And I say--and I think we all say--that anyone who
grumbles about 'privations' in England deserves to know what real war
means--as the women of Belgium know it."
He stopped, and Norah regarded him with great pride, since his remarks
were usually strictly limited to the fewest possible words.
"Well, it's rather refreshing to hear you talk," remarked another
squatter. "A good many people have come back telling most pathetic tales
of all they had to endure. I suppose, though, that some were worse off
than you?"
"Oh, certainly," David Linton said. "We knew one Australian, an
officer's wife, who was stranded in a remote corner of South Wales
with two servants and two babies; it was just at the time of greatest
scarcity before compulsory rationing began, when most of the food
coming in was kept in the big towns and the Midlands. That woman could
certainly get milk for her youngsters; but for three months the only
foods she and her maids were sure of getting were war bread, potatoes,
haricot beans and salt herrings. She was a good way from the nearest
town, and there was deep snow most of the time. There was no carting out
to her place, and by the time she could get into the town most of the
food shops would be empty."
"And if you saw the salt herrings!" said Norah. "They come down from
Scotland, packed thousands in a barrel. They're about the length and
thickness of a comb, and if you soak them for a day in warm water and
then boil them, you can begin to think about them as a possible food.
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