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Updated: May 9, 2025
It was the old Margaret, radiant with the new wonder of love, fragrant with the night-air of the Sahara which surrounded them. The war and its demands were wiped out; the world was back again to the fair free days which knew neither hate nor fear. Nearly four months had passed and Margaret was still a pantry-maid in the same private hospital.
She was only one of the many girls in London in the various homes and hospitals who were drudging with aching limbs and loyal hearts from morning until night. She preferred being pantry-maid to lift-maid, which was the only other post in the house which she had been offered.
Let's drive to a little garden-square close to my hospital we can dismiss the taxi there and talk until I have to go in that's to say, if you are free to come." "Are you nursing?" he said. His eyes looked questioningly at her blue uniform. "No, not yet I'm a pantry-maid." "A what?" he said, laughingly. "You're a darling!"
The excitement and the daily-accumulating list of horrors which shocked the unsuspecting people of England during the first few months of the war, must be vividly in the reader's thoughts while he pictures Margaret in her life as a pantry-maid, a physically-weary pantry-maid, in a vast house in London which had been converted into a hospital.
The clock over the archway had subconsciously reminded her that she was, after all, a pantry-maid in a hospital full of wounded soldiers; that the soldier by her side was a part and portion of the great war; that war, not love, ruled the world; this interlude had been stolen from the God of Battles. "Time's flying, dearest," she said. "I've less than one more hour.
Which was real her humdrum pantry-maid existence in London, with her dreary walks through darkened streets, with now and then a Zeppelin scare to make her lonely bedroom seem more lonely?
She had almost envied the personal anxiety of those who had their dearest at the Front. Having no right to indulge in personal troubles which were entirely outside the subject of the war and the world's welfare, she had ceased to have any existence at all outside her dull duties as pantry-maid.
She wished that she would not talk to her; she felt afraid of her own answers. "No, I'm not nursing I'm a pantry-maid in a private convalescent hospital." "Well, I never!" the girl said; she was not ignorant of Margaret's good breeding. "Do you like the work?" "It's very like your work, I suppose. I never stop to think about whether I like it or not.
Michael felt great pity for him, that his last few weeks on earth should be so saddened; even though he was convinced that this agony was to be for the final triumph of Islam, it was tearing at his bowels of compassion. His gentle nature was suffering for the children whom Allah now saw fit to punish. The war was six months old and Margaret was still a pantry-maid in the private hospital in St.
In this work a parlor maid assists him by sweeping and dusting, and a pantry-maid helps him by keeping everything immaculate and in readiness in the pantry. The butler serves at breakfast, luncheon and dinner. Where there is a second-man, he may assist the butler with the serving at dinner; and at large entertainments the maid who assists in the pantry may also be requested to serve.
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