Warren Tree was at home on the day when the girls called at the Tree house, invited by their friends Margaret and Jessie. He was a tall man, with light brown hair, pale blue eyes and a pleasant face. As soon as the girls entered, he spoke, “Miss King, may I congratulate you on the way you recited the poem at the Queen’s memorial service.  Might I ask, did your great grandmother write much poetry?”

“All we have of it is the album which she left. She died in about 1850, so of course I never knew her. But my mother says she was a prolific writer, but unfortunately most of it was lost. We do have an oil portrait of her. She is wearing a black dress and cloak and looks rather bemused with her finger on her chin – perhaps she was thinking of a poem while she was posing. We have it in the front hall so I think of her every day.

“Within the album there are perhaps fifty poems. Some I am sure she wrote, as she has initialed them M.T. for Martha Trew. Others I suspect she wrote because the handwriting and style are very similar.  But she must have had contributions from other friends as there are many with very different penmanship and signed with other initials. Occasionally a whole name is signed, and the date 1834 often appears.”

“I wonder how you and you mother might take to the idea of having some of them, if not all, printed.  My Uncle James Arrowsmith is a printer in Bristol. The whole family with my Grandfather Isaac used to live in Worcester and had a publishing firm here, but when I was in my teens - they bought a publishing house in Bristol and moved there. I spent a summer working as a reporter for Grandfather, and I know that he was often asked about publishing books of poetry – either just for home consumption or to see if they would appeal to a wider market.  Perhaps you could check with your parents about the idea, and if it is something they would consider, bring copies of the four best poems to me and a copy of the one about Queen Victoria, and I will see what my uncle thinks of them.”

“That sounds very exciting, Mr. Tree. I now have another quest to add to my list. I will endeavour to make the world aware of my great grandmother’s poetry.”

“Well, don’t put too much stock on it just yet. It was only when I heard you read the poem which so impressed me that I thought perhaps there may be more that can be done with the poetry.”

Margaret and Jessie were anxiously awaiting their father to finish so they could take their friends Muriel and May off to the parlour to catch up on the latest gossip. Margaret had just finished her studies at the school, and Jessie had another two years. Beth would be going to the school in September, she was a prodigy when it came to playing the violin, so she hoped for more tuition from the school which was well known for its music department.  The whole family was musical and played either the piano, another instrument or sang.

Margaret said, “I know what you mean about a portrait that you see every day becoming part of your life.  Look at that one Pa had done of us four oldest girls. We look like fat cherubs with curly blond hair. I do wish he had never had it done, or at least would hang it where no one could see it.”

The other girls looked at the large oil painting which did not flatter the girls, and agreed it was not the best to put on display. But it did make a feature of what each of the girls seemed to have – a mop of unruly golden curls. Margaret had been so pleased when she was sixteen and was allowed to put her hair up. She could hide the curls in a bun, although some awkward bits seemed to be trying to escape out of it.

As it was a lovely day, the four girls decided to walk up towards Malvern and talk of memories.  Muriel also was keen to tell Margaret about the letter she had received that morning from John Day.  He has said he would be very pleased if she and May cycled up to Perdiswell on Sunday, and that he and Harold would bring their bikes to Church, and then afterwards, he would endeavour to show them a bit of the countryside that they might not have seen before. He suggested that he would get his cook to make a picnic for all of them, to free the girls from biking with a load all the way from their houses.

Margaret thought John sounded wonderful, and wished she had a man in her life.

“Well he has several brothers, but they are all younger, and I have already said that May can have Harold. (May pulled a face at this.) But perhaps your younger sisters might be in line for his younger brothers.  It is through family outings that most marriages are arranged, I am sure.”

May broke in, “I found out something yesterday. My brother Tom heard that we were going with the Days for a picnic and he says he is best friends with their next brother, Mark, who is 14, the same age as Tom.  And in fact Tom was staying at their house on the 31st of March. That was the day of his Father’s funeral and he did not want to go home that night so had gone to see his friend Mark Day.  He thought it was so funny that he would be listed on the census with the Days rather than the Stintons.”
“That was not long before we went to the Church in Perdiswell. I am surprised that Mrs. Day didn’t make the connection between you and Tom,” said Muriel.

“I don’t suppose he was very forthcoming with conversation to the adults,” said May.

“Now there is a thought for your sisters, Margaret. Which of them would like to marry Tom Stinton, and which of them would like Mark Day? Since Beth is 14 and Carrie is 11, it will most likely be one of them.”

The girls giggled at this imaginary match making, but it was true that marriage was always in the back if not the front of the minds of girls of their age.  Most girls were married by 20, and if one got to be 30, there was little hope for them. They had already decided that Eveline and Charlotte were spinsters for life, and it wasn’t a prospect that they wanted for themselves.

“I know,” said Margaret. “We often have family picnics. Why don’t we see if all our families and the Days can have a picnic together. Then we can see how the various couples pair off. I will ask mother and father when we return.”

Mrs. Tree, called Julie fondly by her husband, was not a native of Worcester. She had been born in Cornwall and raised in Devon where her father was a preacher in the United Methodist Free Church. She had a sister Eliza, 14 years older and 2 brothers, Eldred who was 10 years her senior, and Charles who was 4 years older. She didn’t get married until she was in her mid 20’s having met Mr. Warren Tree when he visited her father’s church. Her father by that stage was a widower, and had hoped that Juliana would stay at home to look after him and a baby granddaughter, but Warren convinced her that she had the right to lead her own life. Her brother, Eldred still lived in Cornwall and worked as a grocer and draper, with 2 young sons. 

When Margaret asked her mother what she thought of the idea of a picnic for all their various families, Juliana said she thought it was a wonderful idea, and would get on to organizing it, first consulting with the various families as to when would best suit them.

May and Muriel set off home, well satisfied with their day’s work.