Separation

Set mouth, twisting hands under her handkerchief,
Defiant eyes for the whole world who will criticize,
Shaking shoulders when a sudden pang pierces her heart,
She sits in the outer office while inside her adviser drafts the deed that shall kill the past.
Dead will be the days of Youth and Happiness.
Dead will be the Roses of the Spring,
Fluttered are the leaves of Autumn Gold
That gild her memories of the half-forgotten courtship.
Life must be Freedom. Cowards those who quail beneath the married despot's lash.
Tongue or hand—what matters it?
A brute is bestial in action or in conversation;
There is pain from the sting of words as from the bleeding lip;
There is liberty from the sneer as from the blow.
And so she sits in the outer office.
Unshed tears glisten in her eye.
Unuttered sobs rise with her labouring breast.
And, in her heart, she bids a long farewell to the sorrows of her wifely state and the joys of her motherhood.

S.E.B. (After Edward Carpenter)

Three or four omissions front the War Memorial number of the "Spike" have been reported since its publication, and it is suggested that a supplementary leaflet might be printed and distributed to purchasers. This course has not yet been decided on, but the Editor would be very pleased to receive information of any further names, honours, etc., which could be inserted in such a leaflet. It is known that photographs of many who lost their lives in the War could not be obtained, but possibly they are available now. Any photographs forwarded to the Editor will he returned as soon as printer's blocks can be taken off.