On another afternoon we were shown through an old but well-preserved castle of the seventeenth century, whose low ceilings, stretching out over the spacious halls and parlors, heavy black mouldings and ornamentation form a striking contrast to the design, structure and decoration of the present age. The lady proprietress of this handsome manor was to be seen with the white cap and apron of a nurse, walking to and from her castle, in the service of the refugees.
The pretty rural names given these old homesteads, such as Oakwood, Laurel Grove, Ambleside Avenue, Arnos Vale and many others, lend them another charm and give a romantic touch to their beauty.
While the scenes witnessed among the refugees were, for the most part, sad and depressing, nevertheless a little incident occurred which touched the mirthful chord in our poor human nature, and afforded us the rare pleasure of a good hearty laugh.
One afternoon during the last week of our visit in England a message was received from members of the Relief Committee in Bradford, asking for an interpreter to come to the assistance of some refugees at Oakwood, whose affairs had become complicated. Two of us set out immediately and arrived at the office of the Relief Committee to hold a conference on the subject. It was decided to visit Oakwood at once and make a thorough investigation of the case. A party of three or four ladies, led by the Hon. Mr. D——, of the Relief Committee, arrived in a motor car at the entrance to the lovely manor of Oakwood just as the heavy branches of the ancient oaks had succeeded in closing out the last rays of the setting sun.
Mr. D—— advanced with a firm determination to make short work of the matter and settle the difficulties with one good bang of his big cane. He entered the portal, followed by the ladies, and stood a moment before the beautiful plate-glass doors, through which the light of the hall lamp was reflecting in all the colors of the rainbow on the oak carvings of the outer doors. Not finding the bell, he tapped gently on the door with the top of his cane. Again and again this act was repeated, but no response came, although voices inside were distinctly audible.
Becoming quite impatient, Mr. D—— lifted his cane and struck the door one or two resounding blows, which were calculated to attract the attention of the indifferent people within. A deathly silence ensued for a few moments, and then a chorus of women’s voices began to cry out, “Call the police! Call the police! ’Tis burglars! What do they mean by coming here and breaking down our doors?” One old lady approached the door and asked: “Who is there, and what do you want? We’re frightened almost to death. Is that the way to do, to come and pound on the door in that manner?” By this time Mr. D—— had succeeded in making himself heard, as he answered in a tone of sincere sorrow, “I beg pardon, ladies, I really beg pardon. I meant no harm. I meant no harm at all.” By this time the door was partially opened and three panic-stricken old ladies appeared within, while Mr. D——, with his hat in one hand and the offending cane in the other, was bowing most meekly and making elaborate excuses to the ladies, who, seeing the humble attitude of the supposed burglar, ceased to call for the police and were disposed to answer any reasonable question.
“Will you be kind enough to lead us to the Belgian refugees?” asked Mr. D——. “But,” said one of the ladies, “there are no Belgians here. You’ve made a mistake. The refugees are living in the castle yonder on the next manor.”
Thanking these good ladies for the information, and again begging pardon for intrusion, we left the portal with more humble feelings than when we entered and proceeded to the next castle.
The trouble here originated between two parties of Belgians who, on account of language (the one spoke French, the other Flemish) and whose political views were intensely antagonistic while yet in Belgium, were unable to agree. Some slight changes were made by the Relief Committee and all dissension ceased.
Next morning a dense fog enveloped the entire landscape. The damp, chilly atmosphere seemed to penetrate every nook and corner, and on the streets, at a few yards distance, objects were scarcely visible. Some necessary preparations were made for the long-anticipated voyage to America, and then we patiently awaited the rapidly approaching steamer St. Paul, on her way to Liverpool.