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By Mrs. S. A. Barnett.

April, 1912.

1From “The Cornhill Magazine”. By permission of the Editor.

Five thousand two hundred and eighty Letters, 872 Sketches, 199 Collections, all in parcels neatly tied up, the name, age, and sex of the writer, artist, or collector clearly written on the first page of the covering paper. There they lie, all around me, stack upon stack. The sketches are crude but extraordinarily vivid and unaffected; the collections are very scrappy but show affectionate care; the letters are written in childish unformed characters, and are of varying lengths, from a sheet of notepaper to ten pages of foolscap, but one and all deal with the same subject. What that subject is shall be told by a maiden of nine years old:—

“On one Thursday morning my Mother woke me and said, ‘To-day is Country Holiday Fun,’ so I got up and put my cloes on”.

On that Thursday morning, 27 July, 22,624 happy children left London and its drab monotonous streets, and went for a fortnight’s visit into the country, or by the sea. Oh! the joy, the preparation, the excitement, the hopes, the fears, the anxieties lest anything should prevent the start; but at last, by the superhuman efforts of all concerned, the Committee, the ladies, the teachers, and the railway officials, the whole gay, glad, big army of little people were successfully got off. It is from these 22,624 children, and 21,756 more who took their places two weeks later, that my 5,280 letters come; for only those who really choose to write are encouraged to do so.

In almost all cases the journey is fully described, the ride in the ’bus, the fear of being late, the parcel and how “it fell out,” the gentlemen at the station, the porter who gave us a drink of water “cause we were all hot,” the gentleman who gave the porter 6d. because he said: “This 6d. is for you for thinking as how the children would be thirsty”. The number that managed to get in each carriage, the boy who lost his cap “for the wind went so fast when my head was outside looking,” the hedges, the cows, the big boards with —— Pills written on them, how “it seemed as if I was going that way and the hills and cows and trees were going the other way”. It is all told with the fresh force of novelty and youth. The names of the Stations and the mileage is often noted, as well as the noise. “We shouted for joy,” writes a boy of eleven. “We told them it was rude to holler so,” writes a more staid girl. “I got tired of singing and went to sleep,” records a boy of eight; but the journey over there follows the description, often given with some awe, of how,—

“We all went and were counted together, and there were the ladies waiting for us, and the gentleman read out our names and our lady’s name and then we went home with our right ladies,”

and then, almost without exception, comes the bald but important statement, “and then we had Tea”. Indeed, all through the letters there is frequent mention of the gastronomic conditions, which appear to occupy a large place among the memories of the country visit. Evidently the regularity of the meals makes a change which strikes the imagination.

“I got up, washed in hot water and had my breakfast. It was duck’s egg. I then went out in the fields till dinner was ready. I had a good dinner and then took a rest. We had Tea. My lady gave us herrings and apple pie for tea, then we went on the Green and looked about and then came home and had supper and went to bed.”

Some letters, especially those written after the first visit to the country, contain nothing but the plain unvarnished tale of the supply of regular food. One girl burns with indignation because

“We girls was sent to bed at 7·30 and got no supper, but the boys was let up later and got bread and a big thick bit of cheese”.

A boy of eight chronicles that

“I had custard for my Tea and some jelly which was called corn flour”.

One small observer had apparently discovered the importance of meal-times even to the sea itself, for he writes: “The sea always went out at dinner time and came back when Tea was ready”. I can see my readers smile, but to those of us who know intimately the lives of the poor, the significance of meals and their regularity occupying so large a place in a child’s mind is more pathetic than comic.

From all the letters the impression is gathered of the generosity of the poor hostesses to the London children. For 5s. a week (not 9d. a day) a growing hungry boy or girl is taken into a cottager’s home, put in the best bed, cared for, fed three or four times a day, and often entertained at cost of time, thought, or money.

“I like the day which was Bank lolyiday Monday because it was a very joyafull day. My Lady took me to a Flower Show. It was 3d. to go in but she paid, and I had swings and saw the flowers, and then we had bought Tea, and a man gave away ginger beer.”

Another girl of eleven writes:—

“My lady took me to Windsor Castle. The first thing I saw was the Thames. I went and had a paddled and then I went in the Castle and saw a lot of apple trees.”

The visits to Windsor are modern-day versions of the old story of the Cat who went to see the King and saw only “Mousey sitting under the Chair,” for another child records:—

“There were plenty of orchards with apple trees in it. But we would not pick them, or else we would be locked up but I went in the Castle and I saw a very large table with fifty chairs all round it and a piano and a looking glass covered up on the wall.”

One boy who was taken to the lighthouse, though only ten, was evidently eager for useful information. He writes:—

“I asked the man how many candlepowers it was but I forgot what he said——”

an experience not unknown to his elders and betters!

This child records that “when playing on the beach I made Buckingham Palace but a big boy came along and trod it and so we went home to bed”—an unconscious repetition of the often-recorded conclusion of Pepys’ eventful days.

One of the small excursionists was taken by her hostess to see Tonbridge, and writes: “We went to the muzeam wear we saw jitnoes of different people”.

The hospitality of the clergymen and their families and the goodness of doctors is also often mentioned. Some of the children write so vividly that the country vicarage and its sweet-smelling flowers, the hot curate and the active ladies, rise up as a picture, the “atmosphere” of which is kindness and “the values” incalculable. Other children merely record the facts—in some cases anticipating time and establishing an order of clergywomen.

“We asked the Vicar Miss Leigh if we could swim and she said No because one boy caught a cold.”

“We all went to the Reveren to a party.” “Saturday mornings we went to the Rectory haveing games, swings, sea sawes and refreshments.” “The party by the Church was fine.” “They had a Church down there called the Salvation Army. I thought there was only one Salvation Army.”

One of the Vicars hardly conveyed the impression he intended, for the boy writes:—

“We went to Church in the morning and in the afternoon for a walk as the Clergyman told us not to go to Sunday School as he wanted us to enjoy ourselves”.

One wonders if the Sunday School organization and the “intolerable strain” which would be put on it by London visitors was in that vicar’s mind.

The letter that is sent by the Countryside Committee to the children before they leave London tells them in simple language something about the trees and flowers and creatures which they will see during their holiday, and asks them to write on anything which they themselves have observed or which gave them pleasure to see. This request is granted, for the children wrote:—

“The trees seemed so happy they danced”.

“The wind was blowing and the branches of the trees was swinging themselves.”

“The rainbow is made of raindrops and the sun, tears and smiles.”

“It was nice to sit on the grass and see the trees prancing in the breeze.”

These extracts show, in the four small mortals who had each spent the ten years of their lives in crowded streets, an almost poetic capacity, and the beginning of a power of nature sympathy that will be a source of unrecorded solace. The sights of the night impress many children, the sky seen for the first time uninterrupted by gas lamps.

“When I (aged eleven) looked into the sky one night you could hardly see any of the blue for it was light up with stars.”

“I saw a star shoot out of the sky and then it settled in a different place.”

“One night I kept awake and looked for the stars and saw the Big Bear of stars.”

“At night the moon looked as if it were a Queen and the stars were her Attendants.”

“The clouds are making way for the moon to come out.”

The sun, its rising and setting, is also frequently mentioned. One child had developed patriotism to such an extent as to write:—

“One day I looked up to the Sky and saw the sun was rising in the shape of the British Isles”.

Alas! What would the Kaiser think?

Another of my correspondents expressed surprise that “the moon came from where the sky touched the Earth,” an evidence of street-bound horizon.

In other letters the writers record:—

“I saw the sun set it was like a big silver Eagle’s wing laying on a cliff”.

“When the sun was setting out of the clouds came something that looked like a County Council Steamer”.

That must have been a rather alarming sunset, but hardly less so than “the cloud which was like Saint Paul’s Cathedral coming down on our heads”.

The animals gave great pleasure and created wonder:—

“The cows made a grunting noise, the baa lambs made a pretty little shriek”.

“The cows I saw were lazy, they were laying. One was a bull who I daresay had been tossing somebody.”

“I heard a bird chirping it was make a noise like chirp chirp twee.”

“I saw a big dragon fly. It was like a long caterpillar with long sparkling transparent wings.”

“The birds are not like ourn they are light brown.”

“There were wasps which was yellow and pretty but unkind.”

“I (aged eleven) saw a little blackbird—its head was off by a Cat. I made a dear little grave and so berreyed it under the Tree.”

The flowers, of course, come in for the greatest attention and after them the trees are most usually referred to:—

“I (aged nine) know all the flowers that lived in the garden, but not all those who lived in the field”.

“Stinging nettles are a nuisance to people who have holes in their boots.”

“The Pond is all covered with Rushes. These had flowers like a rusty poker.”

“I picked lots of flowers and always brought them home—”

shows influence of the Selborne Society in teaching children not to pick and throw away what is alive and growing.

“The Cuckoo dines on other birds.”

“There was one bird called the squirrel.”

“Only gentlemen are allowed to shoot pheasants as they are expensive.”

“We caught fish in the river some were small others about 2 feet long.”

“Butterflies dont do much work.”

“The trunk of the oak is used for constructing furniture, coffins and other expensive objects.”

But my readers will be weary, so I will conclude with the pregnant remark of a little prig, who writes:—

“I think the country was in a good condition for I found plenty of interesting things in it.”

One or two of my small correspondents show an early disposition to see faults and remember misfortunes.

“There was no strikes on down there but there was a large number of wasps,” was the reflection of one evidently conscious of the fly in every ointment. Another (aged ten) writes:—

“Dear Madam,—When I was down in the country I was lying on the couch and a wasp stung me. As I was on the common a man chased me, and I fell head first and legs after into the prickles, and the prickles dug me and hurt me.... I was nearly scorched down in the country.... One day when I fed the Pigs the great big fat pig bit a lump out of my best pinafore. One morning when I was in bed the little boy brought the cat up and put it on my face. When I was down in the country the Common caught a light for the sun was always too hot. So I must close with my love.”

Was there ever such a catalogue of misfortunes compressed into one short fortnight? Still, in the intervals she seems to have noticed a considerable number of trees, of which she makes a list, and adds: “I did enjoy myself”. Poor little maiden! Perhaps her elders had graduated in the school of misfortunes, and she had learnt the trick of complaining.

A good many children, both boys and girls, were very conscious of the absence of their home responsibilities.

“I did not see a babbi. I mean to mind it all the time.”

“The ladys girl dont mind the baby as much as me at home. It stops in the garden.”

It opens up a whole realm of matters for reflection: the baby not dragged hither and thither in arms too small and weak for its comfort, and then plumped down on cold or damp stones while its over-burdened nurse snatches a brief game or indulges in a scamper; the clouding of the elder child’s life by unremitting responsibilities, and the effortful labour which sometimes wears out love, though not so often as could be expected, so marvellous is human nature, and its capacity for care and tenderness. “I didn’t have to mind no twins,” writes one small boy of nine, “I think thems a neusence. I wish Mother had not bought them.” But the baby left in a garden! opening its blinking eyes to the wonders of sky and flowers and bees and creatures, while its elder brothers and sister do their share of work and play. This makes a foundation of quiet and pleasure on which to build the strenuous days and anxious years of the later life of struggle and effort.

The reiteration of the kindness of the cottage hostesses would be almost wearisome if one’s imagination did not go behind it and picture the scenes, the hard-worked country woman accepting the suggestion of a child guest with a lively appreciation of the usefulness of the 5s.’s which were to accrue, but that thought receding as the enjoyment of the town child became infectious, until the value given for the value received became forgotten, and generous self-costing kindnesses were showered profusely.

“My lady she was always doing kind to me.” “Mrs. P. washed my clothes before I came home to save Mother doing it.” “My lady told Mr. S. to shake her tree for our apples.” “The person that Boarded me gave me nice thing to bring back.”

In some cases the thrifty, tidy ways of the country hostesses conveyed their lessons.

“She use to make browan bread and She use to make her own cakes and apple turn overs and eggloes and current cake.” “The wind came in my room and blew me in the night.” “We always had table clothes where I was.” “I washed myself well my lady liked it.” “We cleaned our teeth down in the country ever morning.”

Sometimes examples on deeper matters were observed and approved of.

“Every morning and dinner and tea we say grace.” “The lady told us Sunday School was nice and we went.” “We had Church 3 times. Morning noon and night”—

is not reported with entire approval, but the letter ends:—

“I loved my holidays very much and hope that I can go next year to live with the same lady”.

A boy writes:—

“The lady was very kind she never said any naughty words to me”.

And another lad reports:—

“I was fed extremely well and treated with the best respect”.

One little girl had clear views on the proper position of man.

“My ladie,” she writes, “had a big pig 4 little ones, 2 cats. some hens a bird in a cage a apple tree a little boy and a Huband.”

Sometimes the history of the place has been impressed on the children.

“I (aged eleven) was very glad I went to Guildford because Sir Lancelot and Elaine lived there but its name was then Astolat.”

“When I (aged eleven) reached Burnham Thorp I felt the change of air and I heard the birds sing—and then I knew that I should see the place where our great English sailor Lord Nelson was born,”—

he being a character so indissolubly associated with innocent country joys.

The letters both begin and end in a variety of ways, for though I do not write all the letters which are issued to the children by the Countryside Committee of the Children’s Country Holiday Fund, it is considered better for me as Chairwoman to sign them, so as to give a more personal tone to the lengthy printed chat, which the teachers themselves open, kindly read and talk about to the children, and a copy of which each child can have if it so wishes. Thus the reply letters are all sent to me, and the vast majority begin “Dear Madam”; but some are less conventional, and I have those commencing, “Dear Mrs. Barnett,” “Dear Country Holdday Site Commtie,” “Dear friend,” “Dear Miss,” while the feeling of personal relation was evidently so real to one small boy that he began his epistle with “Dear Henrietta”—I delight in that letter! Among the concluding words are the following: “Your affectionate little friend,” “Your loving pupil,” “From one who enjoyed,” “Yours gratefully,” “Yours truly Friend”.

Some of the regrets at leaving the country are very pathetic:—

“I wish I was in the country now”. “I shall never go again; I am too old now.” “I think in the fortnight I had more treats than ever before in all my life.” “The blacking berries were red then and small. They will be black now and big.” “I wish I was with my lady’s baker taking the bread round.” “I enjoyed myself very much, I cannot explain how much. Please God next year I will come again. As I sit at school I always imagine myself roaming in the fields and watching the golden corn, and when I think of it it makes me cry.”

And those tears will find companions in some of the hearts which ache for the joyless lives of our town children, weighted by responsibilities, crippled by poverty, robbed of their birthright of innocent fun. The ecstatic joy of children in response to such simple pleasures tells volumes about their drab existence, their appreciation of adequate food, their warm recognition of kindness, represent privation and surprise. In a deeper sense than Wordsworth used it, “Their gratitude has left me mourning”.

I know, and no one better, the countless servants of the people who are toiling to relieve the sorrows of the poor and their children, but until the conditions of labour, of education, and of housing are fearlessly faced and radically dealt with, their labour can only be palliative and their efforts barren of the best fruit; but articles, as well as holidays, must finish, and so I will conclude by another extract:—

“We had a bottle of Tea and cake and it was 132¾ miles. I saw all sorts of things and come to Waterloo Station and thank you very much.”

Henrietta O. Barnett.