Judging by the rabble who were swarming on to the other hay carts, the girls also considered it a cause for rejoicing. Their own vehicle started first, and began to jolt slowly down the country road, its occupants sitting as steadily as they could on their knobbly luggage, and indulging in decidedly feminine squeals when, as often happened, an extra hard jog threw them together. After four miles of this rather exciting journey they reached the farm. Their driver stopped at a gate, and, pointing across a field to some tents, indicated that this was their destination. He could take them no nearer, and they must convey their own bags and bundles over the pasture.
Hauling their own luggage with them was no light task, and they were heartily tired of their burdens before they reached the tents. Three of these, labelled Marlowe Grange, they appropriated; then Miss Gibbs, after a brief confabulation with the canteen matron, beckoned to her flock.
“I hear we must go at once and secure first pick of the hay sacks,” she said. “Come along, all of you!”
Over three more fields and two stiles they came to the farm buildings, where, spread out on hurdles, were a number of large sacks, mercifully clean. An individual in charge, wearing a faded blue suit and a two days’ growth of stubbly beard, told them briefly to help themselves, and then take their sacks to the barn and fill them with hay. Preparing their own mattresses was a new experience, but an amusing one. It was fun stuffing the sweet-smelling 113 hay into the rough canvas bags, and more fun still carrying the bulky bedding back over fields and stiles to the tents. Here, amid a chaos of unpacking, they at last disposed their belongings to their satisfaction.
Their special little colony consisted of nine tents and a marquee for meals. It was in charge of a matron, who directed the canteen, and was responsible for the comfort and order of the camp. In each tent hung a list of rules respecting hours of rising and going to bed, meals, and general conduct. As there was no servant except the cook, the task of washing up must be shared by all in rotation, the matron having authority to apportion the work. No lights or talking were to be allowed after 10.30 p.m.
By the time the girls had settled all their possessions it was seven o’clock, and the rest of the camp returned from the strawberry fields. Supper was served in the marquee, everybody sitting on benches round wooden tables without cloths. The company proved pleasant and congenial; there were fifty in all, including some students from Ludminster University, and eight girls and two teachers from a secondary school at Tadbury. The slum party, it seemed, were lodged in the big barns behind the farm, while some caravans of gipsy pickers had possession of a corner of a field some distance away.
Supper finished, most of the workers sat about and rested. A few, possessed of superfluous energy, took a walk to the village a mile off, but the generality were very tired. A gramophone in the marquee blared away at popular songs, and the 114 more lively spirits joined in the choruses; one or two even attempted to dance on the grass. Miss Gibbs had already struck up a friendship with a lady journalist, and some of the girls began to make overtures to the Tadbury scholars, who looked rather a jolly little set. Everybody retired early, as they would have to be up at 5.30, and in the fields by seven.
The Marlowe Grange contingent were much exercised as to the best way to place their mattresses. They did not know whether to sleep with their heads or their feet to the tent-pole, and finally decided in favour of the former. Going to bed was a funny business in so very small a space, with no chairs or places to put clothes down, and only one tin basin amongst six to wash in. It was funnier still when they attempted to lie down on their mattresses. A bag stuffed with hay is so round that it is very difficult to keep upon it without rolling off, and there was much pommelling and flattening before the beds were at all tenable. At last everyone was settled, the lights were out, and the campers, rolled in their blankets, tried to compose themselves to sleep.
Raymonde, whose billet was opposite the door of the tent, could see out, and watch the stars shining. She lay awake a long time, with her eyes fixed on a bright planet that moved across the little horizon of sky visible to her, till it passed out of sight, and at length she too slept.