Part 14 (2/2)

Four girls sat up all night, and once every hour turned out to crank up the cars, run them with bonnet covers on till they were thoroughly warm, and then tuck them up again till the next time. We had from four to five cars each, and it will give some idea of the extreme cold to say that when we came to crank them again, in roughly three-quarters of an hour's time, they were _almost_ cold. The noise must have been heard for some distance when the whole Convoy was roaring and racing at once like a small inferno. But in spite of this, I know that when it was not our turn to sit up we others never woke.

As soon as the cars were tucked up and silent again we raced back to the cook-house, where we threw ourselves into deck chairs, played the gramophone, made coffee to keep us awake, or read frightening books--I remember I read ”Bella Donna” on one of these occasions and wouldn't have gone across the camp alone if you'd paid me. A grand midnight supper also took up a certain amount of time.

That three-quarters of an hour positively flew, and seemed more like ten minutes, but punctually at the second we had to turn out again, w.i.l.l.y-nilly--into that biting cold with the moon s.h.i.+ning frostily over everything apparently turning it into steel.

The trouble was that as the frost continued water became scarce--baths had stopped long ago--and it began to be a question of getting even a basinful to wash in. Face creams were extensively applied as the only means of saving what little complexions we had left! The streets of the town were in a terrible condition owing princ.i.p.ally to the hygienic customs of the inhabitants who _would_ throw everything out of their front doors or windows. The consequence was that, without exaggeration, the ice in some places was two feet thick, and every day fresh layers were formed as the French housewives threw out more water. No one remained standing in a perpendicular position for long, and the difficulty was, once down, how to get up again.

Finally water became so scarce we had to bring huge cans in a lorry from the M.T., one of the few places not frozen out, and there was usually ice on them when they arrived in camp. Then the water even began to freeze as we filled up our radiators; and, finally, we were reduced to chopping up the ice in our tank and melting it for breakfast! One morning, however, Bridget came to me in great distress. ”What on earth shall I do,” said she, ”I've finished all the ice, and there's not a bit left to make the tea for breakfast? I know you'll think of something,”

she added hopefully.

I had been on night guard and the idea of no hot tea was a positive calamity.

I thought for some minutes. ”Here, give me the jug,” I said, and out I went. After looking carefully round to see that I was not observed, I quietly tapped one of the radiators.

”I'll tell you after breakfast where it came from,” I said, as I returned with the full jug. Bridget seized it joyfully and must have been a bit suspicious as it was still warm, but she was much too wise to ask any questions.

We had a cheery breakfast, and when it was over I called out, ”I hope you all feel very much better and otherwise radiating? You ought to at all events!”

”Why?” they asked curiously. ”Well, you've just drunk tea made out of 'radium,'” I replied. ”Absolutely priceless stuff, known to a few of the first families by its original name of 'radiator water,'” and I escaped with speed to the fastnesses of my hut.

THE STORY OF A PERFECT DAY

(_From ”Barrack Room Ballads of the F.A.N.Y. Corps,”

By kind permission of Winifred Mordaunt, F.A.N.Y._)

We were smoking and absently humming To anyone there who could play-- (We'd finished our tea in the Mess hut Awaiting an ambulance train--) Roasting chestnuts some were, while the rest, Cut up toffee or sang a refrain.

Outside was a bitter wind shrieking-- (Thank G.o.d for a fug in the Mess!) Never mind if the old stove is reeking If only the cold's a bit less-- But one of them starts and then s.h.i.+vers (A goose walking over her tomb) Gazes out at the rain running rivers And says to the group in the room: ”Just supposing the 'G.o.d of Surprises'

Appeared in the glow of a coal, With a promise before he demises To take us away from this hole And do just whatever we long to do.

Tell me your perfect day.”

Said one, ”Why, to fly to an island Far away in a deep blue lagoon; One would never be tired in my land Nor ever get up too soon.”

”Every time,” cried the girl darning stockings, ”We'd surf-ride and bathe in the sea, We'd wear nothing but little blue smockings And eat mangoes and crabs for our tea.”

”Oh no!” said a third, ”that's a rotten Idea of a perfect day; I long to see mountains forgotten, Once more hear the bells of a sleigh.

I'd give all I have in hard money For one day of ski-ing again, And to see those white mountains all sunny Would pretty well drive me insane.”

Then a girl, as she flicked cigarette ash Most carelessly on to the floor, Had a feeling just then that her pet ”pash”

Would be a nice car at the door, To motor all day without f.a.gging-- Not to drive nor to start up the thing.

Oh! the joy to see someone else dragging A tow-rope or greasing a spring!

Then a fifth murmured, ”What about fis.h.i.+ng?

Fern and heather right up to your knees And a big salmon rus.h.i.+ng and swis.h.i.+ng 'Mid the smell of the red rowan trees.”

So the train of opinions drifted And thicker the atmosphere grew, Till piercing the voices uplifted Rang a sound I was sure I once knew.

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