The Holiday by Richmal Crompton

Author:Richmal Crompton [Crompton, Richmal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Ten

“THEY’VE reached Cape Town,” said Miss Caroline excitedly. ‘Did you read about it in this morning’s paper? And they’ve had a magnificent reception. I simply couldn’t help crying when I read the description of it to my sister this morning. It was so touching. . . .”

Miss Caroline had come over to the Vicarage to bring Miriam a pot of her new strawberry jam. She had found Miriam doing her household mending in the garden under the shade of the copper beech and had been sitting with her chattering for about quarter of an hour. Miss Caroline’s chatter was as spontaneous and irrepressible as a bird’s song, but her elder sister did her best to repress it at home, so that, when there was anything particularly exciting in the morning’s paper, Miss Caroline generally made some excuse to call upon a neighbour to discuss it. Her excitement over the Royal tour had been gathering momentum with each morning’s news, till now it was almost more than she could contain. Her eyes filled with tears of emotion whenever it was mentioned.

“And we need some cheering news,” she went on, “with this dreadful war. Whenever I take over a pair of socks to Lady Cynthia at Fletworth for her parcel of comforts for the troops, I say, ‘Now, I’m sure that this will be the last, Lady Cynthia,’ but it never is. . . . Did you see in Saturday’s paper that Kitchener has said that all commanders who haven’t surrendered by September 15th are to be permanently banished from South Africa? They need really firm treatment.” Miss Caroline’s face looked very severe for a moment, then softened into its usual lines of kindliness. “But we mustn’t be impatient. I’m sure the dear troops and generals are doing all they can.” She rose irresolutely. “Well, I suppose I must be getting back. My sister doesn’t like to be left for long. . . . She’s so brave and patient, but an invalid’s life is very wearisome.” She gathered up the train of her dress, then turned to Miriam, struck by a sudden memory. “Oh, my dear, did you see a terrible letter in yesterday’s Times? I simply daren’t read it to my sister, and I didn’t paste it into our news record at all. In fact, I destroyed it at once. . . . It was from someone in Dieppe saying that long skirts aren’t being worn at all there, in fact that women are wearing skirts that only just touch the tops of their boots, and that the fashion will soon be spreading to England. Can you imagine anything more horrible? I’m sure that English women—gentlewomen, at any rate—would have too much good sense to adopt such a fashion. Well, I really must be going now. You’ll let the children come in to-morrow to play with the garden again, won’t you? My sister does so enjoy their visits. Oh, I was forgetting my other piece of news. We had a

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