THE LANDSWOMAN
October, 19 19
Harvest Competitions
Fir st Prize
The Story of a Cornfield in Time or Harvest
VERYTHI.:'lG seemed very gay and happy ns I was walking
lout one evonmg in August, t he trees and Jledgcs seemed to
be filled with happine..<>s, with tbe constant tWitter of the birds,
and the air scented with the little wild flowers which grow on
Ut~> banks and el;oewbere. .\sI walked along I came w a small
hill and I stopped on the top of_ it an~ looked aro~d me t.o see
more of this litUe country plnoe m wh1ch I am staymg.
The sun was giving her golden light over everything, which
made it more beautiful than eYer; but there wns one oortain
spot which I could not take my eyes off-ii looked like a field
of shining gold-so I thought I would go to thnt field and see
what 11. really ' \'A!;. coming down the side of the hill I found
1 was close upon it. I then entered the field and to my great
... urprise found it a beautiful fleld of corn. Evidently the reapers
hnd been busy working In it on that day, for the!'(' were neat
little bundles of the corn lying upon the ground, and some of
the bundles wel"f} standing up against one another, and formed
what are called s hocks. There was some of the corn Also not
cut, which I expect the reapers were unable to manl\ge In one
or two days, but left to be cut on the following day.
The sun had now almost gone down, and the evening clouds
were moving quickly over the sky, but I still continued walking
round thiJI beaut1ful cornfield, which I thought was the prettiest
p1cture I hnd ever seen. I also notiood there WM not only corn
m this fl.eld, but all colOUI'$ of pretty wlld flowers, some of
wh1rh I picked, t.o remind me of this most beautiful field which
I ~-.aw at the top ot the little hill in this httle country plaoo In
Enltland.
I wished I could have taken a photograph of this pretty harvest
field RO thAt I could .havo show n it to friends and to anyone else
who had never bad a chance to como to the country to go for
:~ walk in the evening to see everything looking gay and happy ;
also the little wild 1lowers rowing on the bankS and fields, Uke
1 d1d one eYening in Augw .
K HBREDGE, Oxon.
E
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Second Prize
Three Pictures of Harvest
UOL D EN aea. stretching m undulating waves to where it
melts into the mist of early morning sky.
It is SundAy. The tinkling boll of the llttle church is calling
r.leepy folk to oome and worship.
There is a sermon lying hero at my feet. Eaeh golden stem
a separntu life, each life part of ono great whole. A sem1on
tellin~ of love, patience, toil, and of something, too deep and
mystic t.o be understood, only to be dlmly felt. Motionless,
I stand lost In wonder.
Now there 1s a stir, as of a congrega~ion r ising to a hymn.
A little breeze has floated over the hill top, and the golden sea
a thrilling with whispered music. Over the feathery waves
the breeze is playing, caatlng light and shade of sound, while
tb~ golden bends bond and sway to the rhythm. . .
A
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The tleld Is shorn of its glory. It llll8 given oi its best,
full
measure, wlthout stint.
Here and thoro the women and children are still gleaning;
and the last high load, topped by a roystering crew of harvesters,
has just paseed through the gate.
The farmor walks across the stubble with a satisfied heart.
It fa a good crop, exceptionally good, and, well, there will be
a good s upper presently for all who have helped to bring it
safely In, and lusty voices will do their beet to rnlso the roof
of the old farm kitchen In the singing of "Ha rvest Homo."
...
. . .
Oooo again the little bell is cal.linR to p raye r, though lt is not
Sunday. It hD.a a special sound this evening, quite different
t.o its solemn, ID6&sured Sunday tone. There fs a cheery,
holiday ring about it, in keeping with t he bedecked chattering
little crowd whlch is streaming aeross the green and through
tbl' old lycb gate.
Even inside the church there ia a stir. I t la as though a
~pirit were presen t, the SpirJt of Hope and Thankfulness,
pasalng with soft-beating wings between t he stone arches of
the old building.
On entering, the gloom Is at first so great that you can senroel~·
datingw.sh a11ything. Then, ns the lamps sprmg ".P· you become
a ware of rows of shining rosy-cheeked apples lirung the aisle:.,
ol windowa wreat11ed In the spoils of the earth, of tall whit(>
lilies on the altar, breathing out incense of purity and sweetne~~.
of dusky grapJs, and velvet l)l!aehes, and there, at the chanCl'l
steps, the greo.teat gut of all, sheaves of the golden wheat that
not so many Sundays since waa blowing In t he breeze. This is
t he last FOO ll~' of the pageant of Harvest, the last and greate;;t.
And tho Spmt, wblcti all through the service has been hovering
.z .z6
round, soars right away, carrying our hl'lat t.s with it ns togetl•"'
we sing-
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" All good gilt:s around us are sent from Henven above
Then thank the Lord, 0 thl\nk the Lord, for all His love.•·
1\1. l l. WOOLNOTH, Buok,.
Third Prize
J N the cool of an August evening, when the sun, which nil dtly
hl\d been blnzing t'd own remorselessly on workers and Idler..
alike, had, f\\pp.'\rently with a sellliO of d uty well done at ta t
~een fit to bury his race in a billowy cloud, o.nd thence to rot! s
behind the mystic curtain of the horizon, the Land Girlstarte~
off with her bicycle for a refreshing spin along the country
lanes after the heat and toll of the day .
For some distance she rode steadily nnd t houghtfully th
Intricacies of the path demanding nU her atten tion • t hen°
coming nt length upon the open road, she took off he r hat and
swung it by the chin-strap to her handlo-bnr, perroltting th
fresh 'breezes to fan her glowing cheeks and r u mo the ' "bobbed 2
curls.
Rer goal was a clump of trolls ou the summit of a hill a bout
three mili's from the farm, and hnvlng gained t his vantage.
ground, she alighted and, leaning her machine against a tree
gave herself up entirely to an enraptured survey of t he scene
around her. A living chess-board lay stretched out at he r feet
-a field or waving corn, another of clover, a nother shorn of Its
grain, and many who~ shooks of wheat or barley proclaimed
that the harvest wns ripe and ready for gathering.
Fields of every size and shape and colou r, each with Its
dividing hedge or wattle fen~ formed!. as it we re, a patchwork
quilt over the faee or Mother E artb. .tte re a nd there the gaunt
and weird outlines of a harvest maehine might be d iscerned .
but these were motionless now and bereft of hands to gujde and
horses to draw them, but not for long. When another night
should have come and gone, and all life re-awaken with the
dawn of to-morrow, then all would be bustle and whlrl and steady
laborious toil till the plen tiful gifts of God should be safely
stored away.
From the fullness of her heart the Land Girl gave thanks tor
her priceless gift.s of a sound mind a nd a healt hy body. She
rejoiced that the power was hers to see and enjoy the gold and
green and brown of the land, and t he blue and purple and crimson
of tlle sky-to listen to the sound of the wi nd in the t rees the
rustling of the waving corni a nd t he last faint chirP& of the
birds as they wen t to rest. t was as if all the countfess forms
of life around her were offering up an evening prayer of thanb-
g!ving to God for Hls great goodness, and the words of the well·
known harvest hymn came baek to the girl with redoubled
force : -" We plough the fields a nd scat ter the good seed on t he
land, but it is fed nnd watered by God'8 almighty ho.nd."
J,. M. BARRE'IT.
Harvest Home
D
ANGLING above our heads h ung oanopiea
Of whispering elms and rustling poplar treea;
Near us t he water of the sacred well
Dropped fro m the Nymph's cave, tinkli ng as it fell r
On every twig in shadow sat with glee
The s unburnt crickets, chat tering busily;
And murmuring afar off in solitude,
Bowered in t he deep thorn-brake the turtle cooed.
All rich delight and luxury were there ;
Larks and bright finches singing in the air;
The br own bees flying round about the well ;
The ring do ve moaning; everywhere the smell
Of opulent sum mer and of riponing.tide:
Pears at our feet and apples at our side
Rolling in plenteousness ; in piles around,
Branches, with damsons burdening the ground,
Strewn for our feast. . . .
THEOCRITUS.
W ALTER HEADLAM.
Tra.ns. by
(A Book of Greek Verse 1
Cambridge Univeraity Preu .)
Harvest Photographs
First Prize, :.\[. ~altt'r.
Prize, D. W • .\lien .
Second Prize,
r.. L.
'ro.ylor.
Third
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