and dangerous work.
Oswald went at it a bit, but he chipped his thumb, and it bled so he had to chuck it. Then Dicky tried, and then Denny, but Dicky hammered his finger, and Denny took all day over every stroke, so that by teatime we had only done the H, and about half the E â and the Ewas awfully crooked. Oswald chipped his thumb over the H.
We looked at it the next morning, and even the most sanguinary of us saw that it was a hopeless task.
Then Denny said, âWhy not wood and paint?â and he showed us how. We got a board and two stumps from the carpenterâs in the village, and we painted it all white, and when that was dry Denny did the words on it.
It was something like this:
IN MEMORY OF
BILL SIMPKIN
DEAD FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY.
HONOUR TO HIS NAME AND ALL
OTHER BRAVE SOLDIERS.
We could not get in what we meant to at first, so we had to give up the poetry.
We fixed it up when it was dry. We had to dig jolly deep to get the posts to stand up, but the gardener helped us.
Then the girls made wreaths of white flowers, roses and Canterbury bells, and lilies and pinks, and sweet peas and daisies, and put them over the posts. And I think if Bill Simpkins had known how sorry we were, he would have been glad. Oswald only hopes if
he
falls on the wild battlefield, which is his highest ambition, that somebody will be as sorry about him as he was about Bill, thatâs all!
When all was done, and what flowers there were over from the wreaths scattered under the tombstonebetween the posts, we wrote a letter to Mrs Simpkins, and said â
Dear Mrs Simpkins
Â
We are very, very sorry about the turnips and things, and we beg your pardon humbly. We have put up a tombstone to your brave son.
And we signed our names. Alice took the letter.
The soldierâs mother read it, and said something about our oughting to know better than to make fun of peopleâs troubles with our tombstones and tomfoolery.
Alice told me she could not help crying.
She said â
âItâs not! Itâs
not
! Dear,
dear
Mrs Simpkins, do come with me and see! You donât know how sorry we are about Bill. Do come and see. We can go through the churchyard, and the others have all gone in, so as to leave it quiet for you. Do come.â
And Mrs Simpkins did. And when she read what we had put up, and Alice told her the verse we had not had room for, she leant against the wall by the grave â I mean the tombstone â and Alice hugged her, and they both cried bitterly. The poor soldierâs mother was very, very pleased, and she forgave us about the turnips, and we were friends after that, but she always liked Alice the best. A great many people do, somehow.
After that we used to put fresh flowers every day on Billâs tombstone, and I do believe his mother was pleased, though she got us to move it away from thechurchyard edge and put it in a corner of our garden under a laburnum, where people could not see it from the church. But you could from the road, though I think she thought you couldnât. She came every day to look at the new wreaths. When the white flowers gave out we put coloured, and she liked it just as well.
About a fortnight after the erecting of the tombstone the girls were putting fresh wreaths on it when a soldier in a red coat came down the road, and he stopped and looked at us. He walked with a stick, and he had a bundle in a blue cotton handkerchief, and one arm in a sling.
And he looked again, and he came nearer, and he leaned on the wall, so that he could read the black printing on the white paint.
And he grinned all over his face, and he said â
âWell, I
am
blessed!â
And he read it all out in a sort of half whisper, and when he came to the end, where it says, âand all such brave soldiersâ, he said â
âWell, I really
am
!â
I suppose he meant he really was blessed. Oswald thought it was like the soldierâs cheek, so he said
Oswald went at it a bit, but he chipped his thumb, and it bled so he had to chuck it. Then Dicky tried, and then Denny, but Dicky hammered his finger, and Denny took all day over every stroke, so that by teatime we had only done the H, and about half the E â and the Ewas awfully crooked. Oswald chipped his thumb over the H.
We looked at it the next morning, and even the most sanguinary of us saw that it was a hopeless task.
Then Denny said, âWhy not wood and paint?â and he showed us how. We got a board and two stumps from the carpenterâs in the village, and we painted it all white, and when that was dry Denny did the words on it.
It was something like this:
IN MEMORY OF
BILL SIMPKIN
DEAD FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY.
HONOUR TO HIS NAME AND ALL
OTHER BRAVE SOLDIERS.
We could not get in what we meant to at first, so we had to give up the poetry.
We fixed it up when it was dry. We had to dig jolly deep to get the posts to stand up, but the gardener helped us.
Then the girls made wreaths of white flowers, roses and Canterbury bells, and lilies and pinks, and sweet peas and daisies, and put them over the posts. And I think if Bill Simpkins had known how sorry we were, he would have been glad. Oswald only hopes if
he
falls on the wild battlefield, which is his highest ambition, that somebody will be as sorry about him as he was about Bill, thatâs all!
When all was done, and what flowers there were over from the wreaths scattered under the tombstonebetween the posts, we wrote a letter to Mrs Simpkins, and said â
Dear Mrs Simpkins
Â
We are very, very sorry about the turnips and things, and we beg your pardon humbly. We have put up a tombstone to your brave son.
And we signed our names. Alice took the letter.
The soldierâs mother read it, and said something about our oughting to know better than to make fun of peopleâs troubles with our tombstones and tomfoolery.
Alice told me she could not help crying.
She said â
âItâs not! Itâs
not
! Dear,
dear
Mrs Simpkins, do come with me and see! You donât know how sorry we are about Bill. Do come and see. We can go through the churchyard, and the others have all gone in, so as to leave it quiet for you. Do come.â
And Mrs Simpkins did. And when she read what we had put up, and Alice told her the verse we had not had room for, she leant against the wall by the grave â I mean the tombstone â and Alice hugged her, and they both cried bitterly. The poor soldierâs mother was very, very pleased, and she forgave us about the turnips, and we were friends after that, but she always liked Alice the best. A great many people do, somehow.
After that we used to put fresh flowers every day on Billâs tombstone, and I do believe his mother was pleased, though she got us to move it away from thechurchyard edge and put it in a corner of our garden under a laburnum, where people could not see it from the church. But you could from the road, though I think she thought you couldnât. She came every day to look at the new wreaths. When the white flowers gave out we put coloured, and she liked it just as well.
About a fortnight after the erecting of the tombstone the girls were putting fresh wreaths on it when a soldier in a red coat came down the road, and he stopped and looked at us. He walked with a stick, and he had a bundle in a blue cotton handkerchief, and one arm in a sling.
And he looked again, and he came nearer, and he leaned on the wall, so that he could read the black printing on the white paint.
And he grinned all over his face, and he said â
âWell, I
am
blessed!â
And he read it all out in a sort of half whisper, and when he came to the end, where it says, âand all such brave soldiersâ, he said â
âWell, I really
am
!â
I suppose he meant he really was blessed. Oswald thought it was like the soldierâs cheek, so he said
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