A Week on the Land
The vacations at the Grange were arranged in rather an unusual
fashion, a full week's holiday being given at Whitsuntide instead
of the ordinary little break at half-term. This year Miss Gibbs, who
was nothing if not patriotic, evolved a plan for the benefit of her
country. She saw an advertisement in the local newspaper, stating
that volunteers would soon be urgently needed to gather the strawberry
crop upon a farm about fifteen miles away, and begging ladies of
education to lend their services. Such a splendid opportunity of war
work appealed to her. She wrote at once for particulars, and after
some correspondence and a visit to the scene of action, announced
her scheme to the school. She proposed that any girls who cared to
devote their holidays to a useful end should join a camp of
strawberry-pickers who were to be employed on the farm.
"It is being arranged by a Government bureau," she explained, "and
many people will be coming who, like ourselves, want to help to bear
their country's burdens--university students, journalists, social
workers, hospital nurses, matrons of institutions, and mistresses and
scholars from other schools. We shall sleep in tents, and lead an
absolutely outdoor life. It will be a healthy way of passing a week,
as well as a benefit to the nation. Any girl who would like to do her
share may give me her name this afternoon, and Miss Beasley will write
to her parents for permission for her to join the camp."
Outside in the quadrangle the school talked over the proposition at
its leisure.
"Will they let us eat the strawberries?" asked Fauvette anxiously.
"Certainly, you little glutton!" snapped Veronica. "You'll be allowed
to stuff till you loathe the very thought of swallowing a strawberry.
But you'll have to pick hard and do your share, or they'll turn you
off!"
The monitresses were fired with the idea, and all, except Linda, had
decided to "do their bit." Their enthusiasm spread downward like a
wave. Before the day was over, eighteen girls had given in their names
as volunteers, Raymonde, Morvyth, Katherine, and Aveline being among
the number.
"I would like to have joined you, really!" protested Fauvette, "only I
know I'll be so dreadfully home-sick all the rest of the term if I
don't go home, and----"
"Don't apologize, child!" interrupted Raymonde. "Nobody in their
senses expects you to go. You'd be a huge embarrassment to the rest of
us. Blue-eyed darlings, all baby-ribbon and fluffy hair, aren't meant
for hard work. Why, you'd pick about six strawberries in an hour, and
eat three-quarters of them! Go home and be petted, by all means! We
don't want you weeping yourself to sleep at night, it disturbs the
dormitory. The country'll survive without your services!"
Raymonde's harum-scarum mind was for once really filled with a wish to
help. She meant to do her full share of work. Also she was determined
to enjoy herself. The prospect of camp-life was alluring. There was a
gipsy smack about it that satisfied her unconventional instincts. It
seemed almost next door to campaigning.
"If I'd only been a boy, I'd have run away to the front long ago!" she
announced.
"Girls have their own chances in life as well as boys now," said
Hermie. "Wait till you've finished with school, then you must try to
find your niche in the world. There's plenty of pioneer work for women
to do yet. They haven't half exploited the colonies. Once we show
we're some good on the land, why shouldn't the Government start us in
co-operative farms out in New Zealand or Australia? It ought to be
done systematically. Everything's been so haphazard before. Imagine a
farm all run by girls educated at our best secondary and public
schools! It would be ideal. I'm yearning to try it."
Hermie's aspirations towards field labour and a colonial future had
been greatly spurred on lately by the advent of some lady labourers on
a farm near the Grange. For the last fortnight the milk had been
delivered, not by the usual uncouth boy, but by a charming member of
the feminine sex, attired in short smock, knickers and gaiters, and a
picturesque rush hat. Hermie had entered into conversation with her,
and learned that she was a clergyman's daughter, that she milked six
cows morning and evening, and went round with the cart delivering the
milk, and that she was further concerned with the care of poultry,
pigs, and calves. The glamour of her experiences made Hermie wish that
the Grange were full of pigs instead of pupils.
"I'd rather attend to a dozen nice little black Berkshires than act
monitress to those juniors!" she sighed. "There would really be more
satisfaction in it. And as for Raymonde Armitage and her set--give me
young calves any day!"
Miss Gibbs was extremely busy making preparations for the expedition.
The farmer undertook to provide tents for the party, and bags of hay
to sleep upon, but each member must bring her own pillow, blankets,
mug, knife, fork, spoon and plate, as well as her personal belongings.
These latter were whittled down to the smallest capacity, for there
would be little room to stow them away in the tents. Stout boots,
waterproofs, and hockey caps were taken, in case the weather might
change, the girls wearing their usual Panama school hats on fine days.
In order to prevent difficulty with the ordinary strawberry-pickers,
they were to be paid for their work according to the amount
accomplished, and were each to contribute ten shillings towards the
canteen, the tents being provided free.
"But suppose we don't each earn ten shillings?" asked Daphne the
cautious.
"Whoever doesn't will have to make up the balance from her own
pocket," said Miss Gibbs. "If the ordinary pickers can pay their way,
I suppose we can do the same, but it will mean sticking at it hard,
and no shirking. We must show what we're made of!"
On the Friday before Whitsun week an excited little party of eighteen
stood with bags and bundles ready to start, Miss Gibbs bustling round
them like a fussy hen with a large brood of chicks, giving ever so
many last directions and injunctions, which seemed rather superfluous
as she was going with them, and would have them under her charge the
whole time. They went by rail to Ledcombe, the nearest station to
Shipley, where the strawberry gardens were situated. The scene on the
platform when they arrived was certainly new and out of the common. A
train had just come in from London, bringing pickers from the slums.
It was labelled "Strawberry Gatherers Only," and its cargo was lively,
not to say noisy. There were elderly men, younger ones unfit for
military service, women with bawling babies, girls shouting popular
songs, and a swarm of turbulent children. Whole families had
apparently set forth to spend a few weeks helping at the fruit
harvest, combining a holiday in the country with profit to their
pockets.
"We're not going among that crew, I hope?" said Daphne, staring rather
aghast at the unkempt crowd.
"Certainly not; we shall have our own quarters," returned Miss Gibbs,
marshalling her flock to the gate of exit. Drawn up outside the
station were six large hay wagons, and on one of these hung a placard:
"Marlowe Grange." Miss Gibbs made for it immediately, turning out some
struggling slum children who had already climbed in and taken
temporary possession, and stowed the baggage inside.
"There's plenty of room for us all," she announced, "but you'll each
have to sit on your own bundle. I'm glad I stipulated that they
should reserve us a wagon for ourselves."
Judging by the rabble who were swarming on to the other hay carts, the
girls also considered it a cause for rejoicing. Their own vehicle
started first, and began to jolt slowly down the country road, its
occupants sitting as steadily as they could on their knobbly luggage,
and indulging in decidedly feminine squeals when, as often happened,
an extra hard jog threw them together. After four miles of this rather
exciting journey they reached the farm. Their driver stopped at a
gate, and, pointing across a field to some tents, indicated that this
was their destination. He could take them no nearer, and they must
convey their own bags and bundles over the pasture.
Hauling their own luggage with them was no light task, and they were
heartily tired of their burdens before they reached the tents. Three
of these, labelled Marlowe Grange, they appropriated; then Miss Gibbs,
after a brief confabulation with the canteen matron, beckoned to her
flock.
"I hear we must go at once and secure first pick of the hay sacks,"
she said. "Come along, all of you!"
Over three more fields and two stiles they came to the farm buildings,
where, spread out on hurdles, were a number of large sacks, mercifully
clean. An individual in charge, wearing a faded blue suit and a two
days' growth of stubbly beard, told them briefly to help themselves,
and then take their sacks to the barn and fill them with hay.
Preparing their own mattresses was a new experience, but an amusing
one. It was fun stuffing the sweet-smelling hay into the rough canvas
bags, and more fun still carrying the bulky bedding back over fields
and stiles to the tents. Here, amid a chaos of unpacking, they at last
disposed their belongings to their satisfaction.
Their special little colony consisted of nine tents and a marquee for
meals. It was in charge of a matron, who directed the canteen, and was
responsible for the comfort and order of the camp. In each tent hung a
list of rules respecting hours of rising and going to bed, meals, and
general conduct. As there was no servant except the cook, the task of
washing up must be shared by all in rotation, the matron having
authority to apportion the work. No lights or talking were to be
allowed after 10.30 p.m.
By the time the girls had settled all their possessions it was seven
o'clock, and the rest of the camp returned from the strawberry fields.
Supper was served in the marquee, everybody sitting on benches round
wooden tables without cloths. The company proved pleasant and
congenial; there were fifty in all, including some students from
Ludminster University, and eight girls and two teachers from a
secondary school at Tadbury. The slum party, it seemed, were lodged in
the big barns behind the farm, while some caravans of gipsy pickers
had possession of a corner of a field some distance away.
Supper finished, most of the workers sat about and rested. A few,
possessed of superfluous energy, took a walk to the village a mile
off, but the generality were very tired. A gramophone in the marquee
blared away at popular songs, and the more lively spirits joined in
the choruses; one or two even attempted to dance on the grass. Miss
Gibbs had already struck up a friendship with a lady journalist, and
some of the girls began to make overtures to the Tadbury scholars, who
looked rather a jolly little set. Everybody retired early, as they
would have to be up at 5.30, and in the fields by seven.
The Marlowe Grange contingent were much exercised as to the best way
to place their mattresses. They did not know whether to sleep with
their heads or their feet to the tent-pole, and finally decided in
favour of the former. Going to bed was a funny business in so very
small a space, with no chairs or places to put clothes down, and only
one tin basin amongst six to wash in. It was funnier still when they
attempted to lie down on their mattresses. A bag stuffed with hay is
so round that it is very difficult to keep upon it without rolling
off, and there was much pommelling and flattening before the beds were
at all tenable. At last everyone was settled, the lights were out, and
the campers, rolled in their blankets, tried to compose themselves to
sleep.
Raymonde, whose billet was opposite the door of the tent, could see
out, and watch the stars shining. She lay awake a long time, with her
eyes fixed on a bright planet that moved across the little horizon of
sky visible to her, till it passed out of sight, and at length she too
slept.