A few days after I had been wondering what Captain Holiday's "the" girl would be like, my curiosity was gratified.
I met her!
This was how it occurred:
I was out in "the town" shopping—fascinating occupation—don't any woman's eyes brighten at its name?
Yes.... But the chances are ten to one against her knowing anything about the Careg Land Girl's Camp version of the function.
Not for us the dear delights of window-gazing, of comparing prices and textures in one big, temptingly set-out establishment after another.... Well, we got our delight in another way.
Shopping for the girls was a game of chance and skill, I can tell you. It "combined all the charm of novelty with that of big game-hunting!" as Vic put it. It meant diving into the funniest little caves of shops, all garlanded by festoons of such different kinds of goods as picture post-cards, hanks of darning cotton, and onions.
It sometimes included vaulting over the counter ourselves, and helping dear old ladies to forage for what we wanted in a wilderness of cardboard boxes at the back of the shop. And even after our search it generally meant that we went on our way disappointed, to the accompaniment of such remarks as "No, indeed, I'm very sorry! I'm sold out of every bit"—of whatever it was we wanted—"and I don't know when I shall ever see any! It's the war, yes, yes! I haven't got a ha'porth of nothing of the sort, not in the whole place!"
This seemed to be the keynote of supplies in the town, late on that very wet Saturday afternoon when I had accompanied Vic, and Peggy, the tiny Timber-girl, to do the shopping for the rest of our camp.
"Got the list, Celery-face?" said Vic. As we sheltered for a moment in an archway I pulled out the long list of commissions which our colleagues had drawn up for us.