NOTES AND QUERIES
On my last evening I sat and thought about the girls I had seen and
known, in greater and less degrees, in passing. And I saw them, not as
unthinking "sporting" young things, who were having a great adventure,
but as girls who were steadily sticking to their jobs, often without
enjoyment save that of knowledge of good work well done. And I thought
of those prophets who gloomily foretell that the women will never want
to drop into the background again--forgetful of the fact that where a
woman is is never a background to herself. I smiled as I thought of the
eagerness with which these hard workers in mud and snow and heat will
start buying pretty clothes again and going out to parties ... and I was
very thankful to know how unchangedly woman they had all remained, in
spite of the fact that they had had the strength to lay the privileges
and the fun of being a woman aside for a time.
I remembered what the D. of T. had said to me when we discussed the
question of how the girls would settle down when it was all over, and
how he had thought that even if they did not marry all would be well,
because they would have had their adventure.... I remembered too how
that had seemed to me the correct answer at the time. Then later, when
that awful web of depression caught me, and the horror of the
school-girl conditions of life and all the apparent "brightness" had
choked me, I had all the more thought it true, but marvelled; later
still, when I caught glimpses of that wonderful spirit and that deep
sophistication which had so cheered me, I reversed the whole judgment
and thought there was nothing in it.
Now, thinking it all over, it seemed to me that somewhere midway lay
Truth. These girls have had, in a certain sense, their adventure, but
when it is all over, they will have a reaction from it, and I believe
that reaction will be pleasant to them, that it will be the reaction,
and not the memory of adventure, which will content them. It is certain
that to anyone who has worked as these girls work a considerable period
of doing nothing in particular will be very acceptable. They will all
have to become themselves again, which will be interesting....
Dear, wonderful girls ... you who wash dishes and scrub and sweep, you
girls of the Women's Army who replace men and who do it so thoroughly,
you drivers who are out in all weathers, night and day, sometimes for a
week or more on end, who face hardships such as were faced in those
three weeks at T---- when there were no fires and no water, how glad I
am to have met you.... So I sat and thought, and then I picked up a copy
of _The Times_ which had just come over. And in the "Personal" column
this caught my eye:
"Lady wants war-work, preferably motor-driving, from three to five p.m."
And I saw that it was not only those far removed from the war who
misunderstood both what it demands and that which has arisen to meet
those demands.
Do we not nearly all fail to realise the magnitude and import of what is
being done by these unspectacular workers behind the lines, who are yet
part of war itself, and daily and nightly strengthen the hands of the
fighters? Some of us in England realise as little as you in far-off
countries, and yet it should be our business to know, because the least
we can do is to understand so that we, in our much less fine way, can
help them a little, one tithe of the amount they help our fighting men.
Not because of any desire of theirs for praise is it necessary--I never
saw a healthier disregard, amounting to a kindly contempt, for what
those at home think or don't think, than among the women working in
France--but because it is only by knowing that we can respond
generously enough to the needs of their work, and only by understanding
that we can save our own souls from that fat and contented ignorance
which induces a sleep uncommonly like death.
Nor, as long as we listen to the girls themselves, are we in any danger
of thinking too much of them or of their work. Not a woman I met,
English or American, working in France, but said something like this,
and meant it: "What, after all, is anything we can do, except inasmuch
as it may help the men a little? How could we bear to do nothing when
the men are doing the most wonderful thing that has ever been done in
the world?"
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note:
Punctuation has been normalised.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Sword of Deborah, by F. Tennyson Jesse