CEMENTING 1k1e, ALLIANCE.
QOM:EMI:ERE in Italy, on a fine spring Sunday, all the people who count in the society of the city are making their way to a field on the estate of a certain sporting Prince, where an epoch- making game is to be played between the local football club and a team of British soldiers imported from a neighbouring town on the Linea of Communications. Excitement is intense. The match, which is intended primarily to raise hinds for the support of the war orphans, has been well boomed by an ingenious Press, which does not hesitate to turn all the British players into Internationals (although their very names are unknown to it), and which un- blushingly hints at the probable presence on the field of various ex- ceedingly important personages who could not by any stretch of sane imagination be expected to be present. Further, in the course of the morning the British team has been met at the railway station by a deputation of Italian soldiers and citizens, headed by the Mayor, and accompanied by a military band. Speeches have been made, and bouquets, both floral and verbal, hurled at the Anglo- Saxon heads.
The scene on the field of play is curiously un 'English Three- quarters of the spectators are ladies arrayed in springtime splendour, and, among thereat, there are Italian officers in all the glory of the sky- blue and crimson and gold of their peace-time uniforms, railway officials in their red caps and blue brassards, other civilians in their tricolour brassards, which are supposed to indicate that their wearers are munition workers, and a sprinkling of youngsters with white brassards—in token that they have been called up to join the Army. There are a few British soldiers: one of them is attracting a good deal of attention by reason of the fact that he is wearing a kilt, while the cowboy hats of the American Red Cross unit are to be seen near the grand-stand. The band is in attendance, and a few Carabinieai in three-cornered cocked hats give a quaint old-world touch to the scene. Suddenly the sky-blue uniform of the French Army comes into view as two French Liaison Officers take their places in the grand-stand, and the band crashes out the " Mar- seillaise " ; but before the soul-stirring hymn is finished it has to be changed to the English National Anthem, in order to receive fitly the British Staff Officer who has been largely instrumental in arranging the game. Finally, the Italian General who commands in this area is welcomed by the swinging Royal March, and the match is ready to begin. But no: from the grand-stand rises a humorous- faced" professor," who tells us eloquently how gladly Italy welcomes the presence of her Allies. He feels, or he says he feels, that we are happy to be in his beautiful country enjoying the smiles in the eyes of the Southern Virgins. It is a long way to Tipperary (by which he means Italy), but he is convinced that our hearts are right there, and that we shall return to Italy and its smiling Virgins after the war. In short, in the name of the realm of Italy, he greets the valiant British Army.
And now the game is really ready to begin. The British Staff Officer conducts on to the field the venerable Italian General, and laughingly explains to him the theory of "kicking off." And the Italian kicks off and takes refuge in flight. The forwards rush forthe ball, and then a large Italian gentleman steps upon the sacred award and gesticulates wildly. The players stop dead in amazement, and behold, from the corner of the field come three of the war orphans, dressed as pocket-edition Alpini, with eagle-feathers and all complete. Their average age is perhaps seven. One of them carries an Italian flag which is obviously far too heavy for him, the second —and smallest—embraces a huge bouquet of flowers, and the last— a trifle larger—wields a most dangerous-looking bayonet in his capacity as escort to the British officer. This officer looks—and probably feels—as if he would welcome a painless and immediate death. All the non-players retire, and the match really begins.
Loud cheers greet every brilliant piece of play, and a fluttering of handkerchiefs and tumultuous " Vivas" welcome every goal that is scored or saved. When one of the players is winded and requires massage the gentle-hearted Signorinas murmur "A Dio " and shed tears. And when a foul is claimed or given, and the two players concerned immediately shake hands on the field to show that no- illwill is intended, the enthusiasm reaches its greatest height.
At half-time the English team, with their referee, their lines- men, and their Staff Officer, are all photographed in picturesque attitudes in front of their goal : and the war orphans parade on the very field of play, cutting up the centre circle with their busy little feet while they give a clever expositiOn of Swedish drill. Meanwhile the non-playing Englishmen are in their own peculiar way doing their part in cementing the Entente. When the game restarts one notices several animated little groups, where a khaki- clad warrior is trying to explain in an Italian which perhaps consists of three sentences, that Cupid has struck him down, and that he is the slave for life of any particular Signorina who may be able to understand his meaning, or at all events until such time as he is drafted to some other station.
The second half is not allowed to pass without its interruption. Once more a platoon of war orphans marches solemnly on to the field, and hands to each of the British team some mysterious souvenir, whilst largess in the shape of bon-bons is distributed. And as the Northerners solemnly accept the various presents, and shake hands with their midget donors, the cheering breaks out afresh, and as an English player said : "We hadn't the heart to try and score more goals after that."
The game, which has been quite keenly and very cleanly con - tested throughout, finishes with a victory for the British by six to two, as is only right and proper, since football is a comparatively new sport to the Italians. As the spectators swarm over the ground to get the chance of a handshake or an autograph from the victors, all are agreed that what could be done to make the union of the nations a lasting one has been done very handsomely indeed.
N. A. E.
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