"Francesca," I said, "you must be very deeply occupied; for ten
minutes I have not heard your silvery voice."
"I am attempting," she said, "to fill up our sugar form."
"Is it a tremendous struggle?"
"Yes," she said, "it is a regular brain-smasher."
"Give me the paper, and let me have a go at it."
With a haggard face, but without a word, she handed me the buff form,
and sat silently while I read the various explanations and directions.
"Francesca," I said, "you are doing wrong. It says that the form must
be filled up and signed by a responsible member of the household. Now
you can say that you're brilliant or amiable or handsome or powerful
or domineering, but can you honestly say you're responsible? No, you
can't. So I shall keep this form and fill it up myself in due time,
and leave you to look after the hens or talk to the gardener."
"Anybody," she said, "who can wring a smile from a gardener, as I have
this morning, is entitled to be considered responsible. Infirm of
purpose! hand me the paper."
"Very well," I said, "you can have the paper; only remember that,
if we get fined a thousand pounds for transgressing the Defence of
the Realm Act, you mustn't ask me for the money. You must pay it
yourself."
"I'll chance that," she said, as I handed back the paper.
"Now then, we shan't be long. Which of these two addresses shall we
have?"
"How do you mean?"
"Why, they tell you to fill in the address in capital letters, and
then they give you two to pick from. One is 1000, Upper Grosvenor
Street, W. 1--"
"It is a longer street than I had supposed."
"And the other," she continued, "is 17, Church Lane, Middlewich,
Cheshire."
"Let it be Middlewich," I said. "Since boyhood's hour I have dreamt
of living in Middlewich. As for the other, I simply couldn't live in
a street of a thousand houses. Could you?"
"No," she said, "I couldn't. We'll be Middlewichians.... There, it's
done. Capital letters and all."
"Don't slack off," I said. "Fill it all up now that you've got
started."
"I suppose I'd better begin with myself."
"Yes," I said, "you may have that privilege. Put it down quick:
Carlyon, Francesca; age blank, because they don't want ages over
eighteen; F for female, and Married Woman for occupation. Then treat
me in the same way, putting M for F, and 2nd Lieutenant of Volunteers
instead of Married Woman."
"Why shouldn't I put Married Man as your occupation?"
"Simply because it isn't done. It's a splendid occupation, but it
isn't recognised as such in formal documents."
"Another injustice to women. I shall enter you as Married Man."
"Enter me as anything you like," I said, "only let's get on with the
job."
"Very well; you're down as Married Man."
"Now get on with the children. Muriel first. What about her?"
"But she's away having her education finished."
"Yes," I said, "but she'll be back for the holidays, and she'll want
her sugar then, like the rest of us. And Frederick is away at _his_
school, probably getting much better sugar than we are. He'll be
wanting his ration in the holidays. You'd better put a note about
that."
"A note?" she said. "There's no room for notes on this form. All they
want is a bald statement. And that's just what they can't get. They'll
have to take it with the hair on. I'm cramming in about the holidays,
and I hope Lord RHONDDA will be pleased with all the information he's
getting about our family."
"Keep going," I said; "you've still got the servants to do."
"Yes, but the kitchenmaid's gone, and I haven't engaged another one
yet."
"Don't let that worry you," I said. "Write down--Kitchenmaid about to
be engaged. Name will be supplied later.'"
"You're quite brilliant to-day. There, that's finished, thank Heaven."
"Not yet. You've got to address it to the Local Food Office."
"But I haven't the remotest where the Local Food Office is. It can't
have been there more than a short time, anyhow."
"Hurrah!" I said, looking over her shoulder at the document. "It says
if you are in doubt as to the name of the district of your Local Food
Office you are to inquire of any policeman or special constable."
"That's all very well," she said, "but how are we to find a policeman
in this remote and peaceful place? I've never seen one. Have you?"
"Yes," I said, "I think I saw one last year on a bicycle."
"Well, he's probably arrived somewhere else by this time. He's no good
to us."
"No, but we might find a special constable."
"I'll tell you what," she said, "old Glumgold is a special constable.
I heard him complaining bitterly of having been hauled out of bed
during the last air-raid on London. 'No nigher to we nor forty mile,'
he said it was. He's sure to be among the cabbages. Be a dear and dash
out and ask him."
So I found Glumgold in among the cabbages and asked him where the
Local Food Office was, and he said he'd be gingered if he knew, he
or his old woman either; and that was the question they was a-going
to arst of us, because to-day was the last day for sending in. So I
advised him to chance it with Nebsbury, which happens to be eight
miles off and possesses a High Street; and then I went back to
Francesca and told her that Glumgold advised Nebsbury--which was
cowardly, but one can't spend a lifetime over a fiddle-headed document
like that. Anyhow, we folded it up and posted it, and we've heard
nothing since.