Lecture on the Navy – Spring Term 1918

As comparatively little is known in the School about the Fleet, we were all delighted when Mr. Fellowes-Wilson came down to give us a lantern lecture on “Our Navy in the Great War.” We heard again the thrilling stories of the Battle of the Falkland Islands; of the capture of the German cruiser Emden; of submarine 1311, which succeeded in getting through the Dardanelles into the Sea of Marmora; and of many other ships which have distinguished themselves during the war. Unfortunately, Mr. Fellowes-Wilson had to leave early to catch his train, so he was obliged to hurry over the last few slides. In closing, he said that we had much to thank the Navy for. Many people seem to imagine that our Fleet is always on the defensive, and to forget that, without this protection, we should be suffering from starvation, and would be unable to say as we can with truth that not one of our enemies has set foot in England except as a prisoner of war.

I. USHER (Lower VI).

Methuen’s Play – Spring Term 1918

Some of us saw Methuen’s play when it was acted the first time privately last Term, but in spite of the glowing accounts of it which these favoured few gave us, our expectations were more than fulfilled on Saturday. May 11th, when the “Castle of Dreams” was performed again in the Hall for the whole School.

As Basil and Elaine slept we were allowed to enter into their dreams, and journey with the Prince along the great white road of adventure, until after many thrilling experiences, we came with him to the Fairy Princess in the Castle of Dreams. Here we witnessed the final dis­comfiture of the witch Megatharub and her accomplice the dwarf Serapha, whose marvelous laugh infected us to such a degree that it was rather wonderful that between us we did not rouse Basil and Elaine.

The orchestra and the scenery, skillfully arranged by the stage managers, completed the delightful whole.

We all wish to congratulate Methuen House on the splendid debut they have made on the Godolphin Stage.

S. LISTER (Upper VI.)
M. ROSE (Upper V.)

Concert of the Salisbury Orchestral Society – Spring Term 1918

The first concert of the Salisbury Orchestral Society, conducted by Dr. Alcock, took place on May 8th. Mr. Walter Hyde was the vocalist, and delighted his audience by his rendering of “Sweet Evenings” and “Life and Death,” by Coleridge-Taylor, and “Oh, where has fled?” by Tchaikovsky. The audience showed their appreciation of his singing by encoring him several times. As his last item he sang Kipling’s “Oh, Mother Mine,” which he had a short time before sung to the men at the Front.

The orchestra played Lady Radnor’s Suite by Sir Hubert Parry, with great decision, and the delicate passages with exquisite lightness, the Gigue being particularly popular. It held a special interest for a few of us who had played it before in the school orchestra under Miss Harding. Among other items, the Brandenburg Concerto was greatly appreciated, as it is not often played now.

It is impossible to describe the conducting and accompanying of so great an artist as Dr. Alcock. His control over the movements of each player was such that the orchestra responded like one man to his slightest suggestion.

We came away feeling that it had been our privilege to hear a masterly rendering of the works of great musicians.

P. WOOD (Upper Special VI).

Bar-Le-Duc, December 1916-May 1918 – Spring Term 1918

I have been asked to give some account of my time in France, where I went in December, 1916, to Bar-le-Duc, in Lorraine, and for the first three months worked in a canteen for French soldiers. It was a bitter winter, snow fell constantly, and we used to find a crowd of stamping snow men at the hut door on our arrival at 5.45 a.m. for in those days the French authorities, for some unexplained reason, obliged us to shut the canteen at 2 a.m. Often the gas was frozen as well as the water, the bread, oranges, eggs and even the lemonade in its bottles, and it was a job to keep the counter chipped free of frozen coffee and chocolate.

In March I joined a small group of the French War Victims’ Relief Committee. Bar is only 17 miles from Verdun, and was crowded with refugees from that town, St. Mihiel and the villages round. It is a lovely old place, full of carved houses and narrow streets, but owing to the exceptional over-crowding and insanitary conditions, there was much sickness and distress, and we were kept busy trying to improve matters. Owing to the town’s position on the railways and to its being on the high road to Verdun, we often had air raids, but no one took much notice of them, and if people happened to be out and the “alert” sounded, they just disappeared into the nearest cellar and spent the time discussing the war and each other’s affairs quite pleasantly, until the “contre alert” was heard. But last September the night raids with Gothas began. The weather was wonderful, still hot days followed by nights brilliant with moonlight. On Friday, September 28th, we were awakened by the siren at 2 a.m., and spent most of the night in the cellar. Several houses were destroyed in our street and in other parts of the town. The following Sunday evening, about nine o’clock, the siren sounded. The house we then occupied had cellars, which could only be reached through the garden. Two of us got down in time; the others only as far as the hall, where they took shelter behind some petrol casks! and, to our relief, joined us during a lull. The bombing went on and on, with scarcely a pause. The autoparc was struck and had to be evacuated and the cars came dashing along our street at top speed, followed by Gothas firing their machine-guns. We stopped in the cellar till dawn, dosing a little when the firing slackened, and at one time moving to the inner cellar to avoid gas fumes. The whole corner of the Rue de Cygne was destroyed, and we heard 1.20 people were killed there. Many other houses were burnt out. Or~i3londay the refugees came all through the day to ask for clothes and help to leave the town, or at least that the children and old people might be taken to a place of safety. It was impossible, as we were in the war zone, to telegraph or telephone for help, so on a broiling afternoon I set off on my bicycle to ride 21 kilometers along the tow path of the Rhine-Marne Canal to Termaize, where a number of the F.W.V.R.C. are quartered, to ask for cars. Thirteen started off at once, and brought away about forty children and three old people. Next day was spent in the same way.

We had been invited to spend the night at Lon1gueville, a village three kilometres off. We started at seven. Before we arrived, the moon was up and the German planes over. Soldiers coming from Bar told us the principal bank was on fire, later that the hospital had been struck.

The bombardment went on intermittently all through the night. At six we started to walk back to Bar. We found the Credit Lyonais was indeed a mass of destroyed furniture and smoking ruins. Six houses joining it were burnt out, and five partitions out of six at the hospital were gone. Everywhere were damaged houses, broken masonry, doors blown in, glass and bullets on the pavement. A felled tree lay across the road opposite our house, which had escaped with a few holes in the stone-work and several smashed windows.

All this time the wealthier people were rapidly leaving the town by train and in carts of every kind. The poor people started off every evening to walk with their families to the neighbouring farms, and many slept in the fields. For the old and infirm it was terrible, and something had to be arranged for them. An empty house was found 29 kilometres from Bar, and there I was sent on October 16th with an American youth, our cook and car full of luggage. We arrived to find a ramshackle old place on the edge of the Argonne Forest. It had been empty fifty years, and was a mass of dust and cobwebs, the floors strewn with dirty straw left by the soldiers who had lately been quartered there. I managed to make three rooms more or less habitable and to put up camp beds, while Madame cooked and the American chopped wood. The wind howled dismally through the broken windows, but I was so tired that, in spite of that and the scuffling of rats across the floor and the hooting and snoring of owls in the attic rafters, I slept soundly. In a few days we were ready for our guests, and the house almost unrecognisable, with curtains and furniture, but it was three kilometres from the village and very awkward for supplies, so it was with the utmost relief that we moved in a few weeks to a house in Charmont Village.

Built on the site of a fortified castle, the house is [-shaped, facing South to the garden with wings to East and West, and round it all runs the old moat, whose steep sides this spring were covered with peri­winkle, sweet violet, bluebell, primroses and a host of tiny flowers under the hazel and hawthorn trees, and the orchard a mass of peach and plum blossom, against the blue of the distance and the sky. On every hand the ground slopes, except where the road leads along the ridge of the hill to the village street, and on all sides you can see miles of open country, and to the West the forest with its white road dipping and re­appearing again as it winds to the valley.

Our household consists of eleven old ladies, the cook and Emile, aged 16, who works in the garden, five white chickens, 25 rabbits and Mimi, the cat. The old ladies are full of courage, and they want every bit. Not one of them is free from anxiety for relations fighting or with the Germans, and we used to lie awake some evenings while the old house rocked to the concussion of guns and pray for those who are so near and in such peril. Aeroplanes fly overhead constantly, and the lorries lumber down the road. If you walk towards Chalon, on clear days you can see the sparkle of the sausage balloons and after dark the star shells lighting the horizon with their brilliance. The village is often full of soldiers “en permission.” The last were Zouaves, husky and coughing from the effects of poison gas, yet full of courage and cheerfulness.

I wish I could introduce you to our guests, to Mademoiselle Le Brun, our aristocrat, with her tales of “Papa, qui etait veterinaire,” Made­moiselle Gervais, with nothing but brave laughter at her own lameness; Grand’mere, in her white mob cap and her bent old body supported on a stick, who insists on going out every fine day in search of weeds for the rabbits, and Madame Clemence, who constituted herself bootblack, and is positively disappointed if one has not collected a good load of Meuse mud for her to remove! All of them love to give advice on the garden, and to sun themselves on the sheltered terrace. Their friendli­ness and kindness towards each other are wonderful.

All they ask is to be allowed to stop there till that peace may come for which we all long.



The Lower School Plays – Spring Term 1918

The members of the Junior Literary Society write plays every year, which they act in the Summer Term. This year they were acted on Friday, June 21st.

There was quite a large number of visitors present, including Miss Douglas and Lady Hulse.

The Second Form acted their play first. It was written by Betty Bush, and was remarkably good, considering not one of the actors was above the age of eleven. The play was called “The Hidden Treasure,” and was very amusing.

The Third Form’s play was written by Helen Douglas and Joyce Rhodes. It was called “Measles and the Fairies.” It was about three unfortunate girls who had measles at school and were very dull, when the fairies take them to fairyland, where they have a most delightful time. The costumes were splendid, and the actors were very real and fairylike.

Then came the Lower Fourth. Our play was historical, and it was written by Jocelyne Syfret, Kathleen Neale and Rhoda Wort. It was called “The Training of Sir Tancred of Sicily.” It was very well written indeed. The story was about a knight who was brought up with a certain duke, who afterwards fought and died with him in a Crusade.

All the plays were a great success and the visitors said they enjoyed them very much.

M. DODD (Lower IV.).

Godolphin Revisited – Spring Term 1918


Many of my visits to Fairyland have been from here; but generally fleeting, and shyly given, with secrecy laid upon them. On Midsummer Day the fairy doors are opened with unwonted ease, at any rate to true believers, and what local papers might in their blindness have described as “a successful Charity Entertainment” was in reality a feast of faery to a hungry daughter of Godolphin. The School itself gave the material for the magic; there lay the old setting the Laverstock Down, with the worn path up its steep back, and just now tipped with the gold of mustard fields, the elms and beeches, and as foreground the cropped hedges, and the “San border,” all gay with roses and delphiniums, presently blotted out by a procession of colour which was of fitting beauty to lift us to another world. Stalwart and fair and courtly indeed were these sons and daughters of a strange land and in their presence even we unworthy mortals of to-day might see in open sunlight, with no room for doubt of the truth of the vision, the undying loveliness of joy and delight, the indestructible spirit of merriment. “How many things shall we want?” I heard a chance voice say beforehand ;and as the aero­planes curved and dipped overhead and butterflies and dragonflies flitted on the grass, there was a quick link of thought which could not jar: How busy Puck’s merry spirit has been these stern years helping to bring our boys that irrepressible fun and cheeriness which has been a marvel to us; and how many “Grace Darlings in pinafores, Gordons in socks” were hid among these entrancing butterflies and dragonflies, to carry on the New England to be? No mortal may describe or seek to lay values on the parts of Fairyland: it was a vision-and therefore right and as it should be-the Fairy King and Queen were the perfect height and of a grace and character it would be impertinence to praise; and Puck was Puck and no longer words would say more; and all the fairies were just flights of loveliness and grace, happy gifts to us of untutored play and delight. One wee gem among them tempts me to break all fairy law and pick her out for special words of gratitude, I will quote Blake instead: “Joy is my name-Sweet joy befall thee.”

Even visions have a moral: What forethought and planning made Puck lead some unknowing farmer to sow that mustard? Obviously it was there to match our fairy mustard seed and suggest by its glint in the background what Down these sprites hailed from.

May we all lay our plans as deep, tend them as secretly, and give them as lavishly as do fairies on Godolphin’s Hill.


A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Spring Term 1918

There was a roaring in the winds all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright,
The birds are singing in the distant woods.”

Sunshine after all! The Fates are kind to-day; and now that it is two o’clock you can see school crocodiles wending their way, amidst a crowd of other folk, to Government House, Harnhan7, for the Garden Fete. After a short time of wandering about the grounds (having appre­ciated the fruit-stall and lucky dip) we follow Alice in Wonderlandish paths to a be-grassed corner.

You, who are far away in the East, must picture a perfect summer’s day, the earth sweet smelling after rain, birds twittering in the bushes, and the buzz of aeroplanes overhead; picture a lawn dotted with trees and shut in by trim hedges. This is the stage of our drama.

Music meets our ears.
“0, it came o’er my ears like the sweet south
That breathes upon a bank of violets.”

Soft, here coma Theseus and Hypolita, with their train of Athenians clothed in brave colours. They talk of the slow crawling hours before their nuptials can be celebrated and of the weariness of waiting. Now they move into the background to make way for Quince and his fellows, who elbow, jostle and roll their way into the sunlight, quipping and jest­ing with one another. They are ridiculously humorous; their jokes and their simplicity are enough to make one forget all cares and laugh forever. Fairies! Did you say fairies? Yes, troops of them, gaily tripping on the lawn. Here are little butterflies and dragonflies skipping about, heralding the approach of their King and Queen. What dear delight is this our dazzled eyes behold? Fairyland itself, with all its magic mystery and joy. Puck is leaping about, with mischief gleaming in his eye. Cobweb, Moth and Peaseblossom are fluttering to and fro, their floating diaphanous wings outspread. Mustardseed waits ready to obey the slightest wish of his mistress.

And now the old, old drama is enacted. Oberon’s jealousy and desire to procure the changeling boy -the plan devised with Puck to gain his desire, the amusing (foolish?) infatuation of Titania for the strangely “translated” Bottom. Now their happy re union.

“Come, my Queen, take hands with me,
Now thou and I are new in amity.”

Now the tragically mirthful story of Pyramus and Thisbe. The wall, the lion, and the horned moon, all are here and play their parts with a zest, to say nothing of Quince, Pyramus and Thisbe, who are altogether splendid.

Now a grand finale, a march-past of the Athenians, followed by the Fairies, to end with a tableau of both groups.

We do thank all those who had a hand in getting it up, and we all realise the infinite trouble there was taken to make it so delightful. It was a dream of mirth and merriment, beautiful colours, graceful forms, sweet baby faces and butterfly wings, never to be forgotten.



Theseus – J. de Coetlogon.          Hypolita – P. Blunt.

Philostrate – B. Medlicott.          Oberon – J. Douglas.

Quince – P. Du Buisson.               Titania – B. Douglas.

Snug – A. Johnson.                      Puck – R. Aldworth.

Bottom – C. Molony.                   Peaseblossom –  D. Leys, B. Gervers.

Flute – M. Du Buisson.                 Cobweb – B. Salisbury, B. Aldworth

Snout – E. Douglas, J. Gunner.     Moth – V. Gervers.

Starveling – K. Pollock.                Mustardseed – D. Hesketh.

Athenian Nobles and Ladies – S. Lister V. Leys H. Phillimore. P. Scott, V. Greene, D. Hinds, P. Lee, M. Collins, P. Kempe, J. Elling, E. Gibbs, F. Wethered, E. Muir, M. Trafford, S. Robertson, D. Gubbins.

A Visit from Mr Veasey – Spring Term 1918

This Term we had the great pleasure of a visit from Mr. Veazey, the Head of the United Girls’ Schools’ Mission in South London. The Mission is keeping its twenty-first birthday this year. Twenty-one years ago Mr. Veazey was asked to start it off the Old Kent Road. Six schools supported it then, and there were 7,000 people to look after. Now there are 112 schools and 30,000 people. The idea was that the girls themselves should do the work as far as possible.

A number of problems had to be tackled, just in the way that pro­blems in mathematics have to be tackled. There was the housing problem 7,000 people crowded together on a space about the size of our playing fields. How to give them more fresh air? The schools could not send them fresh air, but they could bring them to the fresh air. So, the girls of the various schools began to invite them down to the country for a day or longer. Thousands of people went.

Then there were the invalid children who could not go to school to learn. Old Girls came round to teach them, and in many cases got them special medical attention, through which they ceased to be invalids.

Next, the Poverty Problem. People regularly died of “Famine Fever” (i.e. starvation). The Mission started a Provident Club. Old Girls went round during the early part of the week and col feet ed. The money mounted up, and supplied boots, clothes, &c. Our system was used by the Government when the War Savings collecting was started.

Then a girl who had worked at the Mission during, the very bad “out of work” winter, had to go to Germany. While there she studied the German methods of dealing with unemployment, came back and started a scheme which worked so well that the Government adopted it for the whole of London, and eventually embodied it in the Unemploy­ment Relief Act.

Then there was the Heathen Problem. People just drifted along) any­how. “Nobody cared.” But when people and girls began to care – ­supplied letters and flowers, and country visits, their hearts were touched and they began to believe that God might care too. Hundreds now pray and go to Church and work for Foreign Missions.

Such Missions are wanted everywhere -and everywhere there are problems needing solving. If, while girls are still at school, they will train themselves through grappling with the problems that face them in such things as arithmetic, geometry, Latin, history, bravely and patiently, then there is good hope that when they are women they will manage to solve many of those terrible problems in the world that have defied solution these many years.



An Old Godolphinite in Petrograd – Spring Term 1918

In October, 1917, I was asked whether I was willing to go to Petrograd to nurse wounded Russians. My friends all tried to dissuade me, saying that it was folly to go to a country in the state of upheaval in which Russia already was, but the opportunity seemed too good to be missed, and the evening of the 19th October saw me at St. Pancras en route for Aberdeen and Petrograd. As a send-off, there was an air raid! It was here I met Sister Conway, with whom I was to make the journey.

The passage across the North Sea was rough, but uneventful. We were told the crossing was time worst the “Louth” had so far experienced.

From Bergen, where we landed, the railway to Christiania winds through glorious scenery, following the shores of the fjords and then climbing through the Finsta Pass at an altitude of 4000ft, the highest point on the line. The Norwegians are justly proud of this line, which has only been completed in very recent years.

We spent a day in Christiania, and a day in Stockholm. The latter is a very beautiful city; built on islands.

From Stockholm we went to Haparanda, and crossed the frontier to Torneo by steam-ferry. Torneo is the Finnish frontier, and is situated only twenty miles from the Arctic Circle. It was here we had our first experience of the Russian Tommy, who was already showing signs of becoming a “tovarish” (comrade, since degenerated into an epithet amongst educated people) and of his growing independence. I cannot say that my first impressions were favourable. The Russian soldier doing duty as a Customs official struck me as a particularly slovenly and dirty individual, so that the sight of the batman attached to the King’s Messenger was a relief to sore eyes! (We were fortunate enough to be travelling from England in company with the King’s Messenger and some British officers, who saved us from starvation more than once!) It would be only fair to say that I had occasion to modify this opinion later, for on a closer acquaintance I found that the Russian soldier, despite his many faults, was quite a lovable creature.

It was at Haparanda that Sister Conway and I made the unfortunate discovery that our luggage had gone astray. When I say “unfortunate” it proved to be rather the contrary, since it was the means of our making the acquaintance of some friends, one of whom brought our luggage on, and who afterwards did much to render our stay enjoyable, for we had no acquaintances in Petrograd.

The journey from Torneo to Petrograd is not particularly interesting. The line runs through a country of lakes and forests, beautiful enough in itself, but rather monotonous.

We arrived in Petrograd at the dirty Finnish station at 3 a.m., to find no one to meet us. Once again our British officer friends helped us out of our difficulties. No one who has not been to Russia can realise the absolute helplessness of the foreigner without a word of Russian at his command faced with the problem of explaining to an “isvostchik ” (driver of the diminutive Petrograd cabs) where he wants to go. How­ever, all’s well that ends well, and we got to our destination safely, despite all the scaremongers on the way, who had assured us that the hospital had been evacuated to Moscow, and that we should never get to Petrograd, where murders were taking place in the streets in broad daylight. Arrived at the hospital, we found only night sisters on duty, and had to go on to the Club, some five minutes away, where we were­ given a good reception and found the baths and beds of which we were so badly in need.

The following day we began our duties. I was placed in a fracture ward of sixty beds under a trained sister and with a Russian princess to act as interpreter. Here, for the first time, I met with women “sanitars ” (orderlies) who were dressed as soldiers, many of them belonging to the Women’s Battalion. It was an amusing experience to be surrounded by patients with whom one could only converse by gesture, but I quickly picked up the few words needed.

In November came the Bolshevik uprising, with the consequent over­throw of more or less responsible government, and from that time, or until I left, I can honestly say no day passed without shooting in the streets in some quarter of the city. Every other man carried a rifle on his back. Frequently as we walked back to the Club we would be surprised by shots apparently coming from nowhere. However, no one belonging to the Hospital was ever hit. Occasionally wounded would be brought in from the streets, but casualties were remarkably few in comparison to the amount of firing. Curiously enough. although machine-guns might be playing down the street, the trams never stopped running – simply, I suppose, because it never occurred to the drivers to stop. The theatres remained open, and were fairly full, and often when driving back in a sleigh from the Mariensky Theatre, where Sister Conway and I enjoyed many a good opera at the invitation of our friends of the lost luggage, we would hear shots fired in close proximity. While speaking of theatres, I shall never forget the splendor and lavishness of the staging at the Mariensky Theatre. The opera “Boris Godonov” will always stand out in my mind in this respect. I feel ashamed to say how often I approached Matron with thee plea for late leave for the Mariensky Theatre. Towards the end of my stay it became a standing joke with her to ask me to what opera I was going; that evening whenever I happened to be near her.

My friends told me I could not see Petrograd as it should have been, as a great deal of its attraction had disappeared with the Revolution. What I did see of it was sufficient to show me how interesting it must have been, though, apart from the opera, I had little enough time to see the city. All the big churches are interesting, especially the St. Isaac Cathedral, and their gilded domes and spires on a fine winter’s day are quite dazzling in the sunlight. The tramways were rather amusing, as they carried clusters of human beings clinging to every conceivable projection, and nobody ever seemed to pay. Driving in the little sleighs, where the driver is more or less standing in a slot and there is no back to the seat, was very amusing if sometimes rather chilly. There is a very good chance of overturning, as the roads are no longer swept, and so one travels up hill and down dale over heaps of snow. The isvostchik protects himself against the extreme cold by an infinite number of coats. I was told that to be smart the driver of a private carriage or sleigh must look fat, and that be sometimes wore as many as nine overcoats to achieve this object! I shall never forget the black bread of Petrograd. It was a mixture of straw, Iceland moss, potato flour and a suspicion of rye flour, the whole only half baked and often sour. Despite all the drawbacks of life in a country where one lived in an atmosphere of rumours, and where one never knew what the morrow would bring forth; it was with a feeling of real regret that I learnt one evening from our C.O. that conditions rendered it impossible for the British Staff of the Hospital to remain in Petrograd. Group by group we were sent home, and on the 22nd December, I left with the last of the working staff for England.

Several of our patients begged to be taken to England. By this time I had learnt to appreciate the Russian Tommy, and although naturally, among so great a number, there were bound to be one or two black sheep, on the whole they were very good fellows. Even the black sheep were not wholly bad, as witness the case of a Bolshevik sailor, wounded during the uprising. His friends accused us of not looking after him properly (quite unjustifiably), but he at once spoke up and said it was not true.

A curious custom, was the singing of grace before meals. All the patients who could get up assembled in the Dining Hall, and intoned this grace standing. It was quite an impressive ceremony.

Many patients gave me photographs with inscriptions in pigeon ­English and promises to write. They were all so grateful for what we had done for them, and did not appear to view the taking over of the Hospital by the Russian Authorities with any enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, shortly after our departure the Hospital was closed, as being too expensive to maintain, and the fate of our poor patients is a matter of conjecture.

We left the Finnish Station in the early hours of December 22nd. We had been warned to take food with us, as none was to be had until Haparanda was reached, so we were well provided with Army rations. Our friends of the lost luggage gave us two white loaves as a great treat; a gift worth its weight in gold at that time! At every station soldiers or Red Guards boarded the train and searched everything, but did not otherwise inconvenience us. We suffered from a shortage of washing water, which was absolutely lacking. The crossing from Torneo to Haparanda took place at dead of night, and this time we crossed the frozen river on sleighs. At Haparanda the medical formalities were long and tedious, our pulses and temperatures were taken, tongues and throats looked at, &c. The next day -Christmas Day – was spent in the train, and Matron greeted me at the door of the compartment with an extra ration of tea for a Christmas present! And a very welcome present it was. We arrived in Stockholm that night, where we cele­brated our Christmas dinner. In Christiania we spent a couple of days, and then went on to Voss, a little village four hours’ rail front Bergen. Here we waited some ten days for the boat, and, I had the opportunity of learning to ski. The hotel was filled with the staff of the Anglo­ Russian Hospital and other English people, and we were quite a cheerful party – even the extreme chilliness of the hotel could not cool our spirits. We crossed from Bergen on our old friend the “Louth” without escort, and the journey was rather rough. We went right up to the Shetlands before turning south to Aberdeen, and I felt very proud of myself, as I was one of the few who were not ill. It was good to be home again.



A Thursh’s Song – Spring Term 1918

Listen to the thrush that’s singing, singing to his mate,
Singing in the apple-tree by the garden gate;
Since the morning he’s been singing all the livelong day,
Blending songs of Joy and gladness in sweet symphony.
“My mate, my own dear heart. I love, love, love you,
Green is the grass, blue are the skies above you.
Because I’m happy, and because it’s Spring,
Because I love you, dear, to you I sing.
Gold are the kingcups flowering in the meadow,
Blue are the bluebells swinging in the shadow,
And every bird is calling to his fellow
In dulcet notes and mellow:
“My mate, my own dear heart, I love, love, love you,
Green is the grass, blue are the skies above you,
Because I’m happy and because it’s Spring,
Because I love you, dear, to you I sing.
The sunbeams on the stream are shining brightly,
The wind is moving all the daisies lightly,
To-day is sweet, and sweet will be to-morrow,
Then bid farewell to sorrow!
My mate, my own dear heart, I love, love, love you,
Green is the grass, blue are the skies above you,
Because, I’m happy, and because it’s Spring,
Because I love you, dear, to you I sing.”

J. BUCKLE (Lower VA.).