birthday; I think。 I made the cake myself; and wish you many
happy returns of the day。 Dont eat it if it is not good。 Mother
hopes you will e and see us when you are near enough。
〃I am
〃Your Sincere Friend;
〃Ursula Brangwen。〃
It bored her to write a letter even to him。 After all;
writing words on paper had nothing to do with him and her。
The fine weather had set in; the cutting machine went on from
dawn till sunset; chattering round the fields。 She heard from
Skrebensky; he too was on duty in the country; on Salisbury
Plain。 He was now a second lieutenant in a Field Troop。 He would
have a few days off shortly; and would e to the Marsh for the
wedding。
Fred Brangwen was going to marry a schoolmistress out of
Ilkeston as soon as corn…harvest was at an end。
The dim blue…and…gold of a hot; sweet autumn saw the close of
the corn…harvest。 To Ursula; it was as if the world had opened
its softest purest flower; its chicory flower; its meadow
saffron。 The sky was blue and sweet; the yellow leaves down the
lane seemed like free; wandering flowers as they chittered round
the feet; making a keen; poignant; almost unbearable music to
her heart。 And the scents of autumn were like a summer madness
to her。 She fled away from the little; purple…red
button…chrysanthemums like a frightened dryad; the bright yellow
little chrysanthemums smelled so strong; her feet seemed to
dither in a drunken dance。
Then her Uncle Tom appeared; always like the cynical Bacchus
in the picture。 He would have a jolly wedding; a harvest supper
and a wedding feast in one: a tent in the home close; and a band
for dancing; and a great feast out of doors。
Fred demurred; but Tom must be satisfied。 Also Laura; a
handsome; clever girl; the bride; she also must have a great and
jolly feast。 It appealed to her educated sense。 She had been to
Salisbury Training College; knew folk…songs and
morris…dancing。
So the preparations were begun; directed by Tom Brangwen。 A
marquee was set up on the home close; two large bonfires were