How immense a satisfaction it must be to feel you’ve done your little bit! And how out of it are the stay-at-homes! Yet we also have our part to play—infinitesimal in comparison, but still, we hope, of use—the minute fragment that may be wanted in the fitting together of the great jigsaw puzzle.
Our first little bit at the Villino when we woke to activity after the stunning of the blow, was obviously to house refugees. We wrote to a friend prominent among the receiving committee, and offered, as a beginning, to undertake twelve peasants out of the thousands of unfortunates flying from the face of the Hun. From that charming but harassed lady we received a grateful acceptance, announcing the arrival of our families that afternoon—hour to be fixed by telegram. We feverishly prepared for their reception. We were ready to shelter five; kind neighbours proposed to take in the other seven. We had a fleet of motor-cars in readiness, and Mrs. MacComfort, our cook, concocted large jars of coffee and other articles of food likely to be relished of the Belgian palate. No telegram arrived; but to make up for it, our telephone rang ceaselessly with anxious inquiries from the assisting neighbours—inquiries which very naturally became rather irate as the hours went by, while we took upon ourselves the apologies of the guilty.
Next day we ventured to address an inquiry to the harassed lady. That was Saturday. On Monday we received a distraught telegram: “Will wire hour of train.” It reminded us of the overdriven shop-assistant in the middle of a seething Christmas crowd: “Will attend to you in a minute, madam.” We felt the desire to oblige; but it left us just where we were before.
On Wednesday an unknown Reverend Mother telegraphed from an unknown convent: “Are you prepared to receive two Belgian families five o’clock to-day?”
This message was supplemented by another from an equally unknown Canon of Westminster Cathedral: “Sending twelve Belgians to-day. Please meet four-twenty train.”
We had scarcely time to clutch our hair, for it was already past three when a third despatch reached us, unsigned, from Hammersmith: “Two Belgian ladies seven children arriving this afternoon five-five train. Please attend station.”
The question was, were we to expect twelve or thirty-six?
We rang up the devoted neighbours. We increased our preparations for refreshment. We spread out all the excellent cast-off garments collected for the poor destitutes; and we “attended” at the first train.
Before proceeding any further with the narration of our thrilling experiences, we may mention that eighteen Belgians appeared in all, whom we succeeded in housing after singular developments; the most unexpected people showing a truly Christian charity, while others, ostentatiously devoted to good works, bolted their doors and hearts upon the most frivolous excuse.
A neighbour of ours, in precarious health, with a large family, a son lost in Germany, a son-in-law at the front, and an infant grandchild in the nursery, would, we think, have given every room and bed in her house to the exiles.