132 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



December, 1918 



gene lay there, still, with a little smile on his lips 

 as befits a sailor of France, as if understanding 

 and grateful. Perhaps he was. Who knows? 



The florists have adopted the appealing slogan: 

 "Say it with Flowers." I like to remember that 

 Eugene's American comrades said with flowers all 

 that their hearts felt, but which they had no 

 power to say — sympathy, sorrow, tenderness, 

 regret, appreciation, that's what those boys were 

 feeling and beautifully expressing as they laid 

 their flowers on the dead boy's bier. 



ONE of my most treasured possessions is a 

 thin little book, bound in faded blue, with 

 the words "Floral Dictionary" on the cover in 

 letters of tarnished gold. My father, who loved 

 flowers and trees more dearly than people, com- 

 piled it when he was no older than the little French 

 sailor, Eugene, whose story I have just told. 

 Quaint interpretations of the symbolism of flow- 

 ers, interspersed with bits of poetry, fill its few 

 pages. I find here, for instance, that the Blue 

 Canterbury Bell means "Con- 

 stancy"; the Hawthorn, "Hope, 

 I thee invoke"; the Trumpet 

 Honeysuckle, "I have dreams of 

 thee"; the Sunflower, "Smile on 

 me still" — and I smile, too, re- 

 membering that this was compiled 

 in the long-ago days when young 

 gentlemen wore shawls instead of 

 overcoats; when young ladies were 

 picturesque in crinoline and flow- 

 ers; when serenades and romantic 

 verses were part of every lover's 

 siege of courtship. But at the 

 end of the little volume there is 

 a couplet, time-spotted on the 

 yellowing paper: 



"All the token flowers can tell 

 What words can never speak 

 so well." 



In that simple bit of rhyme we 

 see the precursor of the more crisp 

 and expressive, " Say it with Flow- 

 ers," but the feeling and the sin- 

 cerity of the sentiment have not 

 changed, in spite of all the years 

 that have gone since that faded 

 little blue book was placed, new 

 printed and bright, in its young 

 writer's hands. 



This has been proven many 

 times over by the response of the 

 boys when the flowers are brought 

 to them. Most of these boys come 

 from homes, real homes, just like 

 yours and mine. They crave the home atmosphere, 

 the little feminine touches that Mother and Sister 

 and Aunt Mary gave. And the unhurried friendly 

 manner of the Flower Ladies, coming into the hos- 

 pital ward in their prettiest frocks — for the boys 

 like it specially when their visitors wear pretty soft 

 frocks with laces and frills — and fussing aboutwith 

 the little vases, brings something of real homelike 

 feeling into the bareness and dreariness of the 

 hospital — and no matter how efficient and fine a 

 hospital may be, it is always bare and drear. It 

 is this friendly home feeling that makes it easy 

 for the boys to talk to the Flower Ladies. Pic- 

 tures of the real home-folks are brought out from 

 beneath pillows and proudly displayed. Con- 

 fidences are given, and sometimes small special 

 services are asked. "Could you buy a present 

 for me to send my mother on her birthday? I've 

 been saving my pay and I intended to get her 

 something fine and dandy, but here I am laid up." 

 Could anyone withstand a plea to buy a soldier's 

 mother a "fine and dandy" birthday present? 



As for the convalescents, they too ask for help 

 — I don't mean material help, but advice and 

 direction. "I'm going to get out of here to- 

 morrow and I don't know where to go. Could 

 you tell me some place? My home's in Oregon, 



and I don't know a thing about New York." 

 The Flower Ladies are well equipped to answer 

 questions like this. No one can estimate the 

 value of these friendly conversations and these 

 special services. 



And here are some extracts from letters writ- 

 ten straight from the hearts of grateful boys, 

 telling in their own way what the Flower Ladies 

 mean to them. 



Were it but possible for you to be here and listen to the remarks 

 with which your flowers are received by the fellows. 



My little "Thank you" embodies the sentiment of seventy-five 

 appreciative boys, and my regret is that each one cannot tell you as 

 he would wish to. 



Be quite sure, Mrs. Curtin, we very sincerely regard you as one 

 who loves us and for whom we retain our highest regards. 



Just a few lines of thanks from the sailors to show our appreciation 

 for your thoughtfulness in sending us the splendid bunch of flowers 

 which reached us in good condition. We have them in a large vase 

 in the sun parlor and they sure make the room look cheery. 



I want to express my sincere appreciation for the many kindnesses 

 received through you from the above association, and want them to 

 know how the fresh flowers constantly at my bedside made my con- 

 valescence easier. 



In speaking this way I know I'm voicing the feeling of all the men 

 who have the slightest appreciation for beautiful things, which is 

 about ninety-nine per cent, while con6ned to the hospital. 



I did not intend to do anything in the article 

 but tell of the Flower Ladies and their work, but 

 I cannot help asking you, dear gentle readers, if 

 by chance you haven't a bushel of apples in the 

 fruit cellar that you don't need, or if you couldn't 

 share a jar or so of your jams with the boys who 

 have shared their lives with you? 



One day last fall some friend from the country 

 brought in a great box of specially fine apples to 

 the N. L. W. S. Headquarters, at 257 Madison 

 Avenue, New York City (yes, I put that address 

 there intentionally) and they were promptly 

 taken to a hospital where there chanced to be a 

 number of Minnesota boys. You doubtless 

 know that Minnesota raises much splendid fruit, 

 so you may be sure those boys know what good 

 apples are. And the way they fell on those big 

 rosy New York apples and devoured them and 

 enjoyed them — well, the Head Nurse in charge 

 of that hospital pronounced that fruit the best 

 tonic that had been between their four walls for 

 many a long day. So if you have any apples 

 that you don't know what to do 

 with, or any pears either, this little 

 story may serve as a suggestion. 



As for the jams and jellies — 

 please remember that Christmas is 

 very near and that we all hanker 

 for something a little festive to eat 

 during the holiday season. It goes 

 with the time. In your store room 

 there may be a jar of cherries, 

 a glass or two of grape jelly, or 

 raspberry jam which would 

 give a bit of Chritsmas cheer 

 to the Christmas dinnerof a sick or 

 wounded boy, far from home. If 

 you are one of these incredible peo- 

 ple who haven't a store room to go 

 to, you can at least make a few 

 glasses of orange or grapefruit mar- 

 malade, and send them in, all fresh 

 and golden and fruity. It's the 

 easiest thing in the world to make 

 and I'll send my own recipe, that 

 never fails, if you haven't one of 

 your own. The expense is negligi- 

 ble — for a dollar you can make at 

 least a dozen glasses of the delicious 

 stuff. And the Flower Ladies will 

 gladly deliver it to the hospitals — 

 and the boys are guaranteed to 

 do t-he rest. 



In the wholesale florists' district of New York City there 

 are daily gifts of flowers for sailors and soldiers in the hospitals. 

 The National League for Woman's Service collects and dis- 

 tributes them 



Friday when you come will you please bring me a bunch of long 

 stem flowers for Miss Johnson, which was our nurse, but she left. 

 She is that little fat woman you uste (sic) see when you were here 

 Fridays. 



Will close now, hoping to see you Friday. 



CO FAR I have spoken of nothing but the 

 ^ flowers that are taken to the hospitals, and 

 they are, indeed, the chief thing — with all that 

 goes with them of good feeling and good cheer. 

 But the Flower Ladies undertake also to distrib- 

 ute fruit, and tempting jellies and jams that give 

 justthe right fillip to flagging appetites. People 

 who know of this send in barrels of apples — but 

 never enough — and endless jars of sweets — but 

 never enough of these, either. Almost everyone 

 who has a well-filled preserve closet — and few 

 of us have not in these Hooverish days — but can 

 spare a jar or two for a sick soldier or sailor. A 

 little taste of orange marmalade, or a spoonful of 

 preserved strawberries, may make all the differ- 

 ence in the world in a meal. Even the best hos- 

 pital fare is uninteresting and monotonous. 

 Or if you wish to "Say it with Flowers" you 

 can go to the local flower shop and have the 

 order telegraphed to the Correspondent member 

 of the Florists' Telegraph Delivery Association 

 in the town where the fresh flowers are to be 

 delivered. 



© Underwood 

 & Underwood 



AS I said, I intended to write 

 ■**■ thus article merely as a chron- 

 icle of a fine idea, finely achieved, 

 but it is so strongly borne in on me 

 that this particular form of service is one in which 

 all women can easily join, and in which they are sure 

 to take special pleasure, that I cannot help mak- 

 ing the suggestion that they do so. It is just that 

 small added modicum of beauty and sweetness 

 which every true woman finds so satisfying to give. 

 When,inAugust i9i4,theBelgians soldierswent 

 forward to the heroic defense of their home-land 

 the girls of the city ran out to them and gave 

 them Roses, which they gaily stuck in their gun 

 barrels, and as gaily went on to certain death. 

 When Pershing's troops first marched through 

 Paris the women of Paris ran smiling and sobbing 

 beside them and forced flowers into their hands, 

 which the boys twisted into the cords of their 

 campaign hats, or twisted into the buttonholes 

 of their tunics. [And then they marched on to fight 

 beside the sons and husbands and brothers of the 

 flower-giving women. So there is a special fitness 

 that flowers and yet more flowers should be given 

 to the heroes who have come back to us, broken in 

 battle, to be nursed to life and health again. I 

 quote again from my little blue book — compiled 

 before the day when its writer enlisted in 1861 to 

 fight, as have our legions of to-day, for freedom: 

 "The humblest of God's flowers, made by His art, 

 More tenderly than man, speaks to the heart." 



