Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Extended > The Polish Connection - Chapter 31
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1830 guests online and 10 members online |
Extended Work
| print friendly version | |
| The Polish Connection - Chapter 31 | |
| By jean.day | ||||||||
| 27 October 2006 | ||||||||
|
February - March 1918 I have had my usual monthly letter from Jo. Here is a bit from it. Tuesday 26th February I had a letter from Cyril. “We can hear our guns thumping the Hun about 10 miles away. I wish you could hear some guns fire . . . it nearly knocks you off your seat though they are quite ¾ mile away. A walking stick jumped halfway across the room yesterday.” “Dear Barbara, Rebecca and my little Beth, On the 18th of March as a result of still further food shortage in the country, the above daily dietary was modified as follows Bread 5 ounces Biscuit 3 ounces Flour ¾ ounces meat (fresh or frozen) on five days a week 4 ounces or Meat, preserved (tinned) on five days a week 3 ounces Salt-cured Herrings, on two days a week 12 ounces Edible Fat ½ ounces Tea or Coffee ½ ounce Sugar 1 ounce Salt ½ ounce Pepper (black) 1/72 ounce Oatmeal . 4 ounces Syrup or Jam 1 ounce Split Peas, or Beans, or Rice 1 ounce Potatoes 20 ounces Fresh Vegetables (other than Potatoes) 4 ounces On three days when fresh or frozen meat is issued, eight ounces of herring are issued in addition. Each Prisoner of War employed on work receives two ounces of bread, three ounces of biscuit, and one ounce of cheese in addition. In no other case was this additional food given, except on medical certificate. So you can see that our food allowance is smaller, and different in quality. Our main staple item now is potatoes, (although you say yours have been rationed, but of course we grow our own) and our meat/fish has been reduced considerably. But we are not hungry. Love from Peter” Another bit of local news is that Miss Hudson from Brabys Hall has started a branch of a national organization called the Women’s Institute. She is going to be president for the first three years. I have joined. We hope to get premises near Ludworth School. The idea is that we all meet together once a month on the 1st Wednesday afternoon from 2-4. We have a speaker and tea and a chat, but we also have stalls to share whatever preserves we have in excess. I will try to interest them in some of the preserves that I put up when Peter was here, made from the herbs along the hedgerows and fields. They have asked me if I will speak on my life in America sometime. The thought of speaking in front of such a big group frightens me, but I have said that I will do it. And I have suggested that we might get together on another afternoon for whist, and we will see if there is any support for the idea at the next meeting. I played a lot of whist when I lived in America as my parents were keen card players and I have missed doing it here, since John abhors cards. It will be another way, along with making popcorn and playing the organ, to keep me in touch with my heritage. Speaking of playing the organ reminds me that I have a decision to make. After the meeting, Miss Hudson came up to me. “Hello, Mrs. Davis,” she said. “I have heard that you are a church organist, is that correct?” “Yes, I play sometimes at St. Mary’s Church,” I answered. “We have a problem at the moment. Our organist at St. Martin’s is not very well, and needs to be absent from playing for the next few weeks. We do have some from our church who have agreed to step in, but there is still one Sunday in two weeks’ time, where we have not found anyone available. I wonder if you would do it?” “Oh, but I am a Catholic.” “Yes, of course. But surely, that doesn’t mean that you are unable to play the organ in another church, does it? Our service is at 11. I have already ascertained that you play at the 8.30 service, so you should be finished in time. ” “I don’t know how our church regards us attending Protestant churches. I have a feeling that they would not be pleased about it.” “My dear Mrs. Davis, are you not capable of thinking for yourself? Do you think it would be wrong of you to play the organ for us to sing our simple hymns?” “No, I can’t say that I do. I have been given a gift and I feel that if I can help you in your service, without in anyway compromising my beliefs, that I would be justified in doing it. But please can I have a few days to think it over? I will come and give you my answer soon.” “Please do, because I am sure there will be other organists who will be very pleased to be offered the chance to play our organ. It was built by Father Willis, the most famous of all organ builders of the age, you know. People from all over come to St. Martin’s to play the organ for that very reason. You should realise that you are being offered a real opportunity here.” “Yes, thank you, and I will give it very serious thought and let you know as soon as I can.” “Very well,” said Miss Hudson, “we will leave it there for now. But if you haven’t contacted me in two days, I will see who else might be interested.” “I promise I will let you know soon.” So therein in my dilemma. I know that if I ask our priest what he thinks, he will tell me I can’t do it. If I don’t ask him, and just do it anyway, and he find out, I can always say that I thought it would be okay – and no need to ask. (Another little white lie.) I would very much like to play that organ. I would love to go into St. Martin’s Church – as it was designed by John Dando Sedding and is a prime example of church architecture of the age. But the question is, if I participate in the service, am I saying that I am giving my assent to that form of worship? I know that the Anglicans – whether they call themselves Anglo-Catholics or whatever, do not believe in the authority of the Pope. They do not believe that Christ built just one church –and by the action of Henry VIII who started the Anglican Church to serve his selfish needs, he has forever caused a rift. Yet my mind says, if those who follow that religion feel it is the right thing for them, why should it be up to me to question them any more than it should be up to them to question my faith? I have decided. I will go to see Miss Hudson tomorrow and tell her that I will play. Talking of churches, the Congregational Church has had a shake up. They have done so much during this war, giving use of the hall over to the Belgians, organizing collections and parcels for the servicemen. There are few young men who now go to the church as they are all fighting, and as a result a shortage of Sunday school teachers. Anyway, the minister shocked the congregation the other day by resigning, saying he had neither their sympathy nor support for doing the spiritual work of the Church. Later he withdrew his resignation at the unanimous request of the Diaconate. Miss Hudson continues with her good works in the community. As well as acting as Matron for her home which she has thrown open to convalescent servicemen , she also had constructed in Marple Bridge a wooden hall to provide somewhere for the soldiers to have recreational activities. I have heard from Jo again, and as usual she is full of stories of her best friend, Dorothy. “I’ve just had Dorothy here, looking for peps for her poor father, who is not at all well. She also wanted my brother to take over the church services so we went out to where he was rolling the tennis lawn. He agreed to take the 3.30 service and then we dragged an old seat into the sun and talked a refreshing lot of nonsense. It was so jolly us three to be together again. Then we went in and chose some books from the library. Next day Dorothy’s father was worse. They sent for the doctor before breakfast. He has to keep warm in bed at present, so has a fire in his bedroom. I think Dorothy was wishing that I would come over and help her nurse her father. Her mother stays up in the nights with her father and Dorothy makes the meals. They are talking of moving to Paignton in Devon, where the climate will be more temperate and they will have some relief from the air raids. I will so miss her if they go.” Those poems I wrote earlier – both starting, 'if I should die think this of me', well the poets are both dead now. Philip Bainbrigge was killed in action in February at the Battle of Epéhy and I hadn’t even realised that Rupert Brooke died way back in 1915. This is what the papers said about it at the time. In September 1914, Churchill offered Brooke a commission in the RND, and within a month sublieutenant Brooke participated in the evacuation of Antwerp. Back in England over the Christmas holidays, Brooke wrote his famous “war sonnets.” In February, he joined the Division’s Hood Battalion in preparation for the landings at Gallipoli. Passing through Egypt on his way to Gallipoli, Brooke suffered sunstroke and dysentery. Off Lemnos he contracted blood poisoning from an insect bite on his lip and died two days before the landings, on April 23rd. Churchill cabled his brother John 'endeavour if your duties allow, to attend Rupert Brooke's funeral on my behalf. We shall not see his like again.'
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|