'Dearest, you would be astonished if you could see me at this
moment. I am to-day a full blown group leader. Do you know what
that means? I have had a long round among some of our farms
to-day--bargaining with the farmers for the land-girls in my
group, and looking after their billets. Yesterday I spent half
the day in "docking" with six or eight village women to give
them a "send off." I don't believe you know what docking means.
It is pretty hard work, and at night I have a nightmare--of
roots that never come to an end, and won't pull out!
'You were quite right--it _is_ my work. I was born in the
country. I know and love it. The farmers are very nice to
me. They see I don't try to boss them as the Squire's
daughter--that I'm just working as they are. And I can say a
good deal to them about the war, because of Desmond. They all
knew him and loved him. Some of them tell me stories about his
pluck out hunting as a little chap, and though he had been such
a short time out in France he had written to two or three of
them about their sons in the Brookshires. He had a heavenly
disposition--oh, I wish I had!
'At the present moment I am in knee-breeches, gaiters, and
tunic, and I have just come in. Six o'clock to five, please
sir, with half-an-hour for breakfast and an hour for dinner (I
eat it out of a red handkerchief under a hedge). It was wet and
nasty, and I am pretty tired. But one does not want to
stop--because when one stops one begins to think. And my
thoughts, except for that shining centre where you are, are so
dark and full of sorrow. I miss Desmond every hour, and some
great monstrous demon seems to be clutching at me--at you--at
England--everything one loves and would die for--all day long.
But don't imagine that I ever _doubt_ for one moment. Not
I--
For right is right, since God is God,
And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
To falter would be sin.
I know that's not good poetry. But I just love it--because it's
plain and commonplace, and expresses just what ordinary people
feel and think.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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