CHAPTER XIX
A Potato Walk
Dona's suggestion was adopted, and she and Marjorie began a littlesystem of correspondence with Eric. At their request Elaine bought asmall present and left the parcel with the attendant at the refreshmentkiosk, who promised to give it to him.
"I know the child quite well by sight," she said. "A delicate littlefellow in an invalid carriage. They used to pass here two or three timesa week last summer, and sometimes they'd stop at the kiosk and the girlwould buy him an orange or some sweets. I hadn't seen him for monthstill he went by a few days ago. Yes, I'll be sure to stop him when hepasses."
That the girl kept her word was evident, for a week afterwards shehanded Elaine a letter addressed to "The Fairy Ladies". Elaineforwarded it to Marjorie and Dona. It was written in a round,childish hand, and ran:
"DARLING BLUEBELL AND SILVERSTAR,
"I like the puzzle you sent me. I often think about you. I love you very much. I hope I shall see you again. I played fairies all yesterday and pretended you were here.
"With love from "ERIC."
"Dear little man!" said Marjorie. "I expect it's taken him a long timeto write this. We'll buy him a blotter and some fancy paper andenvelopes and leave them at the kiosk for him."
"I wish we could go to the cove and see him again," said Dona.
It happened that for the next two exeats Aunt Ellinor had arranged atennis party or some other engagement for her nieces, so that it was notpossible to take a walk on the cliffs. They left a supply of littlepresents, however, at the kiosk, so that something could be given toEric every time he passed. The assistant was almost as interested asMarjorie and Dona.
"He looks out for those parcels now," she assured them. "You should justsee his face when I run out and give them to him. I believe he'd be everso disappointed if there was nothing. The girl that wheels him left amessage for you. His mother thanks you for your kindness; and will youplease excuse his writing, because it isn't very good for him and takeshim such a long time. He's never been able to go to school."
"Poor little chap!" laughed Dona. "I expect someone has to sit by himand tell him how to spell every word. Never mind, he can draw fairieson the notepaper we sent him. We'll get him a red-and-blue chalkpencil."
"I dare say he'd like a post-card album and some cards to put in it,"suggested Marjorie.
"Oh yes! I saw some of flower fairies at the Stores. We'll ask Elaine toget them."
"And those funny ones of cats and dogs. I've no doubt it's anything toamuse him when he has to lie still all the day long."
As the summer wore on, and submarines sank many of our merchant vesselson the seas, the food question began to be an important problem atBrackenfield. Everyone was intensely patriotic and ready to do all inher power to help on the war. Mrs. Morrison believed in keeping thegirls well abreast of the important topics of the moment. She consideredthe oldfashioned schools of fifty years ago, where the pupils never sawa newspaper, and were utterly out of touch with the world, did notconduce to the making of good citizens. She liked her girls to think outquestions for themselves. She had several enthusiastic spirits among theprefects, and found that by giving them a few general hints to work uponshe could trust them to lead the others. Winifrede in particularrealized the gravity of the situation. Armed with a supply of leafletsfrom the local Food Control Bureau, she convened a meeting of the entireschool in the Assembly Hall.
Winifrede was a girl whose intense love of her country and ready powerof fluent speech would probably lead her some day to a public platform.Meantime she could always sway a Brackenfield audience. She was dramaticin her methods, and when the girls entered the hall they were greeted bylarge hand-printed posters announcing:
"THE GERMANS ARE TRYING TO STARVE US. GERMAN SUBMARINES ARE REDUCING SUPPLIES. YOU MUST ECONOMIZE AT HOME."
There were no teachers present on this occasion, and the platform wasoccupied by the prefects. Winifrede, with an eager face and fullyconvinced of the burning necessity of rationing, stood up and began herspeech.
"Girls! I think I needn't tell you that we're fighting in the mostterrible war the world has ever seen. We're matched against a foe whoseforce and cunning will need every atom of strength of which we'recapable. They are not only shooting our soldiers at the front, andbombing our towns, but by their submarine warfare they are deliberatelytrying to reduce us by starvation. There is already a food crisis in ourcountry. There is a serious shortage of wheat, of potatoes, of sugar,and of other food-stuffs. Perhaps you think that so long as you havemoney you will be able to buy food. That is not so. As long as there isplenty of food, money is a convenience to buy it with, but no more.Money is not value. If the food is not there, money will not make it,and money becomes useless. Food gives money its value. We can do withoutmoney; but we cannot do without food. People see the bakers' shops fullof bread, the butchers' shops full of meat, the grocers' shops full ofprovisions, and they believe there is plenty of food. This is merelyfood on the surface. The stock of food from which the shops draw thefood is low, seriously low, already. Unless we ration ourselves at once,and carefully, there will come days when there may be no bread at all atthe baker's. There is a shortage of wheat all over the world, not onlyin Europe, but also in North and South America. Millions of the men whogrew the wheat we eat are fighting, hundreds of thousands of them willnever go back to the fields they ploughed. If the present waste of breadand wheat flour continues, there will be hardly enough to go round tillnext harvest time. Great Britain only produces one-fifth of the bread iteats. Four-fifths of the wheat comes from abroad. Hundreds of the shipsthat brought it are now engaged in other work. They are carrying foodand munitions to France, Italy, and Russia. The ships that brought usfood are fewer by those hundreds.
"It is the women of the country who must see to this. By carefulrationing we can make our supplies hold out until after the harvest. Ourmen are out at the front, fighting a grim battle, but, unless we do ourpart of the business at home, they may fight a losing battle. It is forus to see that our noble dead have not died in vain. With martyredBelgium for an object lesson, it is the duty of every British girl tomake every possible sacrifice to keep those unspeakable Huns out of ourislands. I appeal to you all to use the utmost economy and abstinence,and voluntarily to give up some of the things that you like. Rememberyou will be helping to win the war. There is a rationing pledge on thetable near the door, and I ask every girl to sign it and to wear theviolet ribbon that will be given her. It is the badge of the newtemperance cause. The freedom of the world depends at the present timeon the food thrift and self-restraint of our civilians, no less than onthe courage of our soldiers. Please take some of the leaflets which youwill find on the table, and read them. They have been sent here for usby the Food Control Bureau."
After Winifrede's speech every girl felt in honour bound to comply withher request, and turn by turn they signed their pledges and sportedtheir violet ribbons.
"It'll mean knocking off buns, I suppose," sighed Sylvia mournfully.
"Certainly.
'Save a bun, And do the Hun!'"
improvised Marjorie.
"Look here!" said Betty, studying a pamphlet; "it says: 'If a man isworking hard he needs a great deal more food than when he is resting.There are no exceptions to this rule. It follows that workers saveenergy by resting as much as they can in their spare time.' If that'strue, the less work we do the smaller our appetites will be. I vote wepetition the Empress, in the interests of patriotism, to shorten ourtime-table by half."
"She'd probably suggest knocking off cricket and tennis instead, myBetty."
"Well, at any rate, it says: 'large people need more food than small',and I'm taller than you, so I ought to have half of your dinner bread,old sport!"
"Ah, but look, it also says: 'people who are well covered need much lessfood than thin people', so I score there, and ought to have half of yourdinner bread instead."
; "We'll each stick to our own allowances, thanks!"
Mrs. Morrison, who was on the committee of the Whitecliffe Food ControlCampaign, was glad to have secured the co-operation of her girls in thealterations which she was now obliged to make in their dietary. On thewhole, they rather liked some of the substitutes for wheat flour, andquite enjoyed the barley-meal bread, and the oatcakes and maize-mealbiscuits that figured on the tables at tea-time.
"They're dry, but you feel so patriotic when you eat them," declaredMarjorie.
"I believe you'd chump sawdust buns if you thought you were helping onthe war," laughed Chrissie.
"I would, with pleasure."
It was just at this time that potatoes ran short. So far Brackenfieldhad not suffered in that respect, but now the supply from the largekitchen garden had given out, and the Whitecliffe greengrocers werequite unable to meet the demands of the school. For a fortnight thegirls ate swedes instead, and tried to like them. Then Mrs. Morrisonreceived a message from a farmer that he had plenty of potatoes in hisfields, but lacked the labour to cart them. He would, however, beprepared to dispose of a certain quantity on condition that they couldbe fetched. Here was news indeed! The potatoes were there, and onlyneeded to be carried away. The Principal at once organized parties ofgirls to go with baskets to the farm. Instead of sending Seniors,Intermediates, and Juniors separately, Mrs. Morrison orderedrepresentatives from the three hostels to form each detachment. Sheconsidered that lately the elder girls had been keeping too much alooffrom the younger ones, and that the spirit of unity in the school mightsuffer in consequence. The expedition would be an excellent opportunityfor meeting together, and she gave a hint to the prefects that she hadnoticed and deprecated their tendency to exclusiveness.
As a direct result of her suggestions, Marjorie one afternoon foundherself walking to the farm in the select company of Winifrede Mason. Itwas such an overwhelming honour to be thus favoured by the head girlthat Marjorie's powers of conversation were at first rather damped, andshe replied in monosyllables to Winifrede's remarks; but the latter, whowas determined (as she had informed her fellow prefects) to "do her dutyby those Intermediates", persevered in her attempts to be pleasant,till Marjorie, who was naturally talkative, thawed at length and foundher tongue.
There was no doubt that Winifrede, when she stepped down from herpedestal, was a most winning companion. She had a charming, humorous,racy, whimsical way of commenting on things, and a whole fund of amusingstories. Marjorie, astonished and fascinated, responded eagerly to heradvances, and by the time they reached the farm had formed quite adifferent estimation of the head girl. The walk in itself wasdelightful. Their way lay along a road that led over the moors. Oneither side stretched an expanse of gorse and whinberry bushes,interspersed with patches of grass, where sheep were feeding. Dykesfilled with water edged the road, and in these were growing rushes, andsedges, and crowfoot, and a few forget-me-nots and other water-lovingflowers. Larks were singing gloriously overhead, and the plovers flittedabout with their plaintive "pee-wit, pee-wit". Sometimes a stonechat ora wheatear would pause for a moment on a gorse stump, flirting its browntail before it flew out of sight, or young rabbits would peep from thewhinberry bushes and whisk away into cover. Far off in the distance laythe hazy outline of the sea. There was a great sense of space andopenness. The fresh pure air blew down from the hills, cooler and moreinvigorating even than the sea breeze. Except for the sheep, and anoccasional collie dog and shepherd, they had the world to themselves.Winifrede took long sighing breaths of air. Her eyes were shining withenjoyment.
"I like the quiet of it all," she told Marjorie. "I can understand thefeeling that made the mediaeval hermits build their lonely little cellsin peaceful, beautiful spots. Some of the Hindoos do the same to-day,and go and live in the forests to have time to meditate. When I'mgetting old I'd like to come and take a cottage on this moor--notbefore, I think, because there's so very much I want to do in the worldfirst, but when I feel I'm growing past my work, then will be the timeto arrange my thoughts and slip into the spirit of the peace up here."
"What kind of work do you want to do?" asked Marjorie.
"I'm not sure yet. I'm leaving school, of course, at the end of thisterm, and I can't quite decide whether to go on to College or to beginsomething to help the war. Mrs. Morrison advises College. She says Icould be far more help afterwards if I were properly qualified, and Idare say she's right, only I don't want to wait."
"I'm just yearning to leave school and be a V.A.D., or drive anambulance wagon," sympathized Marjorie.
"My sister is out in France at canteen work," confided Winifrede. "Itmakes me fearfully envious when I have her letters and think what she'sdoing for the Tommies. I've three brothers at the front, and fivecousins, and two more cousins were killed a year ago. My eldest brotherhas been wounded twice, and the youngest is in hospital now. I simplylive for news of them all."
The girls had now reached the farm, a little low-built, whitewashedhouse almost on the summit of a hill. Though the principal occupation ofits owner lay among sheep, he had a clearing of fields, where he grewswedes, potatoes, and a little barley. In a sheltered place behind hisstable-yard he had a stock of last year's potatoes still left; they werepiled into a long heap, covered with straw and then with earth as aprotection. He took the girls round here, measured the potatoes in abushel bin, and then filled the baskets.
"They won't keep much longer," he informed Miss Norton. "I'd have cartedthem down to Whitecliffe, only I've no horse now, and it's difficult toborrow one; and I can't spare the time from the sheep either. Labour'sso scarce now. My two sons are fighting, and I've only a grandson offourteen and a daughter to help me."
"Everybody is feeling the same pinch," replied Miss Norton. "We're onlytoo glad to come and fetch the potatoes ourselves. It's a nice walk forus."
The girls, who overheard the conversation, felt they cordially agreed.It was fun wandering round the little farm-yard, looking at the ducks,and chickens, and calves, or peeping inside the barns and stables.Several of them began to register vows to work on the land whenschool-days were over.
"They've got a new German camp over there," volunteered the farmer. "Isuppose their first contingent of prisoners arrived yesterday. Hadn'tyou heard about it? Oh, they've been busy for weeks putting up barbedwire! It can't be so far from your place either. You'd pass it if youcrossed the stile there and went back over the moor instead of round bythe road."
At the news of a German camp a kind of electric thrill passed round thecompany. The girls were wild with curiosity to see it, and pressed MissNorton to allow them to return to Brackenfield by the moorland path. Themistress herself seemed interested, and consented quite readily. It wasa much quicker way back to the school, and would save time; she wasgrateful to Mr. Briggs for having pointed out so short a cut.
The camp lay on the side of a hill about half-way between the farm andBrackenfield, near enough to distinguish the latter building quiteplainly in the distance. It was surrounded by an entanglement of barbedwire, and there were sentries on duty. Within the circle of wire weretents, and the girls could see washing hanging out, and a few figureslying on the ground and apparently smoking. They would have liked tolinger and look, but Miss Norton marched them briskly past, anddiscipline forbade an undue exhibition of curiosity. They had goneperhaps only a few hundred yards when they heard the regular tramp-trampof footsteps, and up from the dell below came a further batch ofprisoners under an escort of soldiers. Miss Norton hastily marshalledher flock, and made them stand aside to allow the contingent room topass. They were a tall, fine-looking set of men, stouter, and apparentlybetter fed, than their guards. They had no appearance of hard usage orill treatment, and were marching quite cheerily towards the camp,probably anticipating a meal. The girls, drawn up in double line,thrilled with excitement as they passed.
"If one tried to run away would they shoot him?" asked Betty in an awedvoice.
"Yes, the guards have their rifles all ready," repli
ed Marjorie; "if onetried to escape he'd have a bullet through his back in a second--andquite right too! What's the matter, Chrissie?"
"Nothing--only it makes me feel queer."
"I feel queer when I remember how many of our own men are prisoners inGermany," declared Winifrede.
"Quietly, girls! And don't stare!" said Miss Norton. "We ought to pitythese poor men. It is a terrible thing to be a prisoner of war."
"I don't pity them," grumbled Marjorie fiercely under her breath."Perhaps they're the very ones who've been fighting Leonard's regiment."
"Yes, when one thinks of one's brothers, it doesn't make one love theGermans," whispered Winifrede.
"Love them!" flared Marjorie. "I wouldn't consciously speak to a Germanfor ten thousand pounds, and if I happened by mistake to shake handswith one--well, I'd have to go and disinfect my hand afterwards!"
"Miss Norton's welcome to them if she pities them," said Betty frombehind.
"Go on, girls, now!" came the teacher's voice, as the contingent trampedaway into the camp.
"I'm disgusted with Miss Norton!" groused Marjorie. "Come along,Chrissie! What's the matter with you, old sport? Anybody'd think you'dseen a ghost instead of a batch of Germans. Why, you've gone quitepale!"
"I'm only tired," snapped Chrissie rather crossly. "You're always makingremarks about something. I'm going to walk with Patricia."
"Oh, all right! Just as you please. I don't press myself on anybody.I'll walk with Winifrede again if she'll have me."
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