We always hope for the May - the sweet-smelling, daintily clustered blossoms on the whitethorn - to be out at “White-week,” and this year we are not disappointed, although most trees and hedges are only just coming into flower. Nor has the horse-chestnut failed us; the handsome flower-spikes rise firmly erect whether the broad-fingered leaves beneath spread wide in the sunshine or droop in rain or chilly wind. The pink apple blossoms, as full and beautiful as ever this year, save the orchards from showing the waste of the season, for the plums and pears have showered their whiter petals upon the grass below. The lilacs in the cottage gardens are in grand flower, whilst pansies enrich the carefully tended borders. It is just what we want for holiday-time, and want more than ever this year - flowery May.
On Saturday, an ideal evening, a company of Manchester boys marched into camp. On Sunday, when the sun-heat was tempered by a fresh breeze, we looked out over a beautiful Cheshire mere and miles of well-wooded country to the blue grey-hills of the Derbyshire border. Early khaki-clad visitors, old boys, reminded us that many of our former companions were camping where there was little time to think of nature’s beauty, but the younger-generation will be all the better fitted for work - much of it Government work - by the country holiday. The discipline and training of clubs and camps has been invaluable. Let those who doubt it ask the drill instructors.
