War is Everlasting

"For it was the middle of June. The War was over, except for some one like Mrs. Foxcroft at the Embassy last night eating her heart out because that nice boy was killed and now the old Manor House must go to a cousin; or Lady Bexborough who opened a bazaar, they said, with the telegram in her hand, John, her favourite, killed; but it was over; thank Heaven — over. It was June. The King and Queen were at the Palace. And everywhere, though it was still so early, there was a beating, a stirring of galloping ponies, tapping of cricket bats; Lords, Ascot, Ranelagh and all the rest of it; wrapped in the soft mesh of the grey-blue morning air, which, as the day wore on, would unwind them, and set down on their lawns and pitches the bouncing ponies, whose forefeet just struck the ground and up they sprung, the whirling young men, and laughing girls in their transparent muslins who, even now, after dancing all night, were taking their absurd woolly dogs for a run; and even now, at this hour, discreet old dowagers were shooting out in their motor cars on errands of mystery; and the shopkeepers were fidgeting in their windows with their paste and diamonds, their lovely old sea-green brooches in eighteenth-century settings to tempt Americans (but one must economise, not buy things rashly for Elizabeth), and she, too, loving it as she did with an absurd and faithful passion, being part of it, since her people were courtiers once in the time of the Georges, she, too, was going that very night to kindle and illuminate; to give her party. But how strange, on entering the Park, the silence; the mist; the hum; the slow-swimming happy ducks; the pouched birds waddling; and who should be coming along with his back against their Government buildings, most appropriately, carrying a despatch box stamped with the Royal Arms, who but Hugh Whitbread; her old friend Hugh — the admirable Hugh!" (5).

As a child I remember hearing my dad tell stories about when he was overseas during his time in the military. He always told me about all the different cultures, foods, and the people he met. One thing he never talked about was how the wars in some of the other countries effected the citizens of that country. This passage from Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway reminds me of my dad's stories. It reminds me of the heartache war brings to people and the joy that follows when it's over. This passage made me think, once a war is over, is it truly gone?

The answer quite simply is no. "The hum" of war never leaves the air. It lives within the people of that warring nation. As the people "[fidget] in their windows" a "soft mesh [hangs] in the grey-blue morning air" symbolizing that the people of London are forever caught in the war. The pain and restlessness poeple fell will forever be in their hearts.

While people think they are safe the government knows that they always have to stay on the defensive. The secret message in the "despatch box stamped with the Royal Arms" can be sent to the soldiers at any time telling them to strike down the enemy.

Woolf's usage of puns throughout this passage really made me laugh when I realized what she was doing but they also helped illustrate how war never really leaves once it's over. Just as time is a never ending cycle, war is everlasting.