"Good As A Boarding-School And You Don't Have To Pay"

New Zealand Listener, Volume 7, Issue 180, 4 December 1942, Page 12

"Good As A Boarding-School And You Don't Have To Pay"

6¢ OOD as a boarding school, and you don’t have to pay for it,’ was Aunt Daisy’s comment at the conclusion of our tour of inspection of the new W.A.A.C, camp. "Wait till we get our new buildings completed," said the Disrict Commandant. "You’ll be even more impressed by it then." "Oh, it isn’t just the buildings," said Aunt Daisy. "It’s the girls and the staff and everything. They’re learning such a lot, and such useful things. Don’t you think it’s wonderful?" I agreed with Aunt Daisy that it was wonderful. Even the camp itself is not, in the manner of military camps, depressing. The buildings are stark, but there are marigolds planted round individual hutments, and though the camp is surrounded by gravel, it’s only a few steps to grassy slopes and bushy hillsides, It lies in a fold of the hills facing the sea, and it’s easy to look out beyond the uniformity of huts. and parade grounds to the hills behind or the sea in front, so that physically at least there can be none of that cooped-up feeling. Pioneer Spirit Certainly none of it was visible on the faces of any of the W.A.A.C.’s encountered on our tour of inspection. Our first introduction was to the clerical workers in the orderly room, The small hut in which they worked had plenty of windows, even though the walls were unlined, and on the raw clay of the bank opposite their open doorway two red rambler roses were beginning to climb. You felt that something of the spirit of New Zealand’s pioneer women was at work. a A little further on, this pioneering spirit was even more in evidence. A party of Waacs, under the leadership of their staff sergeant, were at work upon one of the hillsides. Already part of what had been waving grassland had been replaced by new ridges of brown earth, the promise for the future being provided by labels from seed packets ‘impaled upon stakes at the end of the ridges. The girls stopped for a moment in their digging as our little party advanced, saluted smartly, answered our questions,

and then, scorning the opportunity of leaning on shovels while their StaffSergeant carried on a cofversation with Aunt Daisy, resumed their relentless pounding of the hitherto unharrowed soil, Good Meals From potential vegetable plots we progressed to the kitchen, where a corporal was supervising the mid-day meal, An appetising smell of curry filled the cook-house. "Curry for dinner?" I asked, "No, for lunch," explained the corporal. "We have dinner at night, and to-night’s roast beef and banana custard. For lunch we usually have soup and just one sort of hot dish. That’s one thing the girls like about being in camp — they always say they get good meals..And they’ve got good appetites, too." By this time, the official party was on its way to the Ablutionary Block, a gaunt building inherited from a previous motor camp, and with a regrettable tatio of showers over baths. The Camp Commandant confided to me that she much preferred baths, but that after all if you.were a bath rather than a shower fiend, you could indulge yourself when you went home on a weekend’s leave. Not Cosmetic-Conscious Then the sleeping huts. Three stretchers, two chests of drawers and one wardrobe made up the furniture. But there were sheets and pillow-cases on the beds, photos on the walls, and jars of foundation lotion and powder bowls on the top of the chests of drawers, "Though they seem to find less and less use for those things the longer they’re in camp," explained the Commandant. "On the first day they all have beautifully matt complexions, but as the weeks go on, we notice less and less powder and more and more freckles!" We picked our way along the gravel paths between the huts, past all the little beds of peas and beans, of nastur« tiums and marigolds, to the parade ground, where a class of n.c.o’s in battledress and boots were echoing "Squad right turn!" in fair imitation of the staff sergeant’s example. Beyond them in a (Continued on next page)

(Continued from previous page) grassy glade, other Waacs in brief sunsuits and bare feet were learning a Danish folk dance, under the guidance of an officer lent by the Physical Welfare Department. And on our way back to the Commandant’s office we passed the six girls we had watched earlier at the digging, this time lining up, fully equipped, for a period of routine drill and marching. Army Routine "Which Waacs come to this camp?" I asked the Commandant. "All North Island girls who join up," said the Commandant. "Up to now, the girls haven’t always been able to go into a camp-many of them have begun straight away on their clerical jobs and mess duties. But we think every girl who joins up whether she needs specialist army training or not, should come here for her first six weeks. She’s got to learn something of army ways and army discipline I suppose you could call it being ‘licked into shape.’ " I looked through the timetables. Squad drill, map-reading, recreational training, field craft, signalling instruction, and a mysterious subject called Internal Economy ("doing their own washing and chores," explained the Commandant). "And I think that’s a wonderful idea," said Aunt Daisy, "not expecting the girls to do their washing in their free time. And all that physical education! So good for them! And such fun!" I agreed with Aunt Daisy. So did the Commandant. And so apparently did the six smiling and be-freckled Waacs who stood smartly to attention as we stepped into the car.

M.

I.