March 30th. According to the local customs, Madame will not leave the house until the news of her husband's death has been officially announced by the Mayor. Thus any shopping expeditions in quest of the mourning which engrosses her whole attention have to be made surreptitiously.
The official news may be a long time in coming—weeks, perhaps months—nevertheless, until she has, with the calm resignation demanded by the occasion, received the official confirmation of the news, she will not show her face out of doors. We all pray the ceremony may be soon over, for surely nothing could be worse for a mourner than an uninterrupted brooding over pots and pans in a hot or crowded kitchen.
[CHAPTER VII]
April, 1915
April 1st. In spite of the difficulties of getting teams together, the football league has flourished, and to-day we had the great final match between Australians and the A.S.C., for which, at a few hours' notice, aided by a solitary car, we managed to give a fairly successful tea.
Thanks to the football and the various other "tournaments," the canteen is becoming quite an important factor of the little colony out here. We find that draught, chess and billiard tournaments draw the men (who are apt to be "cliquy" and shy of each other) together more than anything else, whilst French lessons—held by a poor little Belgian soldier, himself far from fluent in the language—prove a tremendous attraction, and serve the additional purpose of adding a moiety to his minute income.
We have moved on to the premises in order to be better able to attend to our "relatives," as they have a way of turning up at ten at night, quite exhausted with the novelty of their experience. To be honest, the interest of their journey seems to a great extent to mitigate the bitterness of their loss or the sadness of their visit.
"Law bless us, Miss, what a lot we shall 'ave to tell 'em at 'ome, which we shouldn't 'ave 'ad if our dear Bill 'adn't died for 'is country!" said a Manchester washerwoman to-day.