Chapter II

Six months rolled by; Flo earned her wonted wages,
The family consumed its usual food.
Had nothing changed I’d not have penned these pages;
But evil generally brings forth good;
Briefly I’d have it to be understood
One day a pavement-preacher’s casual sentence
Hurled Flo into abysses of repentance.

So the sky fell; there came a hand of fire
That seared her soul with consciousness of sin,
Her soul was all one yearning of desire
For God; she felt like jumping from her skin;
Like hell in a through-draught she burnt within.
“Mother,” she said, “here is my this week’s sub.,
I cannot go on working at the pub.”

The mother swooned; the children joined in prayer
That Flo should not decide in such a fast time;
But the fierce heavens cried beer was a snare
And skittles was a most immoral pastime;
So that that evening for the very last time
She washed the pots and locked the “Fountain” door,
As she had done so many nights before.

Next day she went out early without warning
Down the wan street; and later in the day,
That is to say well on into the morning,
She sent a District Messenger to say
That she had definitely gone away
To join the Battersea Salvation Army.
“Swipe me,” her mother moaned, “the gal’s gone barmy.”

Barmy or not, she certainly had gone.
In her low attic poor old mother wep,
“She kep the home up, little Florence done,
We was so happy in the home she kep;
’Twas mean of her to hook it while we slep;
I’ll larn her yet to take me by surprise,
I’ll do her in, ---- ’er ---- eyes!”

But Flo was meanwhile getting fur and furder.
Safe in the barracks in the Bilsey Road,
Aching to make atonement for her murder,
She said she wished to take up her abode
There permanently; stabbed by her inner goad,
She very quickly rose to the direction
Of her new comrades’ Social Effort Section.

She visited the mothers in the slums,
And daily rescued suicidal wretches,
She helped the young with their addition sums,
And washed the infants’ clothes and mended breeches;
And when she broke a plate or dropped some stitches,
None ever heard a hasty word from Flo,
The most she ever said was, “Here’s a go!”

Work or no work, her heart was always merry,
Heaven had washed her heart and cleansed her eyes,
Adjutant Flo, the Barmaid Missionary,
Was the adored of every sex and size,
They said that she had strayed from Paradise,
And every week her saintly reputation
Led many sinning souls to seek salvation.

Death laughed; Life winced; for in the neighbouring borough
Old mother dwelt and bided her own hour,
Whetting a carving-knife with motions thorough,
Practising stabs of accuracy and power.
The scythe must fall, and then must fall the flower,
The day must die and then must sink the sun,
And all things end that ever have begun.