QUIET PLACES OF WAR-TIME SERVICE.
[TO THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."]
Sra,—It is impossible for the Spectator, or indeed for any other journal, to record even typical examples of all the remote and, unheralded self-sacrifice on the part of civilians which the war has awakened. Yet is there space just now for an exact and representative example ? I have just returned from a military camp, somewhere in Kent, at which I have been doing my " bit " as a minister of religion in connexion with the Y.M.C.A. March campaign. Behind the counter in the wooden • hut stood two ladies of the locality, total strangers to myself, who, so I learnt, exchange nightly the comfortable delights of luxurious homes for the voluntary exercise of serving soldiers with tea, stamps, and other necessaries. One of these ladies, if not both of them, has been there night after night, Sunday and weekday alike, through the winter. On one evening I could not help overhearing and witnessing a striking little incident. The elder of the two ladies had just sold a postage-stamp to a soldier. His eye caught a beautiful bowl of primroses on the counter. "How much for a few flowers, please, lady ? " he asked excitedly and with surprised delight. " Oh ! we don't sell the flowers," was the swift and gracious answer, "but I should love to give you just as many as you like. But wait till to-morrow. You shall have some fresh picked." The young soldier's face lighted like a lamp. "I should like to send a few home," he said. Then he heard music. "If you are fond of a garden, I will give you a note to my servants, and you shall go into my grounds any time you wish." Suiting the action to the word, the lady wrote a pass on a Y.M.C.A. postcard. An hour later I saw that lady pass into the blackness and unutterable slush and mud of the camp. She had to wade to the motor, which could not
come nearer the hut.—I am, Sir, &c., J. EDWARD HARLOW. 90 Cheriton Road, Folkestone.
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