What Goes Up*

By

DOROTHY CAnfield

In the third year of the war, the town of Tourciennes was appalled by a German decree that forty of their leading women were to be taken as hostages to a prison camp in Germany, in reprisal for something said to have happened. Everyone knew that that meant almost sure death, and certainly broken health even for the most vigorous men. And many of the women were already half ill after three years of war privations.

The prison camp was a dreary clutter of rough buildings on a flat, sandy plain. The room allotted to the forty women was a bare, barnlike loft. Around three walls were tiers of bunks, filled with damp, moldy straw. Grease and filth were caked on the rough floor and walls. The woman who told me about it afterward had apparently not forgotten a detail.

Powerful and magnetic Octavie was speaking: "We are French women; we have courage; we have brains. People with brains and courage have nothing to fear anywhere, if they'll use them.

We're of all sorts-but we are women, sisters! If we give all we have and stick by each other loyally, they can never conquer us! An attempt is being made to break us down, physically and morally. But we have a thousand resources of ingenuity that they can't touch at all.

"We must begin by economizing every atom of our strength. We can start now by not wasting any more strength hating our guards. The next thing is to organize to get clean." Squads were organized, some to carry water, some to sweep. A bathing place in one corner was arranged. The first woman who emerged from behind the curtain, bathed, fresh linen next her skin (they had been allowed to bring one change), her hair in order, was like a being from another world. Selfrespect came back. With plenty of water and energy, sand and some bricks for rubbing, everything in the room was cleaned.

"What are we? Bodies and minds; both in danger. We must exercise out of doors, if we

*From the Reader's Digest for April, 1927. Condensed from an article in the Woman's Home Companion for April, 1922.

are to digest this awful food. We are allowed to be out an hour a day, but that is not enough. We must do something active in here once an hour. Any volunteers to show us gymnastics?" Yes, there were several.

"Now, for the mind. It's the chance of our lives to go on with our education. Let us share our minds each with the other." The result was that a group of musicians was organized to talk about music; others were to discuss the care of children; one to lecture on the life in Indo-China; a course in German was to be given; a daughter of a professor of literature was to plan literary discussions; the former head of a hospital was to lecture on the care of the sick.

Dramatic and musical committees were appointed, and another one on games, to provide

amusement.

"But," said one, "we have souls, too, souls hard beset. We're of all sorts of belief, but we can all pray." Then after an instant, she said, "Let us pray."

Every day was thrust at them full of the noisome poison of prison life-idleness, indifference, despair, bitterness, hatred, personal degeneration, and every day they poured out this poison resolutely, and filled its place with intelligent occupation.

Every day they went out in all weathers and exercised and played, and every evening they played games, checkers, guessing games, told stories and sang anything anyone could remember. Every day they had their "lessons," and once a week they had dramatics.

The character of their group made an impression on the prison authorities, who, as the months went by, allowed them certain alleviations; a better stove for their cooking, guards chosen from among the older men, and finally a few priceless French books.

Winter was there again, endless, empty, gray days. Influenza carried off hundreds all around them. They redoubled their cleanliness, exercised, played, studied, sang. Madame Rouart died; three others were desperately ill. Tragedy drew them more closely together than ever, and after this there were fewer struggles against black days of bad temper.

Well, then came the end. Nobody, not even the guards, knew what all the excitement was about. The women were locked in cattle cars, with no idea where they were going, until the moment the train stopped-and the doors opened.

They were at home, at their station. On the same platform where they had seen so many prisoners return, vermin-ridden, filthy, half-imbecile, a burden to their families, there they were, lean and worn and pale, but stronger, better finer human beings, than they had been before.

Here's where the story ought to end. I wish it did. But in the years that have passed since then I have seen those women a good many times. What are they doing with themselves now? Are they continuing the fine self-education? Are they turning on the terrible problems of our lifein-common the piercing light of their trained minds, the resistless strength of their dauntless wills? They are not. Like all the rest of us, they are concentrating their efforts on the attempt to keep all the ease and comfort for themselves and their families.

Are they, as they did in prison, sharing the griefs of the women about them with sisterly love? Do they cooperate intelligently with their fellow citizens in their daily life now? Is Octavie still organizing the weaker souls about her, drawing from them the best they have to give? No!

They had given a complete if passing proof of the magnificent latent possibilities in the stuff of human nature. The Tourciennes women had risen to that noble level once in their lives and held it. And the rest of us never! And yet what is our human life but one long crisis? We are all hard beset by deadly dangers, needing desperately to love and help each other. Why can't we intelligently plan how to construct an endurable life with the materials at hand? Why don't we help others to bring out what they have of value in their natures and stand by them in their moments of weakness? Why don't we ever grasp what that might mean to us all?

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together the places in which people live and work and find their recreation.

That a particular effort be made to preserve as much as possible of the summit and face of the Palisades for public open space, was recommended.

Thomas R. Adams, general director of plans and surveys, advocated more parkways as a means of developing and preserving recreation areas. Highways cannot be developed on a purely commercial basis, he said, if the land values necessary to pay for them are to be retained. As the greatest amount of land is used for residential purposes, the improved highway system must be designed to attract rather than to drive away residents. He cited the Bronx River Parkway as the best single planning investment in many years.

Thomas Adams, speaking of the Regional Plan at an earlier meeting, said:

There are about 9,000,000 people in the Region. We are told that within thirty or forty years there will be 15,000,000 or 20,000,000. The Plan is being prepared to provide for more than double the present population. One of our greatest difficulties is to find opportunities for recreation facilities where they are most needed in the Region for this increasing population. At present the City of New York is unable to provide money for sufficient playground spaces for the children because it has no bare land in crowded areas and it costs too much to pull down buildings. A city that has to acknowledge that it cannot find money to provide for the necessary facilities for outdoor recreation for its young people acknowledges that it is suffering from a form of social bankruptcy. In the case of New York City the lack of provision for playgrounds is based on a wrong hypothesis. This hypothesis is, that what is wrong is that there isn't enough space. In the City of New York there is ample space. The only difficulty is the wrong distribution of space. Our problem is to try to indicate, among other things, how to obtain a more equitable and a more economical distribution of the space that is available.

When our Plan is completed, in about eighteen months, it will be a guide for each and all of the local authorities in the Region. Each of these authorities should now be preparing a city, town or village plan. Those who do so can obtain from us all the information needed to fit in their local plan with the Regional Plan. Nothing is to be gained by waiting until the Regional Plan is pub

"How many of you folks know where your nose is? All right, we'll see. With your left hand take hold of your nose and with your right hand take hold of your ear. When I clap my hands and say 'change' take hold of your right ear with your left hand and with your right hand catch hold of your nose. All right. Ready. Go! (Clap.) Change! (Clap.) Change!

Such grabbing! Such laughing! Such funny places for people to be clutching for their noses. Is it possible that fifty farm women do not know where their noses are? Certainly at home these women would have no difficulty locating their noses but when the recreational leader in a county camp for rural women gets them grabbing, that's different. Everything is different in camp. You can grab for your nose and miss it, yet no one thinks you silly, for everyone else is doing the same thing.

The game period is just getting started but already the ice has been broken, and these fifty farm women from over the county can never be quite strangers again.

The next few minutes are spent in learning a motion song to the tune of Yankee Doodle. "Oh, Chest-er (hands on chest), have you heard

(hand on ear) about Harry? (hand on hair). He's just got back from the army (hand on back and fold arms and rock them).

I (hand on eye) hear (hand on ear) he knows (hand on nose) where to wear a rose (hand on button hole). Hip! Hip! (slap hips) Hurrah! for the Army! (fold and rock arms as before).”

Easily they catch the words; the motions "not so good." There is much excited waving and foolish gesturing. No two are suiting alike the action to the word. Laughing is the only thing they are doing in unison.

Having finished the song, the leader brings out some bean bags. They are thrown helter-skelter; some are caught but many more are missed. Half

Awarded honorable mention in Survey-Harmon Recreation Article award.

of the women are working desperately to defeat the other half, in a relay game. One side is sure to win; but the winning is nothing; the fun is in playing together.

The Victor Portable is opened up and made secure on an old tree stump. The women quickly get partners and in a short time the Kinderpolka is being danced by fifty of the most frolicsome children you ever saw. Farm women, fat and forty, dancing folk dances? Certainly they do in camp. Why not?

When the dance is finished, many of the women crowd around the leader. As if by magic, little note books or scraps of paper, and stubby pencils are whisked from the recesses of knicker pockets. The leader is a target for a volley of questions:

"What's the name of that record? And its number? Couldn't that be used at our Farm Bureau picnic?"

"Have you any other folk dance records? We need something of this kind at Grange."

"How could I change that bean bag game so it could be used at my Club meeting, it would have to be inside you know."

There has been no lecture on games. Through participating they have caught the fun of playing. A rest period follows. While there is not much resting done, there is much freedom. The Public Library in the county seat has loaned some books. Some are taking down names and publishers; others are looking through volumes new to them. There, under a tree, is a small group reading aloud; having a lot of fun with Paul Bunyan. For some nothing is so restful as visiting. Here are two hard at it.

"I live in a village," one is saying, "Smith's Corners, and I came to camp because my sister, who lives on a farm, urged me to. But I don't know much about camping. How did this start, and who is responsible for it?"

"I guess we're all 'green' at camping," the second camper replies. "It's a new thing for women. This is the first one ever held in this county. You see it all started a year ago at the 4-H Club

Camp. About six of us leaders had been in camp to help with the boys and girls. The last day when camp was breaking, the county agent, Mr. Smith, said, 'It seems a shame we can't run this camp for more than a week. Here we're all set up and it was a big job, seems to me we ought to get more out of this equipment before we take it down.'

"Mrs. Graham was there, you know how full of pep she is well, she said right off to Mr. Smith, 'You might have a camp for your club leaders.'

"Mr. Smith laughed and said, 'Well, I don't know as we could restrict it to leaders but we might have a camp for women. There was one camp for women in Ohio last summer and it was very successful, too.'

"A camp for women! That was news to us, and we quizzed and questioned Mr. Smith until he finally said he didn't know much about a camp for women since he'd never been in one. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Did you go to the institute held in that new consolidated school in your township?"

"No," replies the villager. "You see I was sick most of the winter and didn't get out much. That's why my sister urged me to come, she thought it would do me good."

"Well, Mr. Smith got the agent from that county where they had had a camp, to come to institute," continued the club leader. "He talked to us about his camp and how fine it was until we got so enthusiastic about one that we didn't give Mr. Smith any rest until he appointed a camp committee.

"Then he kept us interested by sending out letters from his office, telling what a good time we could have, how it would be our camp and we could do as we pleased for it would be up to us to make it go."

The leader's shrill whistle announcing the next period ends the conversation. On this, it's second day, the camp for farm women in this county is getting nicely under way. What do they do next? Half of them trail behind the nature study man, gone off to learn of bugs, snakes, weeds, flowers, birds and trees. The man who leads the way is a veritable wizard who apparently has the power of transmuting the most common things of the woods into the most beautiful. Earnestly he im- ' plores his followers never to allow themselves to become blind to the beauties of nature all about them.

The other group takes instruction in basketry

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a basket. Visiting goes on the while and the instruction is most informally given.

The dinner call brings them speedily to the large dining tent, where there is awaiting them quantities of food. How campers do eat!

Before the campers have finished eating, the song leader takes charge. Then there are songs greeting the visitors of the day, if any are present, or the diners join lustily in, “Oh, When We Are Together How Happy Are WE." Very often the younger campers take opportunity to introduce the older ones to some of the newer selections such as the state song, "What Did Dela Wear, Boys?" or "Abie, my Boy."

When the singing is finished the agent takes opportunity to introduce his camp committee. He explains to the campers that these women have worked faithfully for weeks doing the "personal work" he could not do. They have secured advance registrations; have done all kinds of advertising; they have helped formulate the camp program; and they are doing much to relieve him. of responsibility and detail work now that the camp is in full swing. "This is in every sense of the word your camp, not mine; and this committee is to be commended for its faithful work in bringing it about."

He finishes his announcements, and there is a rousing song for the agent and for the committee.

The time right after dinner is usually devoted to conferences, committee meetings and rehearsals of various kinds. Right now there is a group of ten or twelve women stealing quietly out of sight. It's a delegation of the Flappers (this name the group voted to adopt for the camp week). They have charge of the camp fire and they have gone off to "cook up" some original entertainment.

Here in the shade of a lordly oak is another but smaller group. They belong to the Dumbells and are in charge of the vesper service. Intently they pour over a thumb-worn Bible and a battered hymn book which is somewhat the worse for "the evening dews and damps."

From a secluded nook on the other side of the dining tent come the strains of the Minuet. The recreational leader is teaching the steps of the minuet to a small group and before camp is over they will demonstrate this stately dance of long ago.

From up the creek faintly echoes the "Canadian Boat Song." The Dumbells are getting ready a little stunt for camp fire tomorrow evening, when they have charge.

of the most important of the entire day, for the women are promoting their own entertainment. They are combing their ranks for people who can do things. Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Jones have agreed to sing a duet at vespers. Mrs. Black and Mrs. Johnson with the help of a few others will put on a stunt at camp fire. In the words of the women themselves, "they are getting ready to be in something."

There is an assembly hour in the afternoon. The women are entertained by an artist who sketches as she emphasizes the need for an appreciation and love of art.

Following this, the campers hurry away to get into their bathing suits. Yes, sir! Mother in a bathing suit! There is some shyness about going into the water, but mother has a new suit so she must go in.

Mrs. Wilson is talking to a group congregated on the banks of the creek. "Yes, I got new knickers and a new bathing suit before I come, but I hadn't had either one on until this morning. You know how it is, I ain't used to knickers and I had a dress to wear,-but this morning I got a letter from my sixteen-year-old daughter and she said, 'Ma, we've got a bet up that you won't put on your knickers or your bathing suit all the time you're in camp.' They are a goin' to lose that bet. I got my knickers out right then and I've had 'em on all day. And now I'm goin' in the water and I want somebody to take my picture so I can prove to 'em I was in."

Here comes Mrs. Brown down to the bank to join the group. As she approaches she calls out, "Do I act shy? I never owned a suit in my life before. I got this in town Saturday, and Sunday I put it on and paraded around before my husband and the family so I wouldn't feel so awkward in it, and the last thing Bill, my seventeenyear-old boy, said was, "Ma, don't you dare come back without goin' in swimmin'." So I just got to go in." Then the call, "Everybody in." The life savers and the swimming teachers work as they have never worked before. Fat and forty learning to swim is different from fat and forty learning to folk dance.

There is just time to get out of the water, get dressed and rested a bit before the supper call. And after that comes the vesper service when the women trail off to a quiet spot removed from the camp and its activities.

Vespers over, the women by the aid of flashlights find their way to the camp fire. A well

match. Blankets and cushions are spread out and the campers with a mere suggestion of weariness, arrange themselves in a circle. The fire leaps up and they see each other vaguely and in shadow.

During the singing and the storytelling, the Flappers have been quietly scurrying about until most of them are congregated behind an improvised curtain, which is somebody's perfectly good double blanket. They announce themselves by coming from behind the curtain and singing a group song followed by the sign of the order-the sign being a flapping of wings. The blanket curtain is drawn aside and there is just time enough to make out several bales of straw, blanket-draped, supporting a Victor Portable, when the Flapperin-Charge appears. She announces that this machine is a flapper invention which has the power of transforming one into any kind or type of woman she might wish to be. She then invites any who would like to be changed to come forward. An old woman in shabby dress and sunbonnet steps up and begs to be made young and of good form, so that she may wear knickers. She is placed behind the bales of straw and as the crank of the Victor turns she is gradually lowered out of sight. Instantly from the right steps out a well built women in knickers; her white hair is bobbed and a spot of rouge shows on each cheek. Some transformation! The next applicant is a shy bowlegged flapper who awkwardly edges her way forward. She asks a great deal; she desires to become an esthetic dancer. Slowly she is put through the machine and out comes a dancing girl in short skirts, rolled hose 'n' everything. Business is picking up. Immediately a pair of large over-weight flappers appear and ask to be transformed together since they are twins. The machine is being put to a real test. The two are put in and with some difficulty, suggesting rheumatic knees, they are lowered at last. Quickly there step out two bathing beauties, sleek and lithe of form.

The crowd shrieks with laughter. It takes up the custom of the junior campers and cries, "How, How," and there is vigorous hand clapping. The machine has proved its worth and the Flappers have demonstrated their ability for making a little fun. Fifty farm women are entertaining themselves and they are getting a lot of "kick" out of it.

Amateur dramatics carried on by women, some of whom haven't had a vacation in years. Mrs. Nelson who has just now been the Flapper-inCharge, says this is her first real vacation in thirty