Year of the Mouse

So this was '48. In its first week, some of the world's people managed to face the new year gaily, many with dull resignation, most in doubt. But they all had one fervent, minimum hope: that this would be a better year than the one just gone.

"We Can Only Pray." Japan perhaps struck the keynote for the world. Throughout the islands, huge gongs sounded 108 times--each stroke to counter one human evil in the new year (which was a conservative estimate). The year thus heralded was called the year of Ne (the Mouse)--traditionally a year of activity, humility, but also of the plenty for which all yearned. Emperor Hirohito offered his subjects two New Year's poems, written by himself. One advised: "Emulate the strength of the pine trees of the seashore, which stand the fierce sea breezes of the four seasons."

Throughout Asia, men contemplated a new year of fierce breezes. India charged Pakistan with a threat to world peace (see Col. 3). Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek predicted that the Chinese Communists would be beaten by the end of the year; Communist Chieftain Mao Tse-tung hooted that 1948 would bring still more gains for the Reds. A Shanghai editorial writer said humbly: "We can only pray."

"A Meeting with History." In London crowds trudged through a cold drizzle to Watch Night services at St. Paul's. Piccadilly Circus was crowded and almost as gay as ever. Britons felt in their bones that somehow 1948 would be better than 1947, but nobody promised them anything. The Manchester Guardian advised its readers to "expect a meeting with history some time this year."

In Berlin, people told each other that the question was not "What will the New Year bring?" but "Will there be a New Year?" Greeks rejoiced in the news that Konitsa had been relieved (see FOREIGN NEWS). In Athens, people embraced and wished each other "Hronia Polla, adelphi mou" ("Many years, O brother of mine") --but many wryly replied, "How many years?" In Italy, New Year's Day ushered in the new constitution and, officially, the new Italian Republic. The flag-raising ceremony at the Quirinal Palace left Italians cautiously optimistic. In a fashionable church in the Corso d'ltalia a pale-faced friar exclaimed: "No miracle is impossible to God. It is not impossible for God to lift the angry clouds that hang so heavily on 1948's beginning." Barbanera (Black-beard), a popular almanac of astrology, predicted for 1948: "Unsuccessful diplomatic encounters . . . conflict avoided in the nick of time. . . ."

"Grand & Interesting." The shrillest greetings to 1948 came from the official trumpets of world Communism. Boomed Moscow's Pravda: "The age of capitalism is approaching its end." Russian kids, despite Marxist disapproval of all fairy tales except the Marxist one, crowded around Santa Claus (who in Russia is called Grandfather Frost and calls on Jan. 1--see cut). The Moscow radio started the year by broadcasting the cries of a newborn baby. "We don't know your name yet," cooed Announcer Yuri ("The Golden Voice of Victory") Levitan, "but we know you will have a grand and interesting life because you were born in Soviet land."

For Communism, the coming year would be a holy anniversary. Just one century ago, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels were busy writing the Communist Manifesto. "A specter is haunting Europe," they had cried, "the specter of Communism." In 100 years, the specter has grown to cataclysmic size.

Most of the world's people would have to stand in place and take what came. Here & there, however, some sought escape. Two such were Diane Forestier, a dark-eyed, 20-year-old French actress, and Jacques Fovrel, a 24-year-old Paris newspaperman. Exactly at midnight on New Year's Eve they set out from Paris on foot, carrying only rucksacks on their backs. The pair, who were engaged to be married, planned to work their way around the world and return on Jan. 1, 1951. "By the time we get back," said Fovrel, "we hope things will be more settled."

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