My existence, since I had been turned out of the shop, seemed to be wanting in ingenious plans. The one now before me was so magnificent that my pencil shook as it wrote the figures.
At Gloucester Place, of an evening, we all pretended an indifference to the prospects of Colonel Edgington's idea; sometimes we went so far as to deride it, and I, in particular, referred to incidents of the past which he had handled clumsily, pointed out that as a man grew old, so confidence in himself increased, and his mental abilities diminished. I think I suggested that the war would have been successfully terminated, long ere now, if Headquarters had been served by younger and more intelligent people. Secretly, we were hopeful that Mr. Hillier would obtain the berth. I found his silk hats, that had long been enjoying a rest cure, and polished them with a handkerchief.
Because I had given a small donation to the fund—it was difficult in those days for even a thrifty woman to say "No" to the applications that came—a ticket reached me inviting my presence to the dedication, by a Lord Bishop, of war ambulances, one to be given to the British Red Cross Society, one to the French Red Cross. The circumstance that a speech of thanks was to be made by Colonel Edgington would have discouraged me, but the affair was to take place on a Saturday afternoon, a period when Katherine, home from the bank, expected to be allowed to take exclusive charge of her son; I had to stand back and to look forward to resuming control of the little person on the Monday morning. Muriel advised me to go, and to bring back an account of the proceedings: she declared that my imitation of Colonel Edgington was always amongst my triumphs.
Some one directed me wrongly, and I happened to be late in arriving at the school playground where the ceremony was to take place, but my old lad Peter, there in a position of authority with Boy Scouts, caught sight of me and, leaving everything, conducted me to the raised platform as the Russian National Anthem was being sung by the children. Folk, noting the deferential manner adopted by Peter, assumed I was a guest of importance; a steward discovered a vacant chair in the second row and would take no notice of my signals indicating a preference for a more retired place. I found myself immediately behind the Mayor who, anxious I suppose, to shew that he identified everyone in his borough, turned and shook hands warmly, introduced me by an unintelligible name to the Bishop, who declared he had often heard of me, and was charmed now to make my acquaintance. I listened to the youngsters giving the last verse.
"God the all-wise! By the fire of their chastening,
Earth shall to freedom and truth be restored.
Through the thick darkness Thy kingdom is hastening,
Thou wilt give peace in Thy time, O Lord!"
As somebody offered a prayer, I thought of these words, looked back in my mind, and realised—almost for the first time—how gentle the war had been to me, in comparison with the treatment it had served out to other people.
The Mayor followed with a statement, and the Bishop rose. Colonel Edgington, seated near, turned, and in turning glanced at me; the old chap was too much absorbed in the importance of the affair and his own share to recognise me, and from this moment, throughout the dedication and the address, he occupied himself with his notes. I admit I was touched by the fervour and patriotism of the Bishop's words. Maybe I had not been fortunate in some of the clergymen encountered during my life: here was one out of the ordinary. I joined in "Oh God our help in ages past," feeling more earnest and impressed than I had ever done in church.
"You're not going," protested the Mayor.