Somewhere I heard it said that the saddest people are those who have lost the relatives and friends with whom they could recall the joys of their childhood. In this respect Old Girls of Barnardo's must be accounted much blest, for our family is so large that rarely is one of us without a friend who will happily join with us in the pleasures of "Do you remember?"

Most of us to whom the Village was home, would agree that the highlights of our lives were Founder's Day, Albert Hall Day and Christmas Day. It would need a book to describe fully the joy surrounding these days. Indeed, the author of "The Likes of us" has very adequately and lovingly told of them. So in this limited space, I hope to recall some of the less obvious enjoyments of those days.

Founder's Day brought visitors by the thousand to our Village and we delighted to entertain them. But most welcome of all were the boys from other branches of the Homes, from Stepney, from Wood­ford, from Russell Cotes Nautical School, and from the Watts Naval Training School. The boys marched in the main gates in the morning of that exciting day and as the public were not admitted until 2 p.m. we had the bands and the marching boys to ourselves. We accompanied them to the Village Green and I believe the bands played and the boys marched never so well as when scores of us were skipping alongside.

Were you a "driller" or a "singer" for Founder's Day? It was generally agreed that the drillers had the better time-better than the singers-for the drillers were required to give about three performances of dancing during the afternoon, and the rest of the day they could roam at will round the Village, while the singers would be crowded at the end of the marquee with their view of the proceedings blocked by the VI P's on the platform in front of them.

My sister and I were lucky drillers and in our off duty time we would worm through the ranks of visitors on the Green to get a close up view of our favourite performers the Watts Naval boys; if we were lucky we would see the Field Gun Competition. Then it was fun indeed to poke round and between the contingents assembling for the Grand March Past; to mix with the printers, the carpenters, tinsmiths, bootmakers and bakers; the handbell ringers and Highland pipers, the drum and fife players and the boys of the brass band. What joy it was to be offered a blow on a bugle or a cornet by a kind big boy who laughed with every freckle on his face when we couldn't get a squeak out of his instrument. How Laura Perks and I enjoyed our sinfulness when we were about nine years old, and danced the Hornpipe-their own dance-right through, to a group of Naval school boys. We were rewarded with four sweets each, circular flat "love Letters". On one for each of us the boys scratched "Clever Girl".

Soon many of us will be meeting at the Albert Hall and our minds will go back to the early days of the Young Helpers League gather­ings, when we got up in the cold dimness of a January morning and boarded a train waiting for us at Barkingside Station. We travelled to South Kensington Station and in fours we marched down the tunnel to the Albert Hall. We laughed and called to each other, delighting in the echoes thrown back to us.

Those of you who were drillers will know there was nothing to compare with the thrill of dancing into the stilled expectancy of the vast audience. The area was flood-lit, the world held its breath. Only the muted thud of your feet on the thick canvassed floor could be heard before the organ or the choirs broke in on that magical moment when suddenly you were "giving" instead of "receiving". You danced then to each onlooker and for yourself it was pure joy. Were you a "Gay Butterfly" in a dress of yards of buttercup yellow chiffon, or a Scottish fisher-girl when the choir sang "Caller Herrin"?

I would like to recall for you the events of the wonderful Christmas Days we enjoyed and the excitements of Doctor's Night. But this article must be limited and description of Christmas Day in the Village cannot be cut down to measure. So I shall just mention a few of my ordinary glad moments to set your chords of memory vibrating.

I remember the unveiling of the Memorial. I was very young and wondered why they said it had only just been "made" when I had seen it yesterday having its bareness carefully covered. It is my only remembrance of that day. But clearer is my memory of a gathering at the Memorial three or four years later. It could have been a Colonial Day. It was very hot and my sister and I were packed between very large ladies. Suddenly I needed more air. I said to Bertha "I don't feel well". "Put out your tongue" said Bertha. Well, didn't Dr. Milne always tell you to do just that if you felt ill? I was hauled out and put to bed. For a special treat we were to have cherry cake for tea; a red letter day! Tea time came; I could hear that in the dining room Mother and Edie were giving out the cake. I prayed "Please God don't let them forget me". Then Edie's voice came horribly clear "Florrie won't want any cake, will she?" I sat up tense with anxiety. Then Mother's voice "Of course she will, take this up to her." With immense gratitude I bent my head and prayed "Dear God, thank you for making Mother so intelligent. "

Do you remember the building of the Australa­sian Hospital and the fun of hide-and-seek in its foundations?

Do you recall taking the paraffin can to old Mr. Church for refill? If you hurried directly after morning prayers you could catch him having his breakfast, which was always bread and butter and raisins. You would then sit on a stool and share his raisins. Even if you missed the raisins, you could, all the way home, pour tiny drops of oil into every rain puddle you met. Result ­explosions of colour: floating rainbows of it.

Were you at Mr. Medley's big tea-party? Were you one of the favoured few who turned the handle of the barrel organ? I longed to be, but I wasn't.

Were you scared during the Zeppelin raids in the 1914-1918 war? Did you stay put, on a mattress under the dining-room table? Or did you, with me, lean out of the bedroom window and call to Mr. Jefkins "A piece of shrapnel has fallen under the horse-chestnut tree; get it and keep it for me until the morning." Obediently Mr. Jefkins would hunt for it and give me a bit of metal in the morning; I don't think it was shrapnel. What a dear man he was!

Soon after the passing of the first World War the Governorship changed. I was attending the Ilford County High School when The Hon. Anne Macnaughten and Miss Picton Turbervill arrived. Our peak points were still the three big days, but now Guiding became important. Did you go to that first glorious Guide camp? It was at Great Leighs near Chelmsford. We slept in a barn and I met my first glow-worm. Through the open door in the mornings I watched the sun rise.

With gratitude I remember the concerts that were introduced for the older girls. There came one evening an elocutionist who recited Dickens' "Christmas Carol" in its entirety. I was so enthralled I could hardly breathe and I went home loving all mankind.

Then I met the great Lilian Baylis and on a wonderful day she popped me into a stall seat of "The Old Vic". I saw a Nativity Play, and in the richness of colour, and the music and poetry of the performance, I was very near to falling on my knees and worshipping there in the theatre.

Did you love Sunday Evening Service in The Childrens' Church? When you hear the hymn singing on a Sunday morning after the 9 o'clock news, does the closing hymn "God be with you" take you back to those "Goodbye" services for the girls emigrating to Canada? The memories I have of the Childrens' Church are very precious. Suffice it to say that in no other Church am I happier to worship.

Here are some of my dearest recollections: golden cascades of laburnum mingling with mauve-blue lilac down the banks on the way to the church; almond blossom on the Green; cherry blossom and red poppies round the Scotch coast; daisies in the donkey meadow. Blue cornflowers and yellow eschscholtzias in my own little garden, a yard square, under the kitchen window of Mickleham; and woodruff, which I put under my pillow to "smell nice".

My allotted space is spent. I hope that at some point in these reminiscences I have met you, and that we share the same memories. I send my love to you all.

THE GUILD MESSENGER OCTOBER 1966  Page 20

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