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XHE CRESTOM REVIEW,' CRESTON, B. C.? M OiS' 1LOCAL AGENTS FOB :1, Mitchell, Oakland, Oldsmobile,; sell Cars. . ' :'^-0;ickney Gas Engines and: Flanders or Cycles. Pump-Jacks, PumpsWater Tanks,epairs for Bicycles, Gas Engines. Motor Cars.IIO/y SRAM OHChurch NoticesMETHODIST CHTROH Services will be held every Sunday as follows:Morning -Evening - -Sabbath School You are welcome to11:00 a. m.- 7:80 p. in.2:20 p. tu.tarry with us. Fred L. CarpenterPastorPRESBYTEIl I AN OHUKOKService every Sunday at H a. m. ana 7:oU p. u.Sabliath School at 10 a. iu.Adult Bible Class at close of evening service.W. G. BlakjsPeople Throng to Funeral of Sand Piastering its music, were mnsicians—violin. ists, ’’cellists, and the rest of the 'Colne vrchvu.*^, ■ comrades vr*th vvtoui he once had played—the ablest violinist of them all, it is said. Near them were the choir, men and girls, mill girls most of them, each dressed in pomely j white and black. Their sweet voices and the organ filled this tiny horseshoe chapel.First came the strains of that noblest of hymns, “O God, our help in ages past ” Then came a hsw setting af “Lead Kindly Light,”, then Sullivan's rendering, now surely immortal, of Nearer my God to Thee .” Many could not sing it. Those sweet girl-voices, fresh, simple, reverent, gave one lal encouragement to sing, yet many could not. The'r minds went away perhaps to mid*Atlantia, to breathless, “Good-byes” and deathly mRperise, broken only faintly by music filtering slight aad distant throughoompauion- waysftnd half-open ports, the musio of this simple childlike tune, “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” Their minds went, away to these things perhaps, and tho red rosewood coffin now before them and the musio uow being sung came a« present witnesses too of the immortal aril'—and faith— of the man whose hand and example led the ploying in that fearful moment. How could one sing? ‘The street outside the chapel was thronged with people. A mile and a half up the hill the cemetery lies away from the chapel, but ndt a spot on the roadside was vacant. Where the railway crosses ohe road, people hao. even climbed the steep banks and covered them. Even the wall of the railway bridge itself was fringed with heads. There were men, women and childrenWallace Hartley, tt^e leader of the Titanic’s band, who, as the great liner was sinking in Mid*Atlantic, gave new courage to the doomed passengers and rew by striking up the hymn “Nearer, ny God, to Thee. ” was brought home o Colne,in Lancashire, Saturday. Here on the side of the beautiful valley they burietJhim. The burying was worthy of the death he died.It was as a hero that he was borne today shoulder-high, with bands of music through streets massed thick with people. It was ub a hero that he was low-\ • - i, rv Vered into his -last earthly place, With trumpets, brave and strong, sounding over him ‘‘The Last Tost, ami the inii-side aoross the river answered. Thus as a fighting hero they honoured him, and it secmod fitting so though of arms ho had had acne save a frail violin and a giant courage.Tho church was filled with people.Old school fellows of -Wallace Hartley’s, relatives, friends, filled every scat Overhead, alongside the organ and holp-.round.trainway-cars had .poured folk into Colne. Most of them wore black, but many were in working cloches—straight from the milis—women weavers in tbeir irab shawls, men in : their bine and orown overalls, miners with faces black.The funeral procession was half a mile iong. Aldermen,councillors, ambulance men, police, boy’s brigades, and others had a place. There were seven bands and there might have been fifty-seven, for almost every band of Lancashire and Yorkshire had asked to be allowed to come. . ■ \Away up the hill ana past the spot vvhere the Wallace Hartley memorial stone is to stand, the procession slowly made its way, and every workman’s hat Was lifted reverently as it passed; every child was still.Many, many thousands gathered in cemetery on the steep hillside. Far below ran the river that is often called Oolne Water. On the hill-side beybnd stood thick clumps of trees’, gorgeously green in their new leaves. In the open spaces between the clumps stood-more thousands of people watching. Over the top of the hill rolled the green ridges and mountains of Yorkshire for so far as the eye could see. On this beauliful valley the sun boat down iu glorionB brightness. The solemn burial service, read in a manly voice, just reaohod me Btanding at some little dis-tanoo from the graveside. Then the playing of the bauds swelled through the valley to the singin e again of “Noaror, my God, to Thee.”Then “Tho Last Post” was sounded. A dozen Boy SooutB blow it, and they blow it finely. Tho notes went rolling through the valley and came floating baok agalu-litigeriugly, loth to be done.Basil Clnrko.h:tiFtrBl
Newspaper Details
Creston Review
Creston, British Columbia, CA
Fri, Jun 14, 1912
Page 8
Full Page
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Chris W.
NA, 08 Jun 2025
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