier fort. Universal in their hearts was a sense of personal bereavement; a new thing in the feeling created by the passing of a King; sorrow born of affection.

It is worth our while to seek for the springs of this world-wide emotion because most men are quite inarticulate, having difficulty to find the words to explain anything of what they really feel about that mystical entity “The Throne.”

We can remember King George's visit to New Zealand as the Duke of York. The Royal couple saw our country in all its aspects. They charmed all hearts with their kindly interest in our remote and provincial pre-occupations. They took part in all the necessary ceremonial observances with dignity and noble-bearing, and, withal, remained unassuming, friendly, warm-hearted English folk. We know that King George was an efficient midshipman on the “Bacchante”; that he loved horses, was a first-class shot; and loved and lived with zest, in his leisure hours, the life of an English
His Late Majesty King George The Fifth.

His Late Majesty King George The Fifth.

squire. Since the radio has made the hearing of his voice possible in every farthest cranny of the Empire, we have heard him speak to his world-wide “family” and have been delighted by the flawless English speech he used, free of any precious mannerisms, intimate and kindly. He reigned through the stormy quarter of a century in which history was rewritten. The cataclysm of the Great War did not disturb one subject's loyalty to him, one iota. Mighty political changes such as the shearing of the power of the House of Lords; the march of the Labour movement; the acid quarrels about women's political rights; the fearful problems of the War's aftermath; the profound difficulties of the problem of Ireland; these might have shaken the strongest dictator or the mightiest Caesar.

Yet when his dangerous illness arrived in 1928 “the people awaited anxiously for news, as if the sick man had been their closest kin.”

After his convalescence this was part of his message:

“I was able to picture to myself the crowds of friends waiting and watching at my gates, and to think of the still greater number of those in every part of the Empire who were remembering me in their prayers and good wishes. The realisation of this has been among the most vivid experiences of my life. It was an encouragement beyond description to find that my constant and earnest desire had been granted—the desire to gain the confidence and affection of my people.”

And he spoke further “of the growing kindliness significant of the true nature of men and nations.”

His devotion to official duty was traditional and known to all; and, properly, and as was due to his noble creed of human obligation, he died at his post.

His son, Edward Viii, rules now in his stead. We, in New Zealand, can say that we know him, too. His visit here will never be erased from our memories. The saga of his impulsive page 11 manly actions, his unconventional disregard of pomp and circumstance, his commonsense short cuts to intimacy with all manner of our folk, his boyish sweetness of smile and demeanour and his utter simplicity of dignity and poise, would be long in the telling. Anecdotes about him are thick as those often-quoted “leaves in Vallambrosa.” He stoked from Woodville to Dannevirke and brought the Royal Train to a standstill with obvious and genuine enjoyment. To “Diggers” he was a mate. He went his own chosen way, and must have presented many a troublesome problem to his official entourage.

It is known that, in this changing world, his sympathies are with the forwarding of the social movement. He hates slums, had working conditions, and the awful ills of poverty as much as any platform zealot. When he limited the mourning ceremony to the “Two Minutes’ Silence,” first in his thoughts was the working man who might lose a day's pay with any lengthier period.

His personality is rich in the things which Englishmen (and, the world) most admire, and he shares his late father's omniscience of what concerns his people overseas.

A European observer once said that King Edward Vii was “a person of whom his humbler subjects spoke as if he were a sort of prosperous elder brother.” Of the late King it might have been said that he seemed to be “an important yet sympathetic uncle.” Of our new King the same observer will have to leave out the word “elder” and retain the word “brother.”

There is no doubt that the actual personalities of grandfather, father, and son, our last three Kings, have of their own distinctiveness, a potency of appeal and charm.

But this does not explain the inner meaning of the “Throne” to us. There have been kings in Great Britain for fifteen hundred years, and for three centuries, there has been a single kingship. At the Coronation, the King is still seated on the battered wooden chair first used for Edward Ii. At the death of the King, one of the first things that happens is that the Life Guards prepare to turn out, at five minutes from trumpet call, to suppress any sudden rebellion. The “Armill” or golden stole is still placed about his neck by the Dean of West-minister. A thousand forms of glowing pageantry, and multitudinous quaint old customs and ceremonies attest the age of the institution.

This air of traditional beauty, of the holiness of ancient rite, and of the essential teaching of wisely devised symbolic ritual, adds colour and fire to the feeling about the Throne.

No one goes into the full details of what is meant by the phrase “Constitutional Monarchy.” In true English fashion, we escape any rigidity of definition; not that there would be any
His Majesty King Edward The Eighth.

His Majesty King Edward The Eighth.

strict interpretation in practice even if a definition existed.

The King's powers are very real, and few of his millions of subjects know what they are; nor are they much concerned. All that they see, as a rule, is that the King stands at the summit and at the centre of our constitution, as head of our political, social, and civic system.

Mr. Gladstone, that great Liberal leader, wrote, “the acts, the wishes, the example of the Sovereign (Queen Victoria) in this country are a real power. Parliaments and Ministers pass… but she is to them as the oak in the forest is to the annual harvest of the field.”

The Throne has lost in these last two centuries many definable powers. It has gained, however, in mystic significance. The accumulated majesty of the office has increased, as it has come further into the light of common day. The King has no class, and no party. Above all men, he is yet closer to the consciousness of the average man than the most revered Prime Minister. Many of his outward symbols of Royalty are links with the far-off past, but they stand as the visible signs of a precious and continuing heritage of national life.

It is just possible that we in New Zealand are in a position to be better judges of such a conception as is contained in the word “Royalty” than those who live in England. We claim, I think, with some justification to a certain integral sanity in our views of the “Old Country.” We stand midway between the callow disdain affected by some youthful communities and the slavish adoration affected by others. We have made the most courageous and successful pioneer experiments in enlarging the sphere of democracy and have tackled social problems with the zest and lack of respect for authority that were born in us as the plain result of what our forbears thought and did when they adventured out to this end of the earth to seek for better things. But, withal, we have actually strengthened our relationship link with “Home” and used the word in a casual, totally unsentimental way which is often misunderstood by observers. It carries with its use the detached, almost impersonal affection that one finds in a large adult family.

And so I conclude in the words of a great writer of the day, speaking of the English Throne:

“It is not only higher than any other human estate, but of a different kind from any other, for it is the mystical, indivisible centre of national union. It is the point around which coheres the nation's sense of a continuing personality. In any deep stirring of heart the people turn from the mechanism of government, which is their own handiwork and their servant, to that ancient, abiding thing behind governments, which they feel to be the symbol of their past achievement and their future hope.”

page 12
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Pioneer Days of A Great Tourist Business. The illustrations show the transport progress of the Mt. Cook Tourist Company Ltd., from the days of the stage-coach onwards: From top (left) the stage-coach of the early days; (2) the record load from the Mackenzie Country to Fairlie; (3) the “Beetle” (the first mail-car); (4) the “Beetle” in the snow; (5) the headquarters of the Company at Fairlie; (6) a further stage in progress; (7) a “working bee” after unloading timber; (8) the Hut at “Hell's End.” (See article on page 15).

Pioneer Days of A Great Tourist Business.
The illustrations show the transport progress of the Mt. Cook Tourist Company Ltd., from the days of the stage-coach onwards: From top (left) the stage-coach of the early days; (2) the record load from the Mackenzie Country to Fairlie; (3) the “Beetle” (the first mail-car); (4) the “Beetle” in the snow; (5) the headquarters of the Company at Fairlie; (6) a further stage in progress; (7) a “working bee” after unloading timber; (8) the Hut at “Hell's End.” (See article on page 15).

page 14