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Title: The Diary of a Provincial LadyAuthor: E M Delafield* A Project Gutenberg Australia eBook *eBook No.: 0800661h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: July 2008Date most recently updated: April 2017Project Gutenberg Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg Australia License which may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html
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ILLUSTRATIONS"Robert reads theTimes"CookMademoiselleThe Rector"Very, very distinguished novelist"The Vicar's WifeLady B."Can hear Robert's neighbour...telling him about her chilblains"VickyMrs. BlenkinsopHoward Fitzsimmons"He did it, she says, at the Zoo"Cousin MaudCissie CrabbeLady FrobisherThe Gardener"Schoolmaster and his wife talk to one another...across me""Elderly French couple with talkative friend"RoseRobinMiss PankertonJahsper
November 7th.—Plant the indoor bulbs. Just as I am in the middle ofthem, Lady Boxe calls. I say, untruthfully, how nice to see her, and beg her tosit down while I just finish the bulbs. Lady B. makes determined attempt to sitdown in armchair where I have already placed two bulb-bowls and the bag ofcharcoal, is headed off just in time, and takes the sofa.
Do I know, she asks, how very late it is for indoor bulbs? September,really, or even October, is the time. Do I know that the only really reliablefirm for hyacinths is Somebody of Haarlem? Cannot catch the name of the firm,which is Dutch, but reply Yes, I do know, but think it my duty to buy Empireproducts. Feel at the time, and still think, that this is an excellent reply.Unfortunately Vicky comes into the drawing-room later and says: "O Mummie, arethose the bulbs we got at Woolworths?"
Lady B. stays to tea. (Mem.: Bread-and-butter too thick. Speak toEthel.) We talk some more about bulbs, the Dutch School of Painting, ourVicar's wife, sciatica, andAll Quiet on the Western Front.
(Query: Is it possible to cultivate the art of conversation when living inthe country all the year round?)
Lady B. enquires after the children. Tell her that Robin—whom I refer to ina detached way as "the boy" so that she shan't think I am foolish about him—isgetting on fairly well at school, and that Mademoiselle says Vicky is startinga cold.
Do I realise, says Lady B., that the Cold Habit is entirely unnecessary, andcan be avoided by giving the child a nasal douche of salt-and-water everymorning before breakfast? Think of several rather tart and witty rejoinders tothis, but unfortunately not until Lady B.'s Bentley has taken her away.
Finish the bulbs and put them in the cellar. Feel that after all cellar isprobably draughty, change my mind, and take them all up to the attic.
Cook says something is wrong with the range.
November 8th.—Robert has looked at the range and says nothing wrongwhatever. Makes unoriginal suggestion about pulling out dampers. Cook veryangry, and will probably give notice. Try to propitiate her by saying that weare going to Bournemouth for Robin's half-term, and that will give thehousehold a rest. Cook replies austerely that they will take the opportunity todo some extra cleaning. Wish I could believe this was true.
Preparations for Bournemouth rather marred by discovering that Robert, inbringing down the suit-cases from the attic, has broken three of thebulb-bowls. Says he understood that I had put them in the cellar, and so wasn'texpecting them.
November 11th.—Bournemouth. Find that history, as usual, repeatsitself. Same hotel, same frenzied scurry round the school to find Robin, samecollection of parents, most of them also staying at the hotel. Discover strongtendency to exchange with fellow-parents exactly the same remarks as last year,and the year before that. Speak of this to Robert, who returns no answer.Perhaps he is afraid of repeating himself? This suggests Query: Does Robert,perhaps, take in what I say even when he makes no reply?
Find Robin looking thin, and speak to Matron who says brightly, Oh no, shethinks on the whole he's puton weight this term, and then begins totalk about the New Buildings. (Query: Why do all schools have to run up NewBuildings about once in every six months?)
Take Robin out. He eats several meals, and a good many sweets. He produces afriend, and we take both to Corfe Castle. The boys climb, Robert smokes insilence, and I sit about on stones. Overhear a woman remark, as she gazes up athalf a tower, that has withstood several centuries, that This looksfragile—which strikes me as a singular choice of adjective. Same woman,climbing over a block of solid masonry, points out that This has evidentlyfallen off somewhere.
Take the boys back to the hotel for dinner. Robin says, whilst the friend isout of hearing: "It's been nice for us, taking out Williams, hasn't it?"Hastily express appreciation of this privilege.
Robert takes the boys back after dinner, and I sit in hotel lounge withseveral other mothers and we all talk about our boys in tones of disparagement,and about one another's boys with great enthusiasm.
Am asked what I think ofHarriet Hume but am unable to say, as I havenot read it. Have a depressed feeling that this is going to be another case ofOrlando about which was perfectly able to talk most intelligently untilI read it, and found myself unfortunately unable to understand any of it.
Robert comes up very late and says he must have dropped asleep over theTimes. (Query: Why come to Bournemouth to do this?)
Postcard by the last post from Lady B. to ask if I have remembered thatthere is a Committee Meeting of the Women's Institute on the 14th. Should notdream of answering this.
November 12th.—Home yesterday and am struck, as so often before, byimmense accumulation of domestic disasters that always await one after anyabsence. Trouble with kitchen range has resulted in no hot water, also Cooksays the mutton hasgone, and will I speak to the butcher, there beingno excuse weather like this. Vicky's cold, unlike the mutton, hasn't gone.Mademoiselle says, "Ah, cette petite! Elle ne sera peut-être paslongtemps pour ce bas monde, madame." Hope that this is only her Latin way ofdramatising the situation.
Robert reads theTimes after dinner, and goes to sleep.
November 13th.—Interesting, but disconcerting, train of thoughtstarted by prolonged discussion with Vicky as to the existence or otherwise ofa locality which she refers to throughout as H.E.L. Am determined to be amodern parent, and assure her that there is not, never has been, and nevercould be, such a place. Vicky maintains that thereis, and refers me tothe Bible. I become more modern than ever, and tell her that theories ofeternal punishment were invented to frighten people. Vicky replies indignantlythat they don't frighten her in the least, shelikes to think aboutH.E.L. Feel that deadlock has been reached, and can only leave her to hersingular method of enjoying herself.
(Query: Are modern children going to revolt against being modern, and if so,what form will reaction of modern parents take?)
Much worried by letter from the Bank to say that my account is overdrawn tothe extent of Eight Pounds, four shillings, and fourpence. Cannot understandthis, as was convinced that I still had credit balance of Two Pounds, sevenshillings, and sixpence. Annoyed to find that my accounts, contents ofcash-box, and counterfoils in cheque-book, do not tally. (Mem.: Findenvelope on which I jotted down Bournemouth expenses, also little piece ofpaper (probably last leaf of grocer's book) with note about cash payment tosweep. This may clear things up.)
Take a look at bulb-bowls on returning suit-case to attic, and am inclinedto think it looks as though the cat had been up here. If so, this will be thelast straw. Shall tell Lady Boxe that I sent all my bulbs to a sick friend in anursing-home.
November 14th.—Arrival of Book of the Month choice, and amdisappointed. History of a place I am not interested in, by an author I do notlike. Put it back into its wrapper again and make fresh choice from RecommendedList. Find, on reading small literary bulletin enclosed with book, that exactlythis course of procedure has been anticipated, and that it is described asbeing "the mistake of a lifetime". Am much annoyed, although not so much athaving made (possibly) mistake of a lifetime, as at depressing thought of ourall being so much alike that intelligent writers can apparently predict ourbehaviour with perfect accuracy.
Decide not to mention any of this to Lady B., always so tiresomely superiorabout Book of the Month as it is, taking up attitude that she does not requireto be told what to read. (Should like to think of good repartee to this.)
Letter by second post from my dear old school-friend Cissie Crabbe, askingif she may come here for two nights or so on her way to Norwich. (Query: WhyNorwich? Am surprised to realise that anybody ever goes to, lives at, or comesfrom, Norwich, but quite see that this is unreasonable of me. Remind myself howvery little one knows of the England one lives in, which vaguely suggests aquotation. This, however, does not materialise.)
Many years since we last met, writes Cissie, and she expects we have bothchanged a good deal. P.S. Do I remember the dear old pond, and the dayof the Spanish Arrowroot. Can recall, after some thought, dear oldpond,at bottom of Cissie's father's garden, but am completely baffled by SpanishArrowroot. (Query: Could this be one of the Sherlock Holmes stories? Soundslike it.)
Reply that we shall be delighted to see her, and what a lot we shall have totalk about, after all these years! (This, I find on reflection, is not true,but cannot re-write letter on that account.) Ignore Spanish Arrowrootaltogether.
Robert, when I tell him about dear old school-friend's impending arrival,does not seem pleased. Asks what we are expected todo with her. Isuggest showing her the garden, and remember too late that this is hardly theright time of the year. At any rate, I say, it will be nice to talk over oldtimes—(which reminds me of the Spanish Arrowroot reference stillunfathomed).
Speak to Ethel about the spare room, and am much annoyed to find that oneblue candlestick has been broken, and the bedside rug has gone to the cleaners,and cannot be retrieved in time. Take away bedside rug from Robert'sdressing-room, and put it in spare room instead, hoping he will not notice itsabsence.
November 15th.—Robert does notice absence of rug, and says he musthave it back again. Return it to dressing-room and take small and inferior dyedmat from the night-nursery to put in spare room. Mademoiselle is hurt aboutthis and says to Vicky, who repeats it to me, that in this country she findsherself treated like a worm.
November 17th.—Dear old school-friend Cissie Crabbe due by the threeo'clock train. On telling Robert this, he says it is most inconvenient to meether, owing to Vestry Meeting, but eventually agrees to abandon Vestry Meeting.Am touched. Unfortunately, just after he has started, telegram arrives to saythat dear old school-friend has missed the connection and will not arrive untilseven o'clock. This means putting off dinner till eight, which Cook won't like.Cannot send message to kitchen by Ethel, as it is her afternoon out, so amobliged to tell Cook myself. She is not pleased. Robert returns from station,not pleased either. Mademoiselle, quite inexplicably, says, "Il ne manquait queca!" (This comment wholly unjustifiable, as non-appearance of Cissie Crabbecannot concern her in any way. Have often thought that the French aretactless.)
Ethel returns, ten minutes late, and says Shall she light fire in spareroom? I say No, it is not cold enough—but really mean that Cissie is nolonger, in my opinion, deserving of luxuries. Subsequently feel this to beunworthy attitude, and light fire myself. It smokes.
Robert calls up to know What is that Smoke? I call down that It is Nothing.Robert comes up and opens the window and shuts the door and says It will Go allright Now. Do not like to point out that the open window will make the roomcold.
Play Ludo with Vicky in drawing-room.
Robert reads theTimes and goes to sleep, but wakes in time to makesecond expedition to the station. Thankful to say that this time he returnswith Cissie Crabbe, who has put on weight, and says several times that shesupposes we have bothchanged a good deal, which I considerunnecessary.
Take her upstairs—spare room like an icehouse, owing to open window, andfire still smoking, though less—She says room is delightful, and I leave her,begging her to ask for anything she wants—(Mem.: tell Ethel shemust answer spare room bell if it rings—Hope it won't.)
Ask Robert while dressing for dinner what he thinks of Cissie. He says hehas not known her long enough to judge. Ask if he thinks her good-looking. Hesays he has not thought about it. Ask what they talked about on the way fromthe station. He says he does not remember.
November 19th.—Last two days very, very trying, owing to quiteunexpected discovery that Cissie Crabbe is strictly on a diet. This causesRobert to take a dislike to her. Utter impossibility of obtaining lentils orlemons at short notice makes housekeeping unduly difficult. Mademoiselle in themiddle of lunch insists on discussing diet question, and several timesexclaims: "Ah, mon doux St. Joseph!" which I consider profane, and beg hernever to repeat.
Consult Cissie about the bulbs, which look very much as if the mice had beenat them. She says: Unlimited Watering, and tells me about her own bulbs atNorwich. Am discouraged.
Administer Unlimited Water to the bulbs (some of which goes through theattic floor on to the landing below), and move half of them down to the cellar,as Cissie Crabbe says attic is airless.
Our Vicar's wife calls this afternoon. Says she once knew someone who hadrelations living near Norwich, but cannot remember their name. Cissie Crabbereplies that very likely if we knew their name we might find she'd heard ofthem, or evenmet them. We agree that the world is a small place. Talkabout the Riviera, the new waist-line, choir-practice, the servant question,and Ramsay MacDonald.
November 22nd.—Cissie Crabbe leaves. Begs me in the kindest way tostay with her in Norwich (where she has already told me that she lives in abed-sitting-room with two cats, and cooks her own lentils on a gas-ring). I sayYes, I should love to. We part effusively.
Spend entire morning writing the letters I have had to leave unansweredduring Cissie's visit.
Invitation from Lady Boxe to us to dine and meet distinguished literaryfriends staying with her, one of whom is the author ofSymphony in ThreeSexes. Hesitate to write back and say that I have never heard ofSymphony in Three Sexes, so merely accept. Ask forSymphony in ThreeSexes at the library, although doubtfully. Doubt more than justified bytone in which Mr. Jones replies that it is not in stock, and never hasbeen.
Ask Robert whether he thinks I had better wear my Blue or my Black-and-goldat Lady B.'s. He says that either will do. Ask if he can remember which one Iwore last time. He cannot. Mademoiselle says it was the Blue, and offers tomake slight alterations to Black-and-gold which will, she says, render itunrecognisable. I accept, and she cuts large pieces out of the back of it. Isay: "Pas trop décolletée," and she replies intelligently: "Jecomprends, Madame ne desire pas se voir nue au salon."
(Query: Have not the French sometimes a very strange way of expressingthemselves, and will this react unfavourably on Vicky?)
Tell Robert about the distinguished literary friends, but do not mentionSymphony in Three Sexes. He makes no answer.
Have absolutely decided that if Lady B. should introduce us to distinguishedliterary friends, or anyone else, as Our Agent, and Our Agent's Wife, I shallat once leave the house.
Tell Robert this. He says nothing. (Mem.: Put evening shoes out ofwindow to see if fresh air will remove smell of petrol.)
November 25th.—Go and get hair cut and have manicure in the morning,in honour of Lady B.'s dinner party. Should like new pair of evening stockings,but depressing communication from Bank, still maintaining that I am overdrawn,prevents this, also rather unpleasantly worded letter from Messrs. Frippy andColeman requesting payment of overdue account by return of post. Think betternot to mention this to Robert, as bill for coke arrived yesterday, alsoreminder that Rates are much overdue, therefore write civilly to Messrs. F. andC. to the effect that cheque follows in a few days. (Hope they may think I havetemporarily mislaid cheque-book.)
Black-and-gold as rearranged by Mademoiselle very satisfactory, but amobliged to do my hair five times owing to wave having been badly set. Robertunfortunately comes in just as I am using bran-new and expensive lip-stick, andobjects strongly to result.
(Query: If Robert could be induced to go to London rather oftener, would heperhaps take broader view of these things?)
Am convinced we are going to be late, as Robert has trouble in getting carto start, but he refuses to be agitated. Am bound to add that subsequent eventsjustify this attitude, as we arrive before anybody else, also before Lady B. isdown. Count at least a dozen Roman hyacinths growing in bowls all over thedrawing-room. (Probably grown by one of the gardeners, whatever Lady B. maysay. Resolve not to comment on them in any way, but am conscious that this isslightly ungenerous.)
Lady B. comes down wearing silver lace frock that nearly touches the floorall round, and has new waist-line. This may or not be becoming, but has effectof making everybody else's frock look out-of-date.
Nine other people present besides ourselves, most of them staying in house.Nobody is introduced. Decide that a lady in what looks like blue tapestry isprobably responsible forSymphony in Three Sexes.
Just as dinner is announced Lady B. murmurs to me: "I've put you next to SirWilliam. He's interested inwater-supplies, you know, and I thoughtyou'd like to talk to him about local conditions."
Find, to my surprise, that Sir W. and I embark almost at once on the subjectof Birth Control. Why or how this topic presents itself cannot say at all, butgreatly prefer it to water-supplies. On the other side of the table, Robert issitting next toSymphony in Three Sexes. Hope he is enjoyinghimself.
Conversation becomes general. Everybody (except Robert) talks about books.We all say (a) that we have readThe Good Companions, (b) that it is averylong book, (c) that it was chosen by the Book of the Month Club inAmerica and must be having immense sales, and (d) that American sales are WhatReally Count. We then turn toHigh Wind in Jamaica and say (a) that itis quite a short book, (b) that we hated—or, alternatively, adored—it, and(c) that it ReallyIs exactlyLike Children. A small minorityhere surges into being, and maintains No, they Cannot Believe that any childrenin the World wouldn't ever havenoticed that John wasn't there any more.They can swallow everything else, they say, but notthat. Discussionvery active indeed. I talk to pale young man with horn-rimmed glasses, sittingat my left-hand, about Jamaica, where neither of us has ever been. Thisleads—but cannot say how—to stag-hunting, and eventually to homeopathy.(Mem.: Interesting, if time permitted, to trace train of thought leadingon from one topic to another. Second, and most disquieting idea: perhaps nosuch train of thought exists.) Just as we reach interchange of opinions aboutgrowing cucumbers under glass, Lady B. gets up.
Go into the drawing-room, and all exclaim how nice it is to see the fire.Room very cold. (Query: Is this good for the bulbs?) Lady in blue tapestrytakes down her hair, which she says she is growing, and puts it up again. Weall begin to talk about hair. Depressed to find that everybody in the world,except apparently myself, has grown, or is growing, long hair again. Lady B.says that Nowadays, there Isn't a Shingled Head to be seenanywhere,either in London, Paris, or New York. Nonsense.
Discover, in the course of the evening, that the blue tapestry has nothingwhatever to do with literature, but is a Government Sanitary Inspector, andthatSymphony in Three Sexes was written by pale young man with glasses.Lady B. says, Did I get him on to the subject ofperversion, as he isalways so amusing about it? I reply evasively.
Men come in, and all herded into billiard room (just as drawing-room seemsto be getting slightly warmer) where Lady B. inaugurates unpleasant game ofskill with billiard balls, involving possession of a Straight Eye, which mostof us do not possess. Robert does well at this. Am thrilled, and feel it to bemore satisfactory way of acquiring distinction than even authorship ofSymphony in Three Sexes.
Congratulate Robert on the way home, but he makes no reply.
November 26th.—Robert says at breakfast that he thinks we are nolonger young enough for late nights.
Frippy and Coleman regret that they can no longer allow account to standover, but must request favour of a cheque by return, or will be compelled, withutmost regret, to take Further Steps. Have written to Bank to transfer SixPounds, thirteen shillings, and tenpence from Deposit Account to Current. (Thisleaves Three Pounds, seven shillings, and twopence, to keep Deposit Accountopen.) Decide to put off paying milk book till next month, and to let cleanershave something on account instead of full settlement. This enables me to sendF. and C. cheque, post-dated Dec. 1st, when allowance becomes due. Financialinstability very trying.
November 28th.—Receipt from F. and C. assuring me of attention to myfuture wishes—but evidently far from realising magnitude of effort involved insetting myself straight with them.
December 1st.—Cable from dear Rose saying she lands at Tilbury on10th. Cable back welcome, and will meet her Tilbury, 10th. Tell Vicky that hergodmother, my dearest friend, is returning home after three years in America.Vicky says: "Oh, will she have a present for me?" Am disgusted with hermercenary attitude and complain to Mademoiselle, who replies: "Si la SainteVierge revenait sur la terre, madame, ce serait notre petite Vicky." Do not atall agree with this. Moreover, in other moods Mademoiselle first person torefer to Vicky as "ce petit demon enrage".
(Query: Are the Latin races always as sincere as one would wish them tobe?)
December 3rd.—Radio from dear Rose, landing Plymouth 8th after all.Send return message, renewed welcomes, and will meet her Plymouth.
Robert adopts unsympathetic attitude and says This is Waste of Time andMoney. Do not know if he means cables, or journey to meet ship, but feel surebetter not to enquire. Shall go to Plymouth on 7th. (Mem.: Pay grocer'sbook before I go, and tell him last lot of gingernuts were soft. Find out firstif Ethel kept tin properly shut.)
December 8th.—Plymouth. Arrived last night, terrific storm, shipdelayed. Much distressed at thought of Rose, probably suffering severesea-sickness. Wind howls round hotel, which shakes, rain lashes againstwindow-pane all night. Do not like my room and have unpleasant idea thatsomeone may have committed a murder in it. Mysterious door in corner which Ifeel conceals a corpse. Remember all the stories I have read to this effect,and cannot sleep. Finally open mysterious door and find large cupboard, but nocorpse. Go back to bed again.
Storm worse than ever in the morning, am still more distressed at thought ofRose, who will probably have to be carried off ship in state of collapse.
Go round to Shipping Office and am told to be on docks at ten o'clock.Having had previous experience of this, take fur coat, camp-stool, and copy ofAmerican Tragedy as being longest book I can find, and camp myself ondocks. Rain stops. Other people turn up and look enviously at camp-stool. Veryold lady in black totters up and down till I feel guilty, and offer to give upcamp-stool to her. She replies: "Thank you, thank you, but my Daimler isoutside, and I can sit in that when I wish to do so."
Return toAmerican Tragedy feeling discouraged.
FindAmerican Tragedy a little oppressive, but read on and on forabout two hours when policeman informs me that tender is about to start forship, if I wish to go on board. Remove self, camp-stool, andAmericanTragedy to tender. Read for forty minutes. (Mem.: Ask Rose if American lifeis really like that.)
Very, very unpleasant half-hour follows. Camp-stool shows tendency to slideabout all over the place, and am obliged to abandonAmerican Tragedy forthe time being.
Numbers of men of seafaring aspect walk about and look at me. One of themasks Am I a good sailor? No, I am not. Presently ship appears, apparentlysuddenly rising up from the middle of the waves, and ropes are dangled in everydirection. Just as I catch sight of Rose, tender is carried away from ship'sside by colossal waves.
Consoled by reflection that Rose is evidently not going to require carryingon shore, but presently begin to feel that boot, as they say, may be on theother leg.
More waves, more ropes, and tremendous general activity.
I return to camp-stool, but have no strength left to cope withAmericanTragedy. A man in oilskins tells me I am In the Way there, Miss.
Remove myself, camp-stool, andAmerican Tragedy to another corner. Aman in sea-boots says that If I stay there, I may get Badly Knocked About.
Renewed déménagement of self, camp-stool,AmericanTragedy. Am slightly comforted by having been called "Miss".
Catch glimpse of Rose from strange angles as tender heaves up and down.Gangway eventually materialises, and self, camp-stool, andAmericanTragedy achieve the ship. Realise too late that camp-stool andAmericanTragedy might equally well have remained where they were.
Dear Rose most appreciative of effort involved by coming to meet her, butdeclares herself perfectly good sailor, and slept all through last night'sstorm. Try hard not to feel unjustly injured about this.
December 9th.—Rose staying here two days before going on to London.Says All American houses are Always Warm, which annoys Robert. He says inreturn that All American houses are Grossly Overheated and Entirely Airless.Impossible not to feel that this would carry more weight if Robert had everbeen to America. Rose also very insistent about efficiency of AmericanTelephone Service, and inclined to ask for glasses of cold water at breakfasttime—which Robert does not approve of.
Otherwise dear Rose entirely unchanged and offers to put me up in herWest-End flat as often as I like to come to London. Accept gratefully.(N.B. How very different to old school-friend Cissie Crabbe, withbed-sitting-room and gas-ring in Norwich! But should not like to think myselfin any way a snob.)
On Rose's advice, bring bulb-bowls up from cellar and put them indrawing-room. Several of them perfectly visible, but somehow do not lookentirely healthy. Rose thinks too much watering. If so, Cissie Crabbe entirelyto blame. (Mem.: Either move bulb-bowls upstairs, or tell Ethel to showLady Boxe into morning-room, if she calls. Cannot possibly enter into furtherdiscussion with her concerning bulbs.)
December 10th.—Robert, this morning, complains of insufficientbreakfast. Cannot feel that porridge, scrambled eggs, toast, marmalade, scones,brown bread, and coffee give adequate grounds for this, but admit that porridgeis slightly burnt. How impossible ever to encounter burnt porridge withoutvivid recollections of Jane Eyre at Lowood School, say I parenthetically! Thisliterary allusion not a success. Robert suggests ringing for Cook, and havegreatest difficulty in persuading him that this course utterly disastrous.
Eventually go myself to kitchen, in ordinary course of events, and approachsubject of burnt porridge circuitously and with utmost care. Cook replies, as Iexpected, with expressions of astonishment and incredulity, coupled withassurances that kitchen range is again at fault. She also says that newdouble-saucepan, fish-kettle, and nursery tea-cups are urgently required. Makeenquiries regarding recently purchased nursery tea-set and am shown one handlewithout cup, saucer in three pieces, and cup from which large semicircle hasapparently been bitten. Feel that Mademoiselle will be hurt if I pursueenquiries further. (Note: Extreme sensibility of the French sometimes makesthem difficult to deal with.)
Read Life and Letters of distinguished woman recently dead, and am struck,as so often, by difference between her correspondence and that of lessdistinguished women. Immense and affectionate letters from celebrities on everyother page, epigrammatic notes from literary and political acquaintances,poetical assurances of affection and admiration from husband, and even infantchildren. Try to imagine Robert writing in similar strain in the (improbable)event of my attaining celebrity, but fail. Dear Vicky equally unlikely tocommit her feelings (if any) to paper.
Robin's letter arrives by second post, and am delighted to have it as ever,but cannot feel that laconic information about boy—unknown to me—calledBaggs, having been swished, and Mr. Gompshaw, visiting master, being kept awayby Sore Throat—is on anything like equal footing with lengthy and picturesqueepistles received almost daily by subject of biography, whenever absent fromhome.
Remainder of mail consists of one bill from chemist—(Mem.: AskMademoiselle whytwo tubes of Gibbs' Toothpaste within tendays)—illiterate postcard from piano-tuner, announcing visit to-morrow, andcircular concerning True Temperance.
Inequalities of Fate very curious. Should like, on this account, to believein Reincarnation. Spend some time picturing to myself completely renovatedstate of affairs, with, amongst other improvements, total reversal of relativepositions of Lady B. and myself.
(Query: Is thought on abstract questions ever a waste of time?)
December 11th.—Robert, still harping on topic of yesterday'sbreakfast, says suddenly Why Not a Ham? to which I reply austerely that a hamis on order, but will not appear until arrival of R.'s brother William and hiswife, for Christmas visit. Robert, with every manifestation of horror, says AreWilliam and Angela coming to us forChristmas? This attitude absurd, asinvitation was given months ago, at Robert's own suggestion.
(Query here becomes unavoidable: Does not a misplaced optimism exist, commonto all mankind, leading on to false conviction that social engagements, ifdated sufficiently far ahead, will never really materialise?)
Vicky and Mademoiselle return from walk with small white-and-yellow kitten,alleged by them homeless and starving. Vicky fetches milk, and becomes excited.Agree that kitten shall stay "for to-night" but feel that this is weak.
(Mem.: Remind Vicky to-morrow that Daddy does not like cats.)Mademoiselle becomes very French, on subject of cats generally, and am obligedto check her. She isblessée, and all three retire toschoolroom.
December 12th.—Robert says out of the question to keep stray kitten.Existing kitchen cat more than enough. Gradually modifies this attitude underVicky's pleadings. All now depends on whether kitten is male or female. Vickyand Mademoiselle declare this is known to them, and kitten already christenedNapoleon. Find myself unable to enter into discussion on the point in French.The gardener takes opposite view to Vicky's and Mademoiselle's. They thereuponre-christen the kitten, seen playing with an old tennis ball, as HelenWills.
Robert's attention, perhaps fortunately, diverted by mysterious trouble withthe water-supply. He says The Ram has Stopped. (This sounds to meBiblical.)
Give Mademoiselle a hint that H. Wills should not be encouraged to put ininjudicious appearances downstairs.
December 13th.—Ram resumes activities. Helen Wills still withus.
December 16th.—Very stormy weather, floods out and many treesprostrated at inconvenient angles. Call from Lady Boxe, who says that she isoff to the South of France next week, as she Must have Sunshine. She asks Why Ido not go there too, and likens me to piece of chewed string, which I feel tobe entirely inappropriate and rather offensive figure of speech, though perhapskindly meant.
Why not just pop into the train, enquires Lady B., pop across France, andpop out into Blue Sky, Blue Sea, and Summer Sun? Could make perfectlycomprehensive reply to this, but do not do so, question of expense havingevidently not crossed Lady B.'s horizon. (Mem.: Interesting subject fordebate at Women's Institute, perhaps: That Imagination is incompatible withInherited Wealth. On second thoughts, though, fear this has a socialistictrend.)
Reply to Lady B. with insincere professions of liking England very much evenin the Winter. She begs me not to let myself become parochially-minded.
Departure of Lady B. with many final appeals to me to reconsider South ofFrance. Make civil pretence, which deceives neither of us, of wavering, andpromise to ring her up in the event of a change of mind.
(Query: Cannot many of our moral lapses from Truth be frequently chargedupon the tactless persistence of others?)
December 17th, London.—Come up to dear Rose's fiat for two days'Christmas shopping, after prolonged discussion with Robert, who maintains thatAll can equally well be done by Post.
Take early train so as to get in extra afternoon. Have with me Robert's oldleather suit-case, own ditto in fibre, large quantity of chrysanthemums done upin brown paper for Rose, small packet of sandwiches, handbag, fur coat in caseweather turns cold, book for journey, and illustrated paper kindly presented byMademoiselle at the station. (Query: suggests itself: Could not some of thesethings have been dispensed with, and if so which?)
Bestow belongings in the rack, and open illustrated paper with sensation ofleisured opulence, derived from unwonted absence of all domestic duties.
Unknown lady enters carriage at first stop, and takes seat opposite. She hasexpensive-looking luggage in moderate quantity, and small red moroccojewel-case, also bran-new copy, without library label, ofLife of Sir EdwardMarshall-Hall. Am reminded of Lady B. and have recrudescence of InferiorityComplex.
Remaining seats occupied by elderly gentleman wearing spats, nondescriptfemale in a Burberry, and young man strongly resembling an Arthur Wattsdrawing. He looks at a copy ofPunch, and I spend much time in wonderingif it contains an Arthur Watts drawing and if he is struck by resemblance, andif so what his reactions are, whether of pain or gratification.
Roused from these unprofitable, but sympathetic, considerations by agitationon the part of elderly gentleman, who says that, upon his soul, he is beingdripped upon. Everybody looks at ceiling, and Burberry female makes a vaguereference to unspecified "pipes" which she declares often "go like that".Someone else madly suggests turning off the' heat. Elderly gentleman refusesall explanations and declares thatIt comes from the rack. We all lookwith horror at Rose's chrysanthemums, from which large drips of water descendregularly. Am overcome with shame, remove chrysanthemums, apologise to elderlygentleman, and sit down again opposite to superior unknown, who has remainedglued toSir E. Marshall-Hall throughout, and reminds me of Lady B. morethan ever.
(Mem.: Speak to Mademoiselle about officiousness of thrusting flowersinto water unasked, just before wrapping up.)
Immerse myself in illustrated weekly. Am informed by it that Lord Toto Finch(inset) is responsible for camera-study (herewith) of the Loveliest Legs in LosAngeles, belonging to well-known English Society girl, near relation (by theway) of famous racing peer, father of well-known Smart Set twins (portraitoverleaf).
(Query: Is our popular Press going to the dogs?)
Turn attention to short story, but give it up on being directed, just as Ibecome interested, to page XLVIIb, which I am quite unable to locate. Becomeinvolved instead with suggestions for Christmas Gifts. I want my gifts, thewriter assures me, to be individual and yet appropriate—beautiful, and yetenduring. Then why not Enamel dressing-table set, at £94 16s. 4d. or Setof crystal-ware, exact replica of early English cut-glass, at moderate price of£34 17s. 9d.?
Why not, indeed?
Am touched to discover further on, however, explicit reference to Giver withRestricted Means—though even here, am compelled to differ from author'sdefinition of restricted means. Let originality of thought, she says, addcharacter to trifling offering. Would not many of my friends welcome suggestionof a course of treatment—(six for 5 guineas)—at Madame Dolly Varden's BeautyParlour in Piccadilly to be placed to my account?
Cannot visualise myself making this offer to our Vicar's wife, still lessher reception of it, and decide to confine myself to one-and-sixpenny calendarwith picture of sunset on Scaw Fell, as usual.
(Indulge, on the other hand, in a few moments' idle phantasy, in which Isuggest to Lady B. that she should accept from me as a graceful and appropriateChristmas gift, a course of Reducing Exercises accompanied by Soothing andWrinkle-eradicating Face Massage.)
This imaginative exercise brought to a conclusion by arrival.
Obliged to take taxi from station, mainly owing to chrysanthemums (whichwould not combine well with two suit-cases and fur coat on moving stairway,which I distrust and dislike anyhow, and am only too apt to make conspicuousfailure of Stepping Off with Right Foot foremost)—but also partly owing tofashionable locality of Rose's flat, miles removed from any Underground.
Kindest welcome from dear Rose, who is most appreciative of chrysanthemums.Refrain from mentioning unfortunate incident with elderly gentleman intrain.
December 19th.—Find Christmas shopping very exhausting. Am paralysedin the Army and Navy Stores on discovering that List of Xmas Presents is lost,but eventually run it to earth in Children's Books Department. While therechoose book for dear Robin, and wish for the hundredth time that Vicky had beenless definite about wanting Toy Greenhouse andnothing else. Thisapparently unprocurable. (Mem.: Take early opportunity of looking upstory of the Roc's Egg to tell Vicky.)
Rose says "Try Selfridge's." I protest, but eventually go there, findadmirable—though expensive—Toy Greenhouse, and unpatriotically purchase it atonce. Decide not to tell Robert this.
Choose appropriate offerings for Rose, Mademoiselle, William, andAngela—(who will be staying with us, so gifts must be abovecalendar-mark)—and lesser trifles for everyone else. Unable to decide betweenalmost invisibly small diary, and really handsome card, for Cissie Crabbe, buteventually settle on diary, as it will fit into ordinary-sized envelope.
December 20th.—Rose takes me to see St. John Ervine's play, and ammuch amused. Overhear one lady in stalls ask another: Why don'tyouwrite a play, dear? Well, says the friend, it's so difficult, what with onething and another, to findtime. Am staggered. (Query: Could I write aplay myself? Could weall write plays, if only we had the time? Reflectthat St. J. E. lives in the same county as myself, but feel that this does notconstitute sound excuse for writing to ask him how he finds the time to writeplays.)
December 22nd.—Return home. One bulb in partial flower, but notsatisfactory.
December 23rd.—Meet Robin at the Junction. He has lost his ticket, parcelof sandwiches, and handkerchief, but produces large wooden packing-case, intowhich little shelf has been wedged. Understand that this represents result ofCarpentry Class—expensive "extra" at school—and is a Christmas present. Willno doubt appear on bill in due course.
Robin says essential to get gramophone record called "Is Izzy Azzy Wozz?"(N.B. Am often struck by disquieting thought that the dear children areentirely devoid of any artistic feeling whatever, in art, literature, or music.This conviction intensified after hearing "Is Izzy Azzy Wozz?" renderedfourteen times running on the gramophone, after I have succeeded in obtainingrecord.)
Much touched at enthusiastic greeting between Robin and Vicky. Mademoisellesays, "Ah, c'est gentil!" and produces a handkerchief, which I thinkexaggerated, especially as in half-an-hour's time she comes to me withcomplaint that R. and V. have gone up into the rafters and are shaking downplaster from nursery ceiling. Remonstrate with them from below. They sing "IsIzzy Azzy Wozz?" Am distressed at this, as providing fresh confirmation ofpainful conviction that neither has any ear for music, nor ever will have.
Arrival of William and Angela, at half-past three. Should like to hurry uptea, but feel that servants would be annoyed, so instead offer to show themtheir rooms, which they know perfectly well already. We exchange news aboutrelations. Robin and Vicky appear, still singing "Is Izzy Azzy Wozz?" Angelasays that they have grown. Can see by her expression that she thinks themodious, and very badly brought-up. She tells me about the children in the lasthouse she stayed at. All appear to have been miracles of cleanliness,intelligence, and charm. A. also adds, most unnecessarily, that they aremusical, and play the piano nicely.
(Mem.: A meal the most satisfactory way of entertaining any guest.Should much like to abridge the interval between tea and dinner—or else tointroduce supplementary collation in between.)
At dinner we talk again about relations, and ask one another if anything isever heard of poor Frederick, nowadays, and how Mollie's marriage is turningout, and whether Grandmama is thinking of going to the East Coast again thissummer. Am annoyed because Robert and William sit on in the dining-room untilnearly ten o'clock, which makes the servants late.
December 24th.—Take entire family to children's party atneighbouring Rectory. Robin says Damn three times in the Rector's hearing, anexpression never used by him before or since, but apparently reserved for thisunsuitable occasion. Party otherwise highly successful, except that I againmeet recent arrival at the Grange, on whom I have not yet called. She is a Mrs.Somers, and is said to keep Bees. Find myself next to her at tea, but cannotthink of anything to say about Bees, except Does shelike them, whichsounds like a bad riddle, so leave it unsaid and talk about Preparatory Schoolsinstead. (Am interested to note that no two parents ever seem to have heard ofone another's Preparatory Schools. Query: Can this indicate an undue number ofthese establishments throughout the country?)
After dinner, get presents ready for children's stockings. Williamunfortunately steps on small glass article of doll's furniture intended forVicky, but handsomely offers a shilling in compensation, which I refuse. Muchtime taken up in discussing this. At eleven P.M. children still wide awake.Angela suggests Bridge and asks Who is that Mrs. Somers we met at the Rectory,who seems to be interested in Bees? (A. evidently more skilled than myself insocial amenities, but do not make this comment aloud.)
Xmas Day.—Festive, but exhausting, Christmas. Robin and Vickydelighted with everything, and spend much of the day eating. Vicky presentsher Aunt Angela with small square of canvas on which blue donkey is worked incross-stitch. Do not know whether to apologise for this or not, but eventuallydecide better to say nothing, and hint to Mademoiselle that other design mighthave been preferable.
The children perhaps rather too muchen évidence, as Angela,towards tea-time, begins to tell me that the little Maitlands have such adelightful nursery, and always spend entire day in it except when out for longwalks with governess and dogs.
William asks if that Mrs. Somers is one of theDorsetshire lot—awoman who knows about Bees.
Make a note that I really must call on Mrs. S. early next week. Read upsomething about Bees before going.
Turkey and plum-pudding cold in the evening, to give servants a rest. Angelalooks at bulbs, and says What made me think they would be in flower forChristmas? Do not reply to this, but suggest early bed for us all.
December 27th.—Departure of William and Angela. Slight shockadministered at eleventh hour by Angela, who asks if I realise thatshewas winner of first prize in last week'sTime and Tide Competition,under the pseudonym ofIntelligensia. Had naturally no idea of this, butcongratulate her, without mentioning that I entered for same competitionmyself, without success.
(Query: Are Competition Editors always sound on questions of literary merit?Judgement possibly becomes warped through overwork.)
Another children's party this afternoon, too large and elaborate. Mothersstand about it in black hats and talk to one another about gardens, books, anddifficulty of getting servants to stay in the country. Tea handed about thehall in a detached way, while children are herded into another room. Vicky andRobin behave well, and I compliment them on the way home, but am informed laterby Mademoiselle that she has found large collection of chocolate biscuits inpocket of Vicky's party-frock.
(Mem.: Would it be advisable to point out to Vicky that thisconstitutes failure in intelligence, as well as in manners, hygiene, and commonhonesty?)
January 1st, 1930.—We give a children's party ourselves. Very, veryexhausting performance, greatly complicated by stormy weather, which keeps halfthe guests away, and causes grave fears as to arrival of the conjurer.
Decide to have children's tea in the dining-room, grown-ups in the study,and clear the drawing-room for games and conjurer. Minor articles ofdrawing-room furniture moved up to my bedroom, where I continually knock myselfagainst them. Bulb-bowls greatly in everybody's way and are put onwindow-ledges in passage, at which Mademoiselle says: "Tiens! ça fait undrôle d'effet, ces malheureux petits brins de verdure!" Do not like thisdescription at all.
The children from neighbouring Rectory arrive too early, and are shown intocompletely empty drawing-room. Entrance of Vicky, in new green party-frock,with four balloons, saves situation.
(Query: What is the reason that clerical households are always unpunctual,invariably arriving either first, or last, at any gathering to whichbidden?)
Am struck at variety of behaviour amongst mothers, some so helpful inorganising games and making suggestions, others merely sitting about.(N.B. For sake of honesty, should rather saystanding about, assupply of chairs fails early.) Resolve always to send Robin and Vicky toparties without me, if possible, as children without parents infinitelypreferable from point of view of hostess. Find it difficult to get "Oranges andLemons" going, whilst at same time appearing to give intelligent attention toremarks from visiting mother concerning Exhibition of Italian Pictures atBurlington House. Find myself telling her how marvellous I think them, althoughin actual fact have not yet seen them at all. Realise that this mis-statementshould be corrected at once, but omit to do so, and later find myself involvedin entirely unintentional web of falsehood. Should like to work out how farmorally to blame for this state of things, but have not time.
Tea goes off well. Mademoiselle presides in dining-room, I in study. Robertand solitary elderly father—(looks more like a grandfather)—stand in doorwayand talk about big-game shooting and the last General Election, in intervals ofhanding tea.
Conjurer arrives late, but is a success with children. Ends up with presentsfrom a bran-tub, in which more bran is spilt on carpet, children's clothes, andhouse generally, than could ever have been got into tub originally. Think thisodd, but have noticed similar phenomenon before.
Guests depart between seven and half-past, and Helen Wills and the dog arelet out by Robin, having been shut up on account of crackers, which theydislike.
Robert and I spend evening helping servants to restore order, and trying toremember where ash-trays, clock, ornaments, and ink were put for safety.
January 3rd.—Hounds meet in the village. Robert agrees to take Vickyon the pony. Robin, Mademoiselle, and I walk to the Post Office to see thestart, and Robin talks about Oliver Twist, making no reference whatever to huntfrom start to finish, and viewing horses, hounds, and huntsmen with equaldetachment. Am impressed at his non-suggestibility, but feel that some deepFreudian significance may lie behind it all. Feel also that Robert would takevery different view of it.
Meet quantities of hunting neighbours, who say to Robin, "Aren't you ridingtoo?" which strikes one as lacking in intelligence, and ask me if we have lostmany trees lately, but do not wait for answer, as what they really want to talkabout is the number of trees they have lost themselves.
Mademoiselle looks at hounds and says, "Ah, ces bons chiens!" also admireshorses, "quelles bêtes superbes"—but prudently keeps well away from all,in which I follow her example.
Vicky looks nice on pony, and I receive compliments about her, which Iaccept in an off-hand manner, tinged with incredulity, in order to show that Iam a modern mother and should scorn to be foolish about my children.
Hunt moves off, Mademoiselle remarking, "Voilà bien le sportanglais!" Robin says: "Now can we go home?" and eats milk-chocolate. We returnto the house and I write order to the Stores, post-card to the butcher, twoletters about Women's Institutes, one about Girl Guides, note to the dentistasking for appointment next week, and make memorandum in engagement-book that Imust call on Mrs. Somers at the Grange.
Am horrified and incredulous at discovery that these occupations have filledthe entire morning.
Robert and Vicky return late, Vicky plastered with mud from head to foot butunharmed. Mademoiselle removes her, and says no more aboutle sportanglais.
January 4th.—A beautiful day, very mild, makes me feel that with anyreasonable luck Mrs. Somers will be out, and I therefore call at the Grange.She is, on the contrary, in. Find her in the drawing-room, wearing printedvelvet frock that I immediately think would look nice onme. No signanywhere of Bees, but am getting ready to enquire about them intelligently whenMrs. Somers suddenly says that her Mother is here, and knows my oldschool-friend Cissie Crabbe, who says that I am soamusing. The Mothercomes in—very elegant Marcel wave—(cannot imagine where she got it, unlessshe has this moment come from London)—and general air of knowing how to dressin the country. She is introduced to me—name sounds exactly like Eggchalk butdo not think this possible—and says she knows my old school-friend MissCrabbe, at Norwich, and has heard all about how very, very amusing I am. Becomecompletely paralysed and can think of nothing whatever to say except that ithas been very stormy lately. Leave as soon as possible.
January 5th.—Rose, in the kindest way, offers to take me as herguest to special dinner of famous Literary Club if I will come up to London forthe night. Celebrated editor of literary weekly paper in the chair,spectacularly successful author of famous play as guest of honour. Principalauthors, poets, and artists from—says Rose—all over the world, expected to bepresent.
Spend much of the evening talking to Robert about this. Put it to him: (a)That no expense is involved beyond 3rd class return ticket to London; (b) thatin another twelve years Vicky will be coming out, and it is therefore incumbenton me to Keep in Touch with People; (c) that this is an opportunity that willnever occur again; (d) that it isn't as if I were asking him to come too.Robert says nothing to (a) or (b) and only "I should hope not" to (c), butappears slightly moved by (d). Finally says he supposes I must do as I like,and very likely I shall meet some old friends of my Bohemian days when livingwith Rose in Hampstead.
Am touched by this, and experience passing wonder if Robert can be feelingslightly jealous. This fugitive idea dispelled by his immediately beginning tospeak about failure of hot water this morning.
January 7th.—Rose takes me to Literary Club dinner. I wear my Blue.Am much struck by various young men who have defiantly put on flannel shirtsand no ties, and brushed their hair up on end. They are mostly accompanied byred-headed young women who wear printed crêpe frocks and beads.Otherwise, everyone in evening dress. Am introduced to distinguished Editor,who turns out to be female and delightful. Should like to ask her once and forall why prizes in her paper's weekly competition are so often divided, but feelthis would be unsuitable and put Rose to shame.
Am placed at dinner next to celebrated best-seller, who tells me in thekindest way how to evade paying super-tax. Am easily able to conceal from himthe fact that I am not at present in a position to require this information.Very distinguished artist sits opposite, and becomes more and more convivial asevening advances. This encourages me to remind him that we have metbefore—which we have, in old Hampstead days. He declares enthusiastically thathe remembers me perfectly—which we both know to be entirely untrue—and addswildly that he has followed my work ever since. Feel it better to let this passunchallenged. Later on, distinguished artist is found to have come out withoutany money, and all in his immediate neighbourhood are required to lend himamount demanded by head-waiter.
Feel distinctly thankful that Robert is not with me, and am moreover morallycertain that distinguished artist will remember nothing whatever in themorning, and will therefore be unable to refund my three-and-sixpence.
Rose handsomely pays for my dinner as well as her own.
(This suggestsMem.: That English cooking, never unduly attractive,becomes positively nauseating on any public occasion, such as a banquet. Amseriously distressed at probable reactions of foreign visitors to thisevening's fish, let alone other items.)
Young gentleman is introduced to me by Rose—(she saying in rapid murmurthat he is part-author of a one-act play that has been acted three times by aRepertory company in Jugo-Slavia.) It turns out later that he has met LadyBoxe, who struck him, he adds immediately, as a poisonous woman. We then get onwell together. (Query: Is not a common hate one of the strongest links in humannature? Answer, most regrettably, in the affirmative.)
Very, very distinguished Novelist approaches me (having evidently mistakenme for someone else), and talks amiably. She says that she can only writebetween twelve at night and four in the morning, and not always then. When shecannot write, she plays the organ. Should much like to ask whether she ismarried—but get no opportunity of asking that or anything else. She tells meabout her sales. She tells me about her last book. She tells me about her newone. She says that there are many people here to whom shemust speak,and pursues well-known Poet—who does not, however, allow her to catch up withhim. Can understand this.
Speeches are made. Am struck, as so often, by the eloquence and profundityof other people, and reflect how sorry I should be to have to make a speechmyself, although so often kept awake at night composing wholly admirableaddresses to the servants, Lady B., Mademoiselle, and others—which, however,never get delivered.
Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten,but connect with literature. I ask if he has published anything lately. He saysthat his work is not, and never can be, for publication. Thought passes throughmy mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted bymany others. Do not say so, however, and we talk instead about Rebecca West,the progress of aviation, and the case for and against stag-hunting.
Rose, who has been discussing psychiatry as practised in the U.S.A. withDanish journalist, says Am I ready to go? Distinguished artist who sat oppositeme at dinner offers to drive us both home, but his friends intervene. Moreover,acquaintance whose name I have forgotten takes me aside, and assures me thatD.A. is quite unfit to take anybody home, and will himself require an escort.Rose and I depart by nearest Tube, as being wiser, if less exalted,procedure.
Sit up till one o'clock discussing our fellow-creatures, with specialreference to those seen and heard this evening. Rose says I ought to come toLondon more often, and suggests that outlook requires broadening.
January 9th.—Came home yesterday. Robin and Mademoiselle no longeron speaking terms, owing to involved affair centering round a brokenwindow-pane. Vicky, startlingly, tells me in private that she has learnt a newBad Word, but does not mean to use it. Not now, anyway, she disquietinglyadds.
Cook says she hopes I enjoyed my holiday, and it is very quiet in thecountry. I leave the kitchen before she has time to say more, but am only toowell aware that this is not the last of it.
Write grateful letter to Rose, at the same time explaining difficulty ofbroadening my outlook by further time spent away from home, just atpresent.
January 14th.—I have occasion to observe, not for the first time,how extraordinarily plain a cold can make one look, affecting hair, complexion,and features generally, besides nose and upper lip. Cook assures me that coldsalways run through the house and that she herself has been suffering from sorethroat for weeks, but is never one to make a fuss. (Query: Is this meant toimply that similar fortitude should be, but is not, displayed by me?)Mademoiselle says shehopes children will not catch my cold, but thatboth sneezed this morning. I run short of handkerchiefs.
January 16th.—We all run short of handkerchiefs.
January 17th.—Mademoiselle suggests butter-muslin. There is none inthe house. I say that I will go out and buy some. Mademoiselle says, "No, thefresh air gives pneumonia." Feel that I ought to combat this un-Britishattitude, but lack energy, especially when she adds that she will goherself—"Madame, j'y cours." She puts on black kid gloves, buttoned boots withpointed tips and high heels, hat with little feather in it, black jacket andseveral silk neckties, and goes, leaving me to amuse Robin and Vicky, both inbed. Twenty minutes after she has started, I remember it is early-closingday.
Go up to night-nursery and offer to read Lamb'sTales fromShakespeare. Vicky says she prefersPip, Squeak, and Wilfred. Robinsays that he would likeGulliver's Travels. Compromise on Grimm's FairyTales, although slightly uneasy as to their being in accordance with bestmodern ideals. Both children take immense interest in story of highlyundesirable person who wins fortune, fame, and beautiful Princess by means oflies, violence, and treachery. Feel sure that this must have disastrous effecton both in years to come.
Our Vicar's wife calls before Mademoiselle returns. Go down to her,sneezing, and suggest that she had better not stay. She says, much better not,and she won't keep me a minute. Tells me long story about the Vicar having astye on one eye. I retaliate with Cook's sore throat. This leads to draughts,the, heating apparatus in church, and news of Lady Boxe in South of France: TheVicar's wife has had a picture postcard from her (which she produces from bag),with small cross marking bedroom window of hotel. She says, It's ratherinteresting, isn't it? to which I reply Yes, it is, very, which is not in theleast true. (N.B. Truth-telling in everyday life extraordinarilydifficult. Is this personal, and highly deplorable, idiosyncrasy, or do otherssuffer in the same way? Have momentary impulse to put this to our Vicar'swife, but decide better not.)
How, she says, are the dear children, and how is my husband? I replysuitably, and she tells me about cinnamon, Viapex, gargling with glycerine ofthymnol, blackcurrant tea, onion broth, friar's balsam, linseed poultices, andthermogene wool. I sneeze and say Thank you—thank you very much, a good manytimes. She goes, but turns back at the door to tell me about wool next theskin, nasal douching, and hot milk last thing at night. I say Thank you,again.
On returning to night-nursery, find that Robin has unscrewed top ofhot-water bottle in Vicky's bed, which apparently contained several hundredgallons of tepid water, now distributed through and through pillows, pyjamas,sheets, blankets, and mattresses of both. I ring for Ethel—who helps me toreorganise entire situation and says It's like a hospital, isn't it, trays upand down stairs all day long, and all this extra work.
January 20th.—Take Robin, now completely restored, back to school.I ask the Headmaster what he thinks of his progress. The Headmaster answersthat the New Buildings will be finished before Easter, and that their numbersare increasing so rapidly that he will probably add on a New Wing next term,and perhaps I saw a letter of his in theTimes replying to Dr. CyrilNorwood? Make mental note to the effect that Headmasters are a race apart, andthat if parents would remember this, much time could be saved.
Robin and I say good-bye with hideous brightness, and I cry all the way backto the station.
January 22nd.—Robert startles me at breakfast by asking if mycold—which he has hitherto ignored—is better. I reply that it has gone. Thenwhy, he asks, do I look like that? Refrain from asking like what, as I knowonly too well. Feel that life is wholly unendurable, and decide madly to get anew hat.
Customary painful situation between Bank and myself necessitates expedient,also customary, of pawning great-aunt's diamond ring, which I do, under usualconditions, and am greeted as old friend by Plymouth pawnbroker, who saysfacetiously, And what name will it bethis time?
Visit four linen-drapers and try on several dozen hats. Look worse and worsein each one, as hair gets wilder and wilder, and expression paler and moreharassed. Decide to get myself shampooed and waved before doing any more, inhopes of improving the position.
Hairdresser's assistant says, It's a pity my hair is losing all its colour,and have I ever thought of having it touched up? After long discussion, I dohave it touched up, and emerge with mahogany-coloured head. Hairdresser'sassistant says this will wear off "in a few days". I am very angry, but all tono purpose. Return home in old hat, showing as little hair as possible, andkeep it on till dressing time—but cannot hope to conceal my shame atdinner.
January 23rd.—Mary Kellway telegraphs she is motoring past here thismorning, can I give her lunch? Telegraph Yes, delighted, and rush to kitchen.Cook unhelpful and suggests cold beef and beetroot. I say Yes, excellent,unless perhaps roast chicken and bread sauce even better? Cook talks about theoven. Compromise in the end on cutlets and mashed potatoes, as, very luckily,this is the day butcher calls.
Always delighted to see dear Mary—so clever and amusing, and able to writestories, which actually get published and paid for—but very uneasy aboutcolour of my hair, which is not wearing off in the least. Think seriously ofkeeping a hat on all through lunch, but this, on the whole, would look evenmore unnatural. Besides, could not hope that it would pass without observationfrom Vicky, let alone Robert.
Later.—Worst fears realised, as to hair. Dear Mary, always soobservant, gazes at it in nerve-shattering silence but says nothing, till I amdriven to make half-hearted explanation. Her only comment is that she cannotimagine why anybody should deliberately make themselves look ten years olderthan they need. Feel that, if she wishes to discourage further experiments onmy part, this observation could scarcely be improved upon. Change the subject,and talk about the children. Mary most sympathetic, and goes so far as to saythat my children have brains, which encourages me to tell anecdotes about themuntil I see Robert looking at me, just as I get to Robin's precocious taste forreally good literature. By curious coincidence second post brings letter fromRobin, saying that he wishes to collect cigarette-cards and will I send him allthe types of National Beauty, Curious Beaks, and Famous Footballers, that I canfind. Make no comment on this singular request aloud.
Mary stays to tea and we talk about H. G. Wells, Women's Institutes,infectious illness, andJourney's End. Mary says she cannot go and seethis latter because she always cries at the theatre. I say, Then once more willmake no difference. Discussion becomes involved, and we drop it. Vicky comes inand immediately offers to recite. Can see that Mary (who has three children ofher own) does not in the least want to hear her, but she feigns enthusiasmpolitely. Vicky recites: "Maître Corbeau sur un arbreperché"—(N.B. Suggest to Mademoiselle that Vicky's repertoryshould be enlarged. Feel sure that I have heard Maitre Corbeau, alternatelywith La Cigale et la Fourmi, some eight hundred times within the last sixmonths.)
After Mary has gone, Robert looks at me and suddenly remarks: "Nowthat's what I call an attractive woman." Am gratified at hisappreciation of talented friend, but should like to be a little clearerregarding exact significance of emphasis on the wordthat. Robert,however, says no more, and opportunity is lost as Ethel comes in to say Cook issorry she's run right out of milk, but if I will come to the store-cupboard shethinks there's a tin of Ideal, and she'll make do with that.
January 25th.—Attend a Committee Meeting in the village to discusshow to raise funds for Village Hall. Am asked to take the chair. Begin bysaying that I know how much we all have this excellent object at heart, andthat I feel sure there swill be no lack of suggestions as to best method ofobtaining requisite sum of money. Pause for suggestions, which is met withdeath-like silence. I say, There are so many ways to choose from—implicationbeing that I attribute silence to plethora of ideas, rather than to absence ofthem. (Note: Curious and rather depressing, to see how frequently thepursuit of Good Works leads to apparently unavoidable duplicity.) Silencecontinues, and I say Well, twice, and Come, come, once. (Sudden impulse toexclaim, "I lift up my finger and I say Tweet, Tweet," is fortunatelyovercome.) At last: extract a suggestion of a concert from Mrs. L. (whose sonplays the violin) and a whist-drive from Miss P. (who won Ladies' First Prizeat the last one). Florrie P. suggests a dance and is at once reminded that itwill be Lent. She says that Lent isn't what it was. Her mother says the Vicaris one that holds with Lent, and always has been. Someone else says Thatreminds her, has anyone heard that old Mr. Small passed away last night? We allagree that eighty-six is a great age. Mrs. L. says that on her mother's side ofthe family, there is an aunt of ninety-eight. Still with us, she adds. Theaunt's husband, on the other hand, was gathered just before his sixtiethbirthday. Everyone says, You can't evertell, not really. There is asuitable pause before we go back to Lent and the Vicar. General opinion that aconcert isn't like a dance, and needn't—says Mrs. L.—interfere.
On this understanding, we proceed. Various familiar items—piano solo,recitation, duet, and violin solo from Master L.—are all agreed upon. Someonesays that Mrs. F. and Miss H. might do a dialogue, and has to be reminded thatthey are no longer on speaking terms, owing to strange behaviour of Miss H.about her bantams. Ah, says Mrs. S., it wasn't onlybantams was at thebottom of it, there's two sides to every question. (There are at least twentyto this one, by the time we've done with it.)
Sudden appearance of our Vicar's wife, who says apologetically that she madea mistake in the time. I beg her to take the chair. She refuses. I insist. Shesays No, no, positively not, and takes it.
We begin all over again, but general attitude towards Lent much lesselastic.
Meeting ends at about five o'clock. Our Vicar's wife walks home with me,and tells me that I look tired. I ask her to come in and have tea. No, shesays, no, it's too kind of me, but she must go on to the far end of the parish.She remains standing at the gate telling me about old Small—eighty-six a greatage—till quarter-to-six, when she departs, saying that she cannotthinkwhy I am looking so tired.
February 11th.—Robin writes again about cigarette-cards. I send himall those I have collected, and Vicky produces two which she has obtained fromthe garden-boy. Find that this quest grows upon one, and am apt now, when inPlymouth or any other town, to scan gutters, pavements, and tram-floors insearch of Curious Beaks, Famous Football Players, and the like. Have even goneso far as to implore perfect stranger, sitting opposite me in train,notto throw cigarette-card out of the window, but give it to me instead. Perfectstranger does so with an air of courteous astonishment, and as he asks for noexplanation, am obliged to leave him under the impression that I have merelybeen trying to force him into conversation with me.
(Note: Could not short article, suitable forTime and Tide, beworked up on some such lines as: Lengths to which Mother-love may legitimatelygo? On second thoughts abandon the idea, as being faintly reminiscent ofdémodé enquiry: Do Shrimps make Good Mothers?)
Hear that Lady Boxe has returned from South of France and is entertaininghouse-party. She sends telephone message by the butler, asking me to teato-morrow. I accept. (Why?)
February 12th.—Insufferable behaviour of Lady B. Find large party,all of whom are directed at front door to go to the Hard Courts, where, underinadequate shelter, in Arctic temperature, all are compelled to watch young menin white flannels keeping themselves warm by banging a little ball against awall. Lady B. wears an emerald-green leather coat with fur collar and cuffs. I,having walked down, have on ordinary coat and skirt, and freeze rapidly. Findmyself next unknown lady who talks wistfully about the tropics. Can wellunderstand this. On other side elderly gentleman, who says conversationallythat this Naval Disarmament is All his Eye. This contribution made tocontemporary thought, he says no more. Past five o'clock before we are allowedto go in to tea, by which time am only too well aware that my face is blue andmy hands purple. Lady B. asks me at tea how the children are, and adds, to thetable at large, that I am "A Perfect Mother". Am naturally avoided,conversationally, after this, by everybody at the tea-table. Later on, Lady B.tells us about South of France. She quotes repartees made by herself in French,and then translates them.
(Unavoidable Query presents itself here: Would a verdict of JustifiableHomicide delivered against their mother affect future careers of childrenunfavourably?)
Discuss foreign travel with unknown, but charming, lady in black. We aredelighted with one another—or so I confidently imagine—arid she begs me to goand see her if I am ever in her neighbourhood. I say that I will—but am wellaware that courage will fail me when it comes to the point. Pleasant sense ofmutual sympathy suddenly and painfully shattered by my admitting—in reply todirect enquiry—that I amnot a gardener—which the lady in black is, toan extent that apparently amounts to monomania. She remains charming, but quiteceases to be delighted with me, and I feel discouraged.
(N.B.Must try to remember that Social Success is seldom theportion of those who habitually live in the provinces. No doubt they serve someother purpose in the vast field of Creation—but have not yet discoveredwhat.)
Lady B. asks if I have seen the new play at the Royalty. I say No. She saysHave I been to the Italian Art Exhibition? I have not. She enquires what Ithink ofHer Privates We—which I haven't yet read—and I at once giveher a long and spirited account of my reactions to it. Feel after this that Ihad better go, before I am driven to further excesses.
Shall she, says Lady B., ring for my car? Refrain from replying that noamount of ringing will bring my car to the door all by itself, and say insteadthat I walked. Lady B. exclaims that this is Impossible, and that I am TooMarvellous, Altogether. Take my leave before she can add that I am such aPerfect Countrywoman, which I feel is coming next.
Get home—still chilled to the bone owing to enforced detention at HardCourt—and tell Robert what I think of Lady B. He makes no answer, but I feelhe agrees.
Mademoiselle says: "Tiens! Madame a mauvaise mine. On dirait uncadavre..."
Feel that this is kindly meant, but do not care about the picture that itconjures up.
Say good-night to Vicky, looking angelic in bed, and ask what she isthinking about, lying there. She disconcertingly replies with briskness: "Oh,Kangaroos and things."
(Note: The workings of the infant mind very, very difficult tofollow, sometimes. Mothers by no means infallible.)
February 14th.—Have won first prize inTime and Tidecompetition, but again divided. Am very angry indeed, and write excellentletter to the Editor under false name, protesting against this iniquitouscustom. After it has gone, become seriously uneasy under the fear that the useof a false name is illegal. Look throughWhitaker, but can find nothingbut Stamp Duties and Concealment of Illegitimate Births, so abandon it indisgust.
Write to Angela—under my own name—to enquire kindly ifshe went infor the competition. Hope she did, and that she will have the decency to sayso.
February 16th.—Informed by Ethel, as she calls me in the morning,that Helen Wills has had six kittens, of which five survive.
Cannot imagine how I shall break this news to Robert. Reflect—not for thefirst time—that the workings of Nature are most singular.
Angela writes that shedidn't go in for competition, thinking thesubject puerile, but that she solved "Merope's" Crossword puzzle in fifteenminutes.
(N.B. This last statement almost certainly inaccurate.)
February 21st.—Remove bulb-bowls, with what is left of bulbs, togreenhouse. Tell Robert that I hope to do better another year. He replies,Another year, better not waste my money. This reply depresses me, moreoverweather continues Arctic, and have by no means recovered from effects of LadyB.'s so-called hospitality.
Vicky and Mademoiselle spend much time in boot-cupboard, where Helen Willsis established with five kittens. Robert still unaware of what has happened,but cannot hope this ignorance will continue. Must, however, choose suitablemoment for revelation—which is unlikely to occur today owing to bath-waterhaving been cold again this morning.
Lady B. calls in the afternoon—not, as might have been expected, to see ifI am in bed with pneumonia, but to ask if I will help at a Bazaar early in May.Further enquiry reveals that it is in aid of the Party Funds. I say What Party?(Am well aware of Lady B.'s political views, but resent having it taken forgranted that mine are the same—which they are not.)
Lady B. says she is Surprised. Later on she says Look at the Russians, andeven, Look at the Pope. I find myself telling her to Look at Unemployment—noneof which gets us any further. Am relieved when tea comes in, and still more sowhen Lady B. says she really mustn't wait, as she has to call on such a numberof Tenants. She asks after Robert, and I think seriously of replying that he isout receiving the Oath of Allegiance from all the vassals on the estate, butdecide that this would be undignified.
Escort Lady B. to the hall-door. She tells me that the oak dresser wouldlook better on the other side of the hall, and that it is a mistake to putmahogany and walnut in the same room. Her last word is that she will Write,about the bazaar. Relieve my feelings by waving small red flag belonging toVicky, which is lying on the hall-stand, and sayingA la lanterne! aschauffeur drives off. Rather unfortunately, Ethel chooses this moment to walkthrough the hall. She says nothing, but looks astonished.
February 22nd.—Gloom prevails, owing to Helen Wills having elected,with incredible idiocy, to introduce progeny, one by one, to Robert's notice atlate hour last night, when he was making final round of the house.
Send Mademoiselle and Vicky on errand to the village whilst massacre of theinnocents takes place in pail of water in backyard. Small ginger is allowed tosurvive. Spend much time in thinking out plausible story to account to Vickyfor disappearance of all the rest. Mademoiselle, when informed privately ofwhat has happened, tells me to leave Vicky to her—which I gladly agree todo—and adds that "les hommes manquent de coeur". Feel that this is leading usin the direction of a story which I have heard before, and do not wish to hearagain, regardingun mariage échoué arranged years ago forMademoiselle by her parents, in which negotiations broke down owing tomercenary attitude ofle futur. Break in with hasty enquiry regardingwater-tightness or otherwise of Vicky's boots.
(Query: Does incessant pressure of domestic cares vitiate capacity for humansympathy? Fear that it does, but find myself unable to attempt reformation inthis direction at present.)
Receive long, and in parts illegible, letter from Cissie Crabbe, bearing onthe back of the envelope extraordinary enquiry: Do you know of a reallygood hotel Manageress? Combat strong inclination to reply on a postcard:No, but can recommend thoroughly reliable Dentist. Dear Cissie, one remembersfrom old schooldays, has very little sense of humour.
February 24th.—Robert and I lunch with our Member and his wife. Isit next elderly gentleman who talks about stag-hunting and tells me that thereis Nothing Cruel about it. The Staglikes it, and it is an honest,healthy, thoroughlyEnglish form of sport. I say Yes, as anything elsewould be waste of breath, and turn to Damage done by recent storms, Newarrivals in the neighbourhood, and Golf-links at Budleigh Salterton. Find thatwe get back to stag-hunting again in next to no time, and remain there for therest of lunch.
Can hear Robert's neighbour, sitting opposite in cochineal three-piece suit,telling him about her Chilblains. Robert civil, but does not appear undulyconcerned. (Perhaps three-piece cochineal thinks that he is one of those peoplewho feel more than they can express?) She goes on to past appendicitis, presentsciatica, and threat of colitis in the near future. Robert still unmoved.
Ladies retire to the drawing-room and gather round quite inadequate fire.Coffee. I perform my usual sleight-of-hand, transferring large piece ofcandy-sugar from saucer to handbag, for Vicky's benefit. (Query: Why do peopleliving in same neighbourhood as myself obtain without difficulty minor luxuriesthat I am totally unable to procure? Reply to this, if pursued to logicalconclusion, appears to point to inadequate housekeeping on my part.)
Entrance of males. I hear my neighbour at lunch beginning all over againabout stag-hunting, this time addressed to his hostess, who is well-knownsupporter of the R.S.P.C.A.
Our Member talks to me about Football. I say that I think well of theFrench, and that Béhotéguy plays a good game. (N.B. Thissolitary piece of knowledge always coming in useful, butmust try andfind out name of at least one British player, so as to vary it.)
As we take our leave with customary graceful speeches, clasp of handbagunfortunately gives way, and piece of candy-sugar falls, with incredible noiseand violence, on to the parquet, and is pursued with officious zeal anddetermination by all present except myself.
Very, very difficult moment...
Robert, on the whole, takes this well, merely enquiring on the way home if Isuppose that we shall ever be asked inside the house again.
February 28th.—Notice, and am gratified by, appearance of largeclump of crocuses near the front gate. Should like to make whimsical andcharming reference to these, and try to fancy myself as "Elizabeth of theGerman Garden", but am interrupted by Cook, saying that the Fish is here, buthe's only brought cod and haddock, and the haddock doesn't smell any too fresh,so what about cod?
Have often noticed that Life is like that.
March 1st.—The Kellways lunch with us, before going on all togetherto wedding of Rosemary H., daughter of mutual friend and neighbour. Firerefuses to burn up, and am still struggling with it when they arrive, withsmall boy, Vicky's contemporary—all three frozen with cold. I say, Do come andget warm! and they accept this, alas meaningless, offer with enthusiasm. Vickyrushes in, and am struck, as usual, by the complete and utter straightness ofher hair in comparison with that of practically every other child in the world.(Little Kellway has natural wave.)
Chickens over-done, and potatoes underdone. Meringues quite a success,especially with the children, though leading to brisksotto-voceencounter between Vicky and Mademoiselle on question of second helping. Thisends by an appeal from Mademoiselle for "un bon mouvement" on Vicky'spart—which she facilitates by summarily removing her plate, spoon, and fork.Everybody ignores this drama, with the exception of the infant Kellway, wholooks amused, and unblenchingly attacks a second meringue.
Start directly after lunch, Robert and Mary's husband appearing in a highlyunnatural state of shiny smartness with a top-hat apiece. Effect of thissplendour greatly mitigated, when they don the top-hats, by screams ofunaffected amusement from both children. We drive off, leaving them leaningagainst Mademoiselle, apparently helpless with mirth.
(Query: Is not the inferiority complex, about which so much is written andspoken, nowadays shifting from the child to the parent?)
Mary wears blue with admirable diamond ornament, and looks nice. I wear red,and think regretfully of great-aunt's diamond ring, still reposing in backstreet of Plymouth, under care of old friend the pawnbroker. (Note:Financial situation very low indeed, and must positively take steps to sendassortment of old clothes to second-hand dealer for disposal. Am struck byfalse air of opulence with which I don fur coat, white gloves, and newshoes—one very painful—and get into the car. Irony of life thusexemplified.)
Charming wedding, Rosemary H. looks lovely, bridesmaids highly picturesque.One of them has bright red hair, and am completely paralysed by devastatingenquiry from Mary's husband, who hisses at me through his teeth:Is that thecolour yours was when you dyed it?
Crowds of people at the reception. Know most of them, but am startled bystrange lady in pink, wearing eye-glasses, who says that I don't rememberher—which is only too true—but that she has played tennis at my house. How,she says, are those sweet twins? Find myself telling her that they are verywell indeed, before I know where I am. Can only trust never to set eyes on heragain.
Exchange talk with Mrs. Somers, recent arrival to the neighbourhood, whoapologises profusely for never having returned my call. Am in doubt whether tosay that I haven't noticed the omission, or that I hope she will repair it asquickly as possible. Either sounds uncivil.
Speak to old Lady Dufford, who reminds me that the last time we met was atthe Jones wedding.That, she says, came to grief within a year. She alsoasks if I have heard about the Greens, who have separated, and poor WinifredR., who has had to go back to her parents because He drinks. Am not surprisedwhen she concludes with observation that it is ratherheartrending tosee the two young things setting out together.
Large car belonging to bridegroom draws up at hall-door, and old Lady D.further wags her head at me and says Ah, inour day it would have been acarriage and pair—to which I offer no assent, thinking it very unnecessaryreminder of the flight of Time—and in any event, am Lady D.'s junior by a goodmany years.
Melancholy engendered by the whole of this conversation is lightened byglass of champagne. I ask Robert, sentimentally, if this makes him think ofour wedding. He looks surprised and says No, not particularly, whyshould it? As I cannot at the moment think of any particular reply to this, thequestion drops.
Departure of the bridal couple is followed by general exodus, and I take theKellways home to tea.
Remove shoes with great thankfulness.
March 3rd.—Vicky, after Halma, enquires abruptly whether, if shedied, I should cry? I reply in the affirmative. But, she says, should I cryreallyhard. Should I roar and scream? Decline to commit myself to anysuch extravagant demonstrations, at which Vicky displays a tendency to hurtastonishment. I speak to Mademoiselle and say that I hope she will discourageanything in Vicky that seems to verge upon the morbid. Mademoiselle requires atranslation of the last word, and, after some consideration, I suggestdénaturé, at which she screams dramatically and crosses herself,and assures me that if I knew what I was saying, I should "en reculerd'effroi".
We decide to abandon the subject.
Our Vicar's wife calls for me at seven o'clock, and we go to a neighbouringWomen's Institute at which I have, rather rashly, promised to speak. On the waythere, our Vicar's wife tells me that the secretary of the Institute is liableto have a heart attack at any minute and must on no account exert herself, orbe allowed to get over-excited. Even a violent fit of laughing, she addsimpressively, might carry her off in a moment.
Hastily revise my speech, and remove from it two funny stories. After thisit is a shock to find that the programme for the evening includes dancing and agame of General Post. I ask our Vicar's wife what would happen if the secretarydid get a heart attack, and she replies mysteriously, Oh, she alwayscarries Drops in her handbag. The thing to do is to keep an eye on her handbag.This I do nervously throughout the evening, but fortunately no crisissupervenes.
I speak, am thanked, and asked if I will judge a Darning Competition. This Ido, in spite of inward misgivings that few people are less qualified to giveany opinion about darning than I am. I am thanked again and given tea and adoughnut. We all play General Post and get very heated. Signal success of theevening when two stout and elderly members collide in the middle of the room,and both fall heavily to the floor together. This, if anything, will surelybring on a heart attack, and am prepared to make a rush at the handbag, butnothing happens. We all sing the National Anthem, and our Vicar's wife says shedoes hope the lights of her two-seater are in order, and drives me home. We arerelieved, and surprised, to find that the lights, all except the rear one, arein order, although rather faint.
I beg our Vicar's wife to come in; she says, No, No, it is far too late,really, and comes. Robert and Helen Wills both asleep in the drawing-room. OurVicar's wife says she must not stay a moment, and we talk about Countrywomen,Stanley Baldwin, Hotels at Madeira (where none of us have ever been), and otherunrelated topics. Ethel brings in cocoa, but can tell from the way she putsdown the tray that she thinks it an unreasonable requirement, and will quitelikely give notice to-morrow.
At eleven our Vicar's wife says that shedoes hope the lights of thetwo-seater are still in order, and gets as far as the hall-door. There we talkabout forthcoming village concert, parrot-disease, and the Bishop of thediocese.
Her car refuses to start, and Robert and I push it down the drive. After agood deal of jerking and grinding, engine starts, the hand of our Vicar's wifewaves at us through the hole in the talc, and car disappears down the lane.
Robert inhospitably says, let us put out the lights and fasten up thehall-door and go up to bed immediately, in case she comes back for anything. Wedo so, only delayed by Helen Wills, whom Robert tries vainly to expel into thenight. She retires under the piano, behind the bookcase, and finally disappearsaltogether.
March 4th.—Ethel, as I anticipated, gives notice. Cook says this isso unsettling, she thinks she had better go too. Despair invades me. Write fiveletters to Registry Offices.
March 7th.—No hope.
March 8th.—Cook relents, so far as to say that she will stay until Iam suited. Feel inclined to answer that, in, that case, she had better make upher mind to a lifetime spent together—but naturally refrain. Spend exhaustingday in Plymouth chasing mythical house-parlourmaids. Meet Lady B., who says theservant difficulty, in reality, is non-existent. She has No trouble. It is aquestion of knowing how to treat them. Firmness, she says, but at the same timeone must be human. Am I human? she asks. Do I understand that they wantoccasional diversion, just as I do myself? I lose my head and reply No, that itis my custom to keep my servants chained up in the cellar when their work isdone. This flight of satire rather spoilt by Lady B. laughing heartily, andsaying that I am always so amusing. Well, she adds, we shall no doubt see oneanother at lunch-time at the Duke of Cornwall Hotel, where alone it is possibleto get a decent meal. I reply with ready cordiality that no doubt we shall, andgo and partake of my usual lunch of baked beans and a glass of water in smalland obscure café.
Unavoidable Query, of painfully searching character, here presents itself:If Lady B. had invited me as her guest to lunch at the D. of C. Hotel, should Ihave accepted? Am conscious of being heartily tired of baked beans and water,which in any case do not really serve to support one through long day ofshopping and servant-hunting. Moreover, am always ready to See Life, in hotelsor anywhere else. On the other hand, am aware that self-respect would sufferseverely through accepting five-shillings-worth of luncheon from Lady B. Ponderthis problem of psychology in train on the way home, but reach no definiteconclusion.
Day a complete failure as regards house-parlourmaid, but expedition notwasted, having found two cigarette-cards on pavement, both quite clean CuriousBeaks.
March 9th.—Cannot hear of a house-parlourmaid. Ethel, on the otherhand, can hear of at least a hundred situations, and opulent motor-carsconstantly dash up to front door, containing applicants for her services.Cook more and more unsettled. If this goes on, shall go to London and staywith Rose, in order to visit Agencies.
Meet Barbara, wearing new tweed, in village this morning—nice bright girl,but long to suggest she should have adenoids removed. She says, Will I be anAngel and look in on her mother, now practically an invalid? I reply warmly Ofcourse I will, not really meaning it, but remember that we are now in Lent andsuddenly decide to go at once. Admire the new tweed. Barbara says Itisrather nice, isn't it, and adds—a little strangely—that it came out of JohnBarker's Sale Catalogue, under four guineas, and only needed letting out at thewaist and taking in a bit on the shoulders. Especially, she adds elliptically,now that skirts are longer again.
Barbara goes to Evening Service, and I go to look in on her mother, whom Ifind in shawls, sitting in an armchair reading—rather ostentatiously—enormousLife of Lord Beaconsfield. I ask how she is, and she shakes her head andenquires if I should ever guess that her pet name amongst her friends once usedto be Butterfly? (This kind of question always so difficult, as eitheraffirmative or negative reply apt to sound unsympathetic. Feel it would hardlydo to suggest that Chrysalis, in view of the shawls, would now be moreappropriate.) However, says Mrs. Blenkinsop with a sad smile, it is never herway to dwell upon herself and her own troubles. She just sits there, day afterday, always ready to sympathise in the little joys and troubles of others, andI would hardly believe how unfailingly these are brought to her. People say,she adds deprecatingly, that just her Smile does them good. She does not know,she says, what they mean. (Neither do I.)
After this, there is a pause, and I feel that Mrs. B. is waiting for me topour out my little joys and troubles. Perhaps she hopes that Robert has beenunfaithful to me, or that I have fallen in love with the Vicar.
Am unable to rise to the occasion, so begin instead to talk about Barbara'snew tweed. Mrs. Blenkinsop at once replies that, for her part, she has nevergiven up all those little feminine touches that make All the Difference. Aribbon here, a flower there. This leads to a story about what was once said toher by a friend, beginning "It's so wonderful, dear Mrs. Blenkinsop, to see thetrouble you always take on behalf of others", and ending with Mrs. B.'s ownreply, to the effect that she is only A Useless Old Woman, but that she hasmany, many friends, and that this must be because her motto has always been:Look Out and Not In: Look Up and not Down: Lend a Hand.
Conversation again languishes, and I have recourse toLordBeaconsfield. What, I ask, does Mrs. B. feel about him? She feels, Mrs. B.replies, that he was a most Remarkable Personality. People have often said toMrs. B., Ah, how lonely it must be for you, alone here, when dear Barbara isout enjoying herself with other young things. But Mrs. B.'s reply to this isNo, no. She is never alone when she has Her Books. Books, to her, areFriends. Give her Shakespeare or Jane Austen, Meredith or Hardy, and sheis Lost—lost in a world of her own. She sleeps so little that most of hernights are spent in reading. Have I any idea, asks Mrs. B., what it is like tohear every hour, every half-hour, chiming out all through the night? I have noidea whatever, since am invariably obliged to struggle with overwhelmingsleepiness from nine o'clock onwards, but do not like to tell her this, so takemy departure. Mrs. B.'s parting observation is an expression of thanks to mefor coming to enquire after an old woman, and she is as well as she can hope tobe, at sixty-six years old—sheshould say, sixty-six yearsyoung, all her friends tell her.
Reach home totally unbenefited by this visit, and with strange tendency tosnap at everybody I meet.
March 10th.—Still no house-parlourmaid, and write to ask Rose if Ican go to her for a week. Also write to old Aunt Gertrude in Shropshire toenquire if I may send Vicky and Mademoiselle there on a visit, as this willmake less work in house while we are short-handed. Do not, however, give AuntGertrude this reason for sending them. Ask Robert if he will be terriblylonely, and he says Oh no, he hopes I shall enjoy myself in London. Spend agreat deal of eloquence explaining that I amnot going to London toenjoy myself, but experience sudden fear that I am resembling Mrs. Blenkinsop,and stop abruptly.
Robert says nothing.
March 11th.—Rose wires that she will be delighted to put me up.Cook, very unpleasantly, says, "I'm sure I hope you'll enjoy your holiday,mum." Am precluded from making the kind of reply I shouldlike to make,owing to grave fears that she should also give notice. Tell her instead that Ihope to "get settled" with a house-parlourmaid before my return. Cook looksutterly incredulous and says she is sure she hopes so too, because really,things have been so unsettled lately. Pretend not to hear this and leave thekitchen.
Look through my clothes and find that I have nothing whatever to wear inLondon. Read inDaily Mirror that all evening dresses are worn long, andrealise with horror that not one of mine comes even half-way down my legs.
March 12th.—Collect major portion of my wardrobe and dispatch toaddress mentioned in advertisement pages ofTime and Tide as prepared topay Highest Prices for Outworn Garments, cheque by return. Have gloomyforeboding that six penny stamps by return will more adequately represent valueof my contribution, and am thereby impelled to add Robert's old shooting-coat,mackintosh dating from 1907, and least reputable woollen sweater. Customarystruggle ensues between frank and straightforward course of telling Robert WhatI have done, and less straightforward, but more practical, decision to keepcomplete silence on the point and let him make discovery for himself afterparcel has left the house. Conscience, as usual, is defeated, but neverthelessunsilenced.
(Query: Would it not indicate greater strength of character, even if lesserdelicacy of feeling, not to spend so much time on regretting errors ofjudgement and of behaviour? Reply almost certainly in the affirmative.Brilliant, but nebulous, outline of powerful Article forTime and Tidehere suggests itself:Is Ruthlessness more Profitable than Repentance?Failing article—for which time at the moment is lacking, owing to departure ofhouse-parlourmaid and necessity of learning "Wreck of the Hesperus" to reciteat Village Concert—would this make suitable subject for Debate at Women'sInstitute? Feel doubtful as to whether our Vicar's wife would not thinksubject-matter trenching upon ground more properly belonging to our Vicar.)
Resign from Book of the Month Club, owing to wide and ever-increasingdivergence of opinion between us as to merits or demerits of recently publishedfiction. Write them long and eloquent letter about this, but remember after itis posted that I still owe them twelve shillings and sixpence for Maurois'sByron.
March 13th.—Vicky and Mademoiselle leave, in order to pay visit toAunt Gertrude. Mademoiselle becomes sentimental and says, "Ah,déjà je languis pour notre retour!" As total extent of herabsence at this stage is about half-an-hour, and they have three weeks beforethem, feel that this is not a spirit to be encouraged. See them into the train,when Mademoiselle at once produces eau-de-Cologne in case either, or both,should be ill, and come home again. House resembles the tomb, and the gardenersays that Miss Vicky seems such a little bit of a thing to be sent right awaylike that, and it isn't as if she could write andtell me how she wasgetting on, either.
Go to bed feeling like a murderess.
March 14th.—Rather inadequate Postal Order arrives, together withwhite tennis coat trimmed with rabbit, which—says accompanying letter—isreturned as being unsaleable. Should like to knowwhy. Toy with idea ofwriting toTime and Tide's Editor, enquiring if every advertisement issubjected to personal scrutiny before insertion, but decide that this, in theevent of a reply, might involve me in difficult explanations and diminish myprestige as occasional recipient of First Prize (divided) in WeeklyCompetition.
(Mem.: See whether tennis coat could be dyed and transformed intoevening cloak.)
Am unfortunately found at home by callers, Mr. and Mrs. White, who arestarting a Chicken-farm in the neighbourhood, and appear to have got married onthe expectation of making a fortune out of it. We talk about chickens, houses,scenery, and the train-service between here and London. I ask if they playtennis, and politely suggest that both are probably brilliant performers. Mr.White staggers me by replying Oh, he wouldn't saythat, exactly—meaningthat he would, if it didn't seem like boasting. He enquires about Tournaments.Mrs. White is reminded of Tournaments in which they have, or have not, come outvictors in the past. They refer to their handicap. Resolve never to ask theWhites to play on our extremely inferior court.
Later on talk about politicians. Mr. White says that inhis opinionLloyd George is clever, but Nothing Else. That'sall, says Mr. Whiteimpressively. Just Clever. I refer to Coalition Government and Insurance Act,but Mr. White repeats firmly that both were brought about by mere Cleverness.He adds that Baldwin is a thoroughlyhonest man, and that RamsayMacDonald isweak. Mrs. White supports him with an irrelevant statementto the effect that the Labour Party must be hand in glove with Russia,otherwise how would the Bolshevists dare to go on like that?
She also suddenly adds that Prohibition and the Jews and Everything arereally the thin end of the wedge, don't I think so? I say Yes, I do, as thequickest way of ending the conversation, and ask if she plays the piano, towhich she says No, but the Ukelele a little bit, and we talk about local shopsand the delivery of a Sunday paper.
(N.B. Amenities of conversation afford very, very curious studysometimes, especially in the country.)
The Whites take their departure. Hope never to set eyes on either of themagain.
March 15th.—Robert discovers absence of mackintosh dating from 1907.Says that he would "rather have lost a hundred pounds"—which I know to beuntrue. Unsuccessful evening follows. Cannot make up my mind whether to tellhim at once about shooting-coat and sweater, and get it all over in one, orleave him to find out for himself when present painful impression has had timeto die away. Ray of light pierces impenetrable gloom when Robert is driven toenquire if I can tell him "a word forcalmer in seven letters" and I,after some thought, suggest "serener"—which he says will do, andreturns toTimes Crossword Puzzle. Later he asks for famous mountain inGreece, but does not accept my too-hasty offer of Mount Atlas, nor listen tointeresting explanation as to associative links between Greece, Hercules, andAtlas, which I proffer. After going into it at some length, I perceive thatRobert is not attending, and retire to bed.
March 17th.—Travel up to London with Barbara Blenkinsop—(wearingnew tweed)—who says she is going to spend a fortnight with old school-friendat Streatham and is looking forward to the Italian Art Exhibition. I say that Iam, too, and ask after Mrs. B. Barbara says that she is Wonderful. We discussGirl Guides, and exchange surmises as to reason why Mrs. T. at the Post Officeis no longer on speaking terms with Mrs. L. at the shop. Later on, conversationtakes a more intellectual turn, and we agree that the Parish Magazine needsBrightening Up. I suggest a crossword puzzle, and Barbara says a Children'sPage. Paddington is reached just as we decide that it would be hopeless to tryand get a contribution to the Parish Magazine from anyone reallygood,such as Shaw, Bennett, or Galsworthy.
I ask Barbara to tea at my club one day next week, she accepts, and wepart.
Met by Rose, who has a new hat, and says thatno one is wearing abrim, which discourages me—partly because I have nothingbut brims, andpartly because I know only too well that I shall look my worst without one.Confide this fear to Rose, who says, Why not go to well-known Beauty CultureEstablishment, and have course of treatment there? I look at myself in theglass, see much room for improvement, and agree to this, only stipulating thatall shall be kept secret as the grave, as could not tolerate the idea of LadyB.'s comments, should she ever come to hear of it. Make appointment bytelephone. In the meantime, says Rose, what about the Italian Art Exhibition?She herself has already been four times. I say Yes, yes—it is one of thethings I have come to Londonfor, but should prefer to go earlier in theday. Then, says Rose, the first thing tomorrow morning? To this I reply, withevery sign of reluctance, that to-morrow morningmust be devoted toRegistry Offices. Well, says Rose, whenshall we go? Let us, I urge,settle that a little later on, when I know better what I am doing. Can see thatRose thinks anything but well of me, but she is too tactful to say more. Quiterealise that I shall have to go to the Italian Exhibition sooner or later, andam indeed quite determined to do so, but feel certain that I shall understandnothing about it when I do get there, and shall find myself involved interrible difficulties when asked my impressions afterwards.
Rose's cook, as usual, produces marvellous dinner, and I remember with shameand compassion that Robert, at home, is sitting down to minced beef andmacaroni cheese, followed by walnuts.
Rose says that she is taking me to dinner to-morrow, with distinguishedwoman-writer who has marvellous collection of Jade, to meet still moredistinguished Professor (female) and others. Decide to go and buy an eveningdress to-morrow, regardless of overdraft.
March 18th.—Very successful day, although Italian Art Exhibitionstill unvisited. (Mem.: Positivelymust go there before meeting Barbarafor tea at my club.)
Visit several Registry Offices, and am told that maids do not like thecountry—which I know already—and that the wages I am offering are low. Comeaway from there depressed, and decide to cheer myself up by purchasing eveningdress—which I cannot afford—with present-day waist—which does not suit me.Select the Brompton Road, as likely to contain what I want, and crawl up it,scrutinising windows. Come face-to-face with Barbara Blenkinsop, who says,How extraordinary we should meet here, to which I reply that that is sooften the way, when one comes to London. She is, she tells me, just on her wayto the Italian Exhibition...I at once say Good-bye, and plunge into elegantestablishment with expensive-looking garments in the window.
Try on five dresses, but find judgement of their merits very difficult, ashair gets wilder and wilder, and nose more devoid of powder. Am also worried byextraordinary and tactless tendency of saleswoman to emphasise the fact thatall the colours I like are very trying by daylight, but will be less so atnight. Finally settle on silver tissue with large bow, stipulate for itsimmediate delivery, am told that this is impossible, reluctantly agree to carryit away with me in cardboard box, and go away wondering if it wouldn't havebeen better to choose the black chiffon instead.
Hope that Beauty Parlour experiment may enhance self-respect, at present atrather low ebb, but am cheered by going into Fuller's and sending boxes ofchocolates to Robin and Vicky respectively. Add peppermint creams forMademoiselle by an afterthought, as otherwise she may find herselfblessée. Lunch on oxtail soup, lobster mayonnaise, and cup ofcoffee, as being menu furthest removed from that obtainable at home.
Beauty Parlour follows. Feel that a good deal could be written on thisexperience, and even contemplate—in connection with recent observationsexchanged between Barbara B. and myself—brightening the pages of our ParishMagazine with result of my reflections, but on second thoughts abandon this, asunlikely to appeal to the Editor (Our Vicar).
Am received by utterly terrifying person with dazzling complexion,indigo-blue hair, and orange nails, presiding over reception room downstairs,but eventually passed on to extremely pretty little creature with auburn boband charming smile. Am reassured. Am taken to discreet curtained cubicle andput into long chair. Subsequent operations, which take hours and hours, appearto consist of the removal of hundreds of layers of dirt from my face. (Thesediscreetly explained away by charming operator as the result of "acidity".) Shealso plucks away portions of my eyebrows. Very, very painful operation.
Eventually emerge more or less unrecognisable, and greatly improved. Lose myhead, and buy Foundation Cream, rouge, powder, lip-stick. Foresee gravedifficulty in reconciling Robert to the use of these appliances, but decide notto think about this for the present.
Go back to Rose's flat in time to dress for dinner. She tells me that shespent the afternoon at the Italian Exhibition.
March 19th.—Rose takes me to dine with talented group of herfriends, connected with Feminist Movement. I wear new frock, and for once in mylife am satisfied with my appearance (but still regret great-aunt's diamondring, now brightening pawnbroker's establishment back-street Plymouth). Am,however, compelled to make strong act of will in order to banish allrecollection of bills that will subsequently come in from Beauty Parlour anddressmaker. Am able to succeed in this largely owing to charms of distinguishedFeminists, all as kind as possible. Well-known Professor—(concerning whom Ihave previously consulted Rose as to the desirability of reading up somethingabout Molecules or other kindred topic, for conversationalpurposes)—completely overcomes me by producing, with a charming smile, twocigarette-cards, as she has heard that I collect them for Robin. After this,throw all idea of Molecules to the winds, and am happier for the rest of theevening in consequence.
Editor of well-known literary weekly also present, and actually remembersthat we met before at Literary Club dinner. I discover, towards the end of thedinner, that she has not visited the Italian Exhibition—and give Rose a lookthat I hope she takes to heart.
Cocktails, and wholly admirable dinner, further brighten the evening. I sitnext Editor, and she rather rashly encourages me to give my opinion of herpaper. I do so freely, thanks to cocktail and Editor's charming manners, whichcombine to produce in me the illusion that my words are witty, valuable, andthoroughly well worth listening to. (Am but too well aware that later in thenight I shall wake up in cold sweat, and view this scene in retrospect withvery different feelings as to my own part in it.)
Rose and I take our leave just before midnight, sharing taxi with verywell-known woman dramatist. (Should much like Lady B. to know this, and haveevery intention of making casual mention to her of it at earliest possibleopportunity.)
March 20th.—More Registry Offices, less success than ever.
Barbara Blenkinsop comes to tea with me at my club, and says that Streathamis very gay, and that her friends took her to a dance last night and a Mr.Crosbie Carruthers drove her home afterwards in his car. We then talk aboutclothes—dresses all worn long in the evening—this graceful, but nothygienic—women will never again submit to long skirts in the day-time—mostpeople growing their hair—but eventually Barbara reverts to Mr. C. C. and asksif I think a girl makes herself cheap by allowing a man friend to take her outto dinner in Soho? I say No, not at all, and inwardly decide that Vicky wouldlook nice as bridesmaid in blue taffetas, with little wreath of Banksiaroses.
A letter from dear Robin, forwarded from home, arrives to-night. He says,wouldn't a motor tour in the Easter holidays be great fun, and a boy at schoolcalled Briggs is going on one. (Briggs is the only son of millionaire parents,owning two Rolls-Royces and any number of chauffeurs.) Feel that it would beunendurable to refuse this trustful request, and decide that I can probablypersuade Robert into letting me drive the children to the far side of thecounty in the old Standard. Can call this modest expedition a motor tour if westay the night at a pub. and return the next day.
At the same time realise that, financial situation being what it is, andmoreover time rapidly approaching when great-aunt's diamond ring must either beredeemed, or relinquished for ever, there is nothing for it but to approachBank on subject of an overdraft.
Am never much exhilarated at this prospect, and do not in the least findthat it becomes less unpleasant with repetition, but rather the contrary.Experience customary difficulty in getting to the point, and Bank Manager and Idiscuss weather, political situation, and probable Starters for the GrandNational with passionate suavity for some time. Inevitable pause occurs, and welook at one another across immense expanse of pink blotting-paper. Irrelevantimpulse rises in me to ask if he has other supply, for use, in writing-tabledrawer, or if fresh pad is brought in whenever a client calls. (Strangedivagations of the human brain under the stress of extreme nervousness presentsitself here as interesting topic for speculation. Should like to hear opinionof Professor met last night on this point. Subject far preferable toMolecules.)
Long, and rather painful, conversation follows. Bank Manager kind, but if hesays the word "security" once, he certainly says it twenty times. Am, myself,equally insistent with "temporary accommodation only", which I think soundsthoroughly businesslike, and at the same time optimistic as to speedyrepayment. Just as I think we are over the worst, Bank Manager reduces me tospiritual pulp by suggesting that we should see how the Account Stands at theMoment. Am naturally compelled to agree to this with air of well-bred anddetached amusement, but am in reality well aware that the Account Stands—or,more accurately, totters—on a Debit Balance of Thirteen Pounds, two shillings,and tenpence. Large sheet of paper, bearing this impressive statement, ispresently brought in and laid before us.
Negotiations resumed.
Eventually emerge into the street with purpose accomplished, but feelingcompletely unstrung for the day. Rose is kindness personified, produces Bovriland an excellent lunch, and agrees with me that it is All Nonsense to say thatWealth wouldn't mean Happiness, because we know quite well that itwould.
March 21st.—Express to Rose serious fear that I shall lose my reasonif no house-parlourmaid materialises. Rose, as usual, sympathetic, but cansuggest nothing that I have not already tried. We go to a Sale in order tocheer ourselves up, and I buy yellow linen tennis-frock—£1 9s. 6d.—onstrength of newly-arranged overdraft, but subsequently suffer from theconviction that I am taking the bread out of the mouths of Robin and Vicky.
Rather painful moment occurs when I suggest the Italian Exhibition to Rose,who replies—after a peculiar silence—that it is nowover. Can think ofnothing whatever to say, and do not care for dear Rose's expression, so beginat once to discuss new novels with as much intelligence as I can muster.
March 22nd.—Completely amazed by laconic postcard from Robert to saythat local Registry Office can supply us with house-parlourman, and if Iam experiencing difficulty in finding anyone, had we not better engage him? Itelegraph back Yes, and then feel that I have made a mistake, but Rose says No,and refuses to let me rush out and telegraph again, for which, on subsequentcalmer reflection, I feel grateful to her—and am sure that Robert would bestill more so, owing to well-authenticated masculine dislike of telegrams.
Spend the evening writing immense letter to Robert enclosing list of dutiesof house-parlourman. (Jib at thought of being called by him in the morningswith early tea, and consult Rose, who says boldly, Think of waiters in ForeignHotels!—which I do, and am reminded at once of many embarrassing episodeswhich I would rather forget.) Also send detailed instructions to Robertregarding the announcement of this innovation to Cook. Rose again takes upmodern and fearless attitude, and says that Cook, mark her words, will bedelighted.
I spend much of the night thinking over the whole question of running thehouse successfully, and tell myself—not by any means for the first time—thatmy abilities are very, very deficient in this direction. Just as therealisation of this threatens to overwhelm me altogether, I fall asleep.
March 25th.—Return home, to Robert, Helen Wills, and newhouse-parlourman, who is—I now learn for the first time—named Fitzsimmons. Itell Robert that it is impossible that he should be called this. Robertreplies, Why not? Can only say that if Robert cannot see this for himself,explanation will be useless. Then, says Robert, no doubt we can call him by hisfirst name. This, on investigation, turns out to be Howard. Find myself quiteunable to cope with any of it, and the whole situation is met by my nevercalling the house-parlourman anything at all except "you" and speaking of himto Robert as "Howard Fitzsimmons", in inverted commas as though intending to befunny. Very unsatisfactory solution.
Try to tell Robert all about London—(with exception of Italian Exhibition,which I do not mention)—but Aladdin lamp flares up, which interferes, and havealso to deal with correspondence concerning Women's Institute Monthly Meeting,replacement of broken bedroom tumblers—attributed to Ethel—disappearance ofone pyjama-jacket and two table-napkins in the wash, and instructions to HowardFitzs. concerning his duties. (Mem.: Must certainly make itcrystal-clear that acceptable formula, when receiving an order, is not"Right-oh!" Cannot, at the moment, think how to word this, but must work itout, and then deliver with firmness and precision.)
Robert very kind about London, but perhaps rather more interested in myhaving met Barbara Blenkinsop—which, after all, I can do almost any day in thevillage—than in my views onNine till Six (the best play I have seenfor ages) or remarkable increase of traffic in recent years. Tell Robert bydegrees about my new clothes. He asks when I expect to wear them, and I replythat one never knows—which is only too true—and conversation closes.
Write long letter to Angela, for the express purpose of referring casuallyto Rose's distinguished friends, met in London.
March 27th.—Angela replies to my letter, but says little aboutdistinguished society in which I have been moving, and asks for full account ofmy impressions of Italian Exhibition. She and William, she says, went up onpurpose to see it, and visited it three times. Can only say—but do not, ofcourse, do so—that William must have been dragged there by the hair of hishead.
March 28th.—Read admirable, but profoundly discouraging, article inTime and Tide relating to Bernard Shaw's women, but applying to most ofus. Realise—not for the first time—that intelligent women can perhaps bestperform their duty towards their own sex by devastating process of telling themthe truth about themselves. At the same time, cannot feel that I shall reallyenjoy hearing it. Ultimate paragraph of article, moreover, continues to hauntme most unpleasantly with reference to own undoubted vulnerability where Robinand Vicky are concerned. Have very often wondered if Mothers are not rather AMistake altogether, and now definitely come to the conclusion that theyare.
Interesting speculation as to how they might best be replaced interrupted bynecessity of seeing that Fitzs. is turning out spare-bedroom according toinstructions. Am unspeakably disgusted at finding him sitting in spare-roomarmchair, with feet on the window-sill. He says that he is "not feeling verywell". Am much more taken aback than he is, and lose my head to the extent ofreplying: "Then go and be it in your own room." Realise afterwards that thismight have been better worded.
April 2nd.—Barbara calls. Can she, she says, speak to me inconfidence? I assure her that she can, and at once put Helen Wills andkitten out of the window in order to establish confidential atmosphere. Sit,seething with excitement, in the hope that I am at least going to be told thatBarbara is engaged. Try to keep this out of sight, and to maintain expressionof earnest and sympathetic attention only, whilst Barbara says that it issometimes very difficult to know which way Duty lies, that she has alwaysthought a true woman's highest vocation is home-making, and that the love of aGood Man is the crown of life. I say Yes, Yes, to all of this. (Discover, onthinking it over, that I do not agree with any of it, and am shocked at my ownextraordinary duplicity.)
Barbara at length admits that Crosbie has asked her to marry him—he did it,she says, at the Zoo—and go out with him as his wife to the Himalayas. This,says Barbara, is where all becomes difficult. She may be old-fashioned—nodoubt she is—but can she leave her mother alone? No, she cannot. Can she, onthe other hand, give up dear Crosbie, who has never loved a girl before, andsays that he never will again? No, she cannot.
Barbara weeps. I kiss her. Howard Fitzsimmons selects this moment to walk inwith the tea, at which I sit down again in confusion and begin to talk aboutthe Vicarage daffodils being earlier than ours, just as Barbara launches intothe verdict in the Podmore Case. We gyrate uneasily in and out of these topicswhile Howard Fitzsimmons completes his preparations for tea. Atmosphere ruined,and destruction completed by my own necessary enquiries as to Barbara's wishesin the matter of milk, sugar, bread-and-butter, and so on. (Mem.: Mustspeak to Cook about sending in minute segment of sponge-cake, remains of onewhich, to my certain recollection, made its first appearance more than ten daysago. Also, why perpetual and unappetising procession of small rock-cakes?)
Robert comes in, he talks of swine-fever, all further confidences becomeimpossible. Barbara takes her leave immediately after tea, only asking if Icould look in on her mother and have a Little Talk? I reluctantly agree to doso, and she mounts her bicycle and rides off. Robert says, That girl holdsherself well, but it's a pity she has those ankles.
April 4th.—Go to see old Mrs. Blenkinsop. She is, as usual, swathedin shawls, but has exchangedLord Beaconsfield forFroude andCarlyle. She says that I am very good to come and see a poor old woman, andthat she often wonders how it is that so many of the younger generation seem tofind their way to her by instinct. Is it, she suggests, because herheart has somehow kept young, in spite of her grey hair and wrinkles,ha-ha-ha, and so she has always been able to find the Silver Lining, she isthankful to say. I circuitously approach the topic of Barbara. Mrs. B. at oncesays that the young are very hard and selfish. This is natural, perhaps, but itsaddens her. Not on her own account—no, no, no—but because she cannot bear tothink of what Barbara will have to suffer from remorse when it is Too Late.
Feel a strong inclination to point out that this isnot finding theSilver Lining, but refrain. Long monologue from old Mrs. B. follows. Mainpoints that emerge are: (a) That Mrs. B. has not got very many more years tospend amongst us; (b) that all her life has been given up to others, but thatshe deserves no credit for this, as it is just the way she is made; (c) thatall she wants is to see her Barbara happy, and it matters nothing at all thatshe herself should be left alone and helpless in her old age, and no one is togive a thought to that for a moment. Finally, that it has never been her way tothink of herself or of her own feelings. People have often said to her thatthey believe shehas no self—simply, none at all.
Pause, which I do not attempt to fill, ensues.
We return to Barbara, and Mrs. B. says it is very natural that a girl shouldbe wrapped up in her own little concerns. I feel that we are getting nofurther, and boldly introduce the name of Crosbie Carruthers. Terrific effecton Mrs. B., who puts her hand on her heart, leans back, and begins to gasp andturn blue. She is sorry, she pants, to be so foolish, but it is now many nightssince she has had any sleep at all, and the strain is beginning to tell. I mustforgive her. I hastily do forgive her, and depart.
Very, very unsatisfactory interview.
Am told, on my way home, by Mrs. S. of theCross and Keys, that agentleman is staying there who is said to be engaged to Miss Blenkinsop, butthe old lady won't hear of it, and he seems such a nice gentleman too, thoughperhaps not quite as young as some, and do I think the Himalayas would be AllRight if there was a baby coming along? Exchange speculations and comments withMrs. S. for some time before recollecting that the whole thing is supposed tobe private, and that in any case gossip is undesirable.
Am met at home by Mademoiselle with intelligent enquiry as to the prospectsof Miss Blenkinsop's immediate marriage, and the attitude adopted by old Mrs.B. "Le coeur d'une mère," says Mademoiselle sentimentally. Even theinfant Vicky suddenly demands if that gentleman at theCross and Keys isreally Miss Blenkinsop's True Love? At this, Mademoiselle screams, "Ah, monDieu, ces enfants anglais!" and is much upset at impropriety of Vicky'slanguage.
Even Robert enquires What All This Is, about Barbara Blenkinsop? I explain,and he returns—very, very briefly—that old Mrs. Blenkinsop ought to beShot—which gets us no further, but meets with my entire approval.
April 10th.—Entire parish now seething with theaffaireBlenkinsop. Old Mrs. B. falls ill, and retires to bed. Barbara bicycles madlyup and down between her mother and the garden of theCross and Keys,where C. C. spends much time reading copies ofThe Times of India andsmoking small cigars. We are all asked by Barbara What she Ought to Do, and allgive different advice. Deadlock appears to have been reached, when C. C.suddenly announces that he is summoned to London and must have an answer OneWay or the Other immediately.
Old Mrs. B.—who has been getting better and taking Port—instantly getsworse again and says that she will not long stand in the way of dear Barbara'shappiness.
Period of fearful stress sets in, and Barbara and C. C. say Good-bye in thefront sitting-room of theCross and Keys. They have, says Barbara intears, parted For Ever, and Life is Over, and will I take the Guides' Meetingfor her to-night—which I agree to do.
April 12th.—Return of Robin for the holidays. He has a cold, and, asusual, is short of handkerchiefs. I write to the Matron about this, but have noslightest hope of receiving either handkerchiefs or rational explanation oftheir disappearance. Robin mentions that he has invited "a boy" to come andstay for a week. I ask, Is he very nice and a great friend of yours? Oh no,says Robin, he is one of the most unpopular boys in the school. And after amoment he adds,That's why. Am touched, and think that this denotes agenerous spirit, but am also undeniably rather apprehensive as to possiblecharacteristics of future guest. I repeat the story to Mademoiselle, who—asusual, when I praise Robin—at once remarks: "Madame, notre petite Vicky n'apas de défauts"—which is neither true nor relevant.
Receive a letter from Mary K. with postscript: Is it true that BarbaraBlenkinsop is engaged to be married? and am also asked the same question byLady B., who looks in on her way to some ducal function on the other side ofthe county. Have no time in which to enjoy being in the superior position ofbestowing information, as Lady B. at once adds thatshe always advisesgirls to marry, no matter what the man is like, as any husband is better thannone, and there are not nearly enough to go round.
I immediately refer to Rose's collection of distinguished Feminists, givingher to understand that I know them all well and intimately, and have frequentlydiscussed the subject with them. Lady B. waves her hand—(in elegant white kid,new, not cleaned)—and declares That may be all very well, but if they couldhave gothusbands they wouldn'tbe Feminists. I instantly assertthat all have had husbands, and some two or three. This may or may not be true,but have seldom known stronger homicidal impulse. Final straw is added whenLady B. amiably observes thatI, at least, have nothing to complain of,as she always thinks Robert such a safe, respectable husband foranywoman. Give her briefly to understand that Robert is in reality a compound ofDon Juan, the Marquis de Sade, and Dr. Crippen, but that we do not care to letit be known locally. Cannot say whether she is or is not impressed by this, asshe declares herself obliged to go, because ducal function "cannot beginwithout her". All I can think of is to retort that Duchesses—(of whom, inactual fact, I do not know any)—always remind me of Alice in Wonderland, as dowhite kid gloves of the White Rabbit. Lady B. replies that I am always sowell-read, and car moves off leaving her with, as usual, the last word.
Evolve in my own mind merry fantasy in which members of the Royal Familyvisit the neighbourhood and honour Robert and myself by becoming our guests atluncheon. (Cannot quite fit Howard Fitzs. into this scheme, but gloss over thataspect of the case.) Robert has just been raised to the peerage, and I am, witha slight and gracious inclination of the head, taking precedence of Lady B. atlarge dinner party, when Vicky comes in to say that the Scissor-Grinder is atthe door, and if we haven't anything to grind, he'll be pleased to attend tothe clocks or rivet any china.
Am disconcerted at finding itinerant gipsy, of particularly low appearance,encamped at back door, with collection of domestic articles strewn all roundhim and his machine. Still more disconcerted at appearance of Mademoiselle, infits of loud and regrettable Gallic merriment, bearing extremely unsuitablefragments of bedroom ware in either hand...She, Vicky, and the Scissor-Grinderjoin in unseemly mirth, and I leave them to it, thankful that at least Lady B.is by now well on her way and cannot descend upon the scene. Am seriouslyexercised in my mind as to probable standard of humour with which Vicky willgrow up.
Look for Robin and eventually find him with the cat, shut up into totallyunventilated linen-cupboard, eating cheese which he says he found on the backstairs.
(Undoubtedly, a certain irony can be found in the fact that I have recentlybeen appointed to new Guardians Committee, and am expected to visit Workhouse,etc., with particular reference to children's quarters, in order that I mayoffer valuable suggestions on questions of hygiene and general welfare ofinmates...Can only hope that fellow-members of the Committee will never beinspired to submit my own domestic arrangements to similar inspection.)
Write letters. Much interrupted by Helen Wills, wanting to be let out,kitten, wanting to be let in, and dear Robin, who climbs all over all thefurniture, apparently unconscious that he is doing so, and tells me at the sametime, loudly and in full, the story ofThe Swiss Family Robinson.
April 14th.—Cook electrifies me by asking me if I have heard thatMiss Barbara Blenkinsop's engagement is on again, it's all over the village.The gentleman, she says, came down by the 8.45 last night, and is at theCross and Keys. As it is exactly 9.15 A.M. when she tells me this, I askhow she knows? Cook merely repeats that It is All Over the Village, and thatMiss Barbara will quite as like as not be married by special licence, and oldMrs. B. is in such a way as never was. Am disconcerted to find that Cook and Ihave been talking our heads off for the better part of forty minutes before Iremember that gossip is both undignified and undesirable.
Just as I am putting on my hat to go down to the Blenkinsops' our Vicar'swife rushes in. All is true, she says,and more. Crosbie Carruthers, inaltogether desperate state, has threatened suicide, and written terrificfarewell letter to Barbara, who has cried herself—as our Vicar's wife ratherstrangely expresses it—to the merestpulp, and begged him to Come AtOnce. A Blenkinsop Family Council has been summoned—old Mrs. B. has hadAttacks—(nobody quite knows what of)—but has finally been persuaded toreconsider entire problem. Our Vicar has been called in to give impartialadvice and consolation to all parties. He is there now. Surely, I urge, he willuse all his influence on behalf of C. C. and Barbara? Our Vicar's wife,agitated, says Yes, Yes,—he is all in favour of young folk living their ownlives, whilst at the same time he feels that a mother's claims are sacred, andalthough he realises the full beauty of self-sacrifice, yet on the other handno one knows better than he does that the devotion of a Good Man is not to belightly relinquished.
Feel that if this is to be our Vicar's only contribution towards thesolution of the problem, he might just as well have stayed at home—butnaturally do not impart this opinion to his wife. We decide to walk down to thevillage, and do so. The gardener stops me on the way, and says he thought Imight like to know that Miss Barbara's young gentleman has turned up again, andwants to marry her before he sails next month, and old Mrs. Blenkinsop istaking on so, they think she'll have a stroke.
Similar information also reaches us from six different quarters in thevillage. No less than three motor-cars and two bicycles are to be seen outsideold Mrs. B.'s cottage, but no one emerges, and I am obliged to suggest that ourVicar's wife should come home with me to lunch. This she does, after manydemurs, and gets cottage-pie—(too much onion)—rice-shape, and stewed prunes.Should have sent to the farm for cream, if I had known.
April 15th.—Old Mrs. Blenkinsop reported to have Come Round. Elderlyunmarried female Blenkinsop, referred to as Cousin Maud, has suddenlymaterialised, and offered to live with her—Our Vicar has come out boldly insupport of this scheme—and Crosbie Carruthers has given Barbara engagementring with three stones, said to be rare Indian Topazes, and has gone up to townto Make Arrangements. Immediate announcement in theMorning Postexpected.
April 18th.—Receive visit from Barbara, who begs that I will escorther to London for quiet and immediate wedding. Am obliged to refuse, owing tobad colds of Robin and Vicky, general instability of domestic staff, andcustomary unsatisfactory financial situation. Offer then passed on to ourVicar's wife, who at once accepts it. I undertake, however, at Barbara's urgentrequest, to look in as often as possible on her mother. Will I, adds Barbara,make it clear that she is not losing a Daughter, but only gaining a Son, andtwo years will soon be over, and at the end of that time dear Crosbie willbring her home to England. I recklessly commit myself to doing anything andeverything, and write to the Army and Navy Stores for a luncheon-basket, togive as wedding-present to Barbara. The Girl Guides present her with asugar-castor and a waste-paper basket embossed with raffia flowers. Lady B.sends a chafing-dish with a card bearing illegible and far-fetched jokeconnected with Indian curries. We all agree that this is not in the leastamusing. Mademoiselle causes Vicky to present Barbara with small tray-cloth, onwhich two hearts are worked in cross-stitch.
April 19th.—Both children simultaneously develop incredibly lowcomplaint known as "pink-eye" that everyone unites in telling me is peculiar tothe more saliently neglected and underfed section of the juvenile population inthe East End of London.
Vicky has a high temperature and is put to bed, while Robin remains on hisfeet, but is not allowed out of doors until present cold winds are over. Ileave Vicky to Mademoiselle andLes Mémoires d'un Ane in thenight-nursery, and undertake to amuse Robin downstairs. He says that he has aSplendid Idea. This turns out to be that I should play the piano, whilst hesimultaneously sets off the gramophone, the musical-box, and the chimingclock.
I protest.
Robin implores, and says It will be just like an Orchestra. (Shade of DameEthel Smyth, whose Reminiscences I have just been reading!) I weakly yield, andattack,con spirito, "The Broadway Melody" in the key of C Major. Robin,in great excitement, starts the clock, puts "Mucking About the Garden" on thegramophone, and winds up the musical-box, which tinkles out the Waltz fromFloradora in a tinny sort of way, and no recognisable key. Robin springsabout and cheers. I watch him sympathetically and keep down, at his request,the loud pedal.
The door is flung open by Howard Fitzs., and Lady B. enters, wearingbran-new green Kasha with squirrel collar, and hat to match, and accompanied bymilitary-looking friend.
Have no wish to record subsequent few minutes, in which I endeavour tocombine graceful greetings to Lady B. and the military friend, with simple andyet dignified explanation of singular state of affairs presented to them, andunobtrusive directions to Robin to switch off musical-box and gramophone andbetake himself and his pink-eye upstairs. Clock has mercifully ceased to chime,and Robin struggles gallantly with musical-box, but "Mucking About the Garden"continues to ring brazenly through the room for what seems about an hour and ahalf...(Should not have minded quite so much if it had been "ClassicalMemories", which I also possess, or even a Layton and Johnstone duet.)
Robin goes upstairs, but not until after Lady B. has closely scrutinisedhim, and observed that He looks like Measles, to her. Military friend tactfullypretends absorption in the nearest bookcase until this is over, when he emergeswith breezy observation concerningBulldog Drummond.
Lady B. at once informs him that he must not say that kind of thing tome, as I am so Very Literary. After this, the military friend looks atme with unconcealed horror, and does not attempt to speak to me again. On thewhole, am much relieved when the call is over.
Go upstairs and see Vicky, who seems worse, and telephone for the doctor.Mademoiselle begins lugubrious story, which is evidently destined to enddisastrously, about a family in her native town mysteriously afflicted bySmallpox—(of which all the preliminary symptoms were identical with those ofVicky's present disorder)—afterwards traced to unconsidered purchase bylepapa of Eastern rugs, sold by itinerant vendor on the quay at Marseilles.Cut her short after the death of the six-months-old baby, as I perceive thatall the other five children are going to follow suit, as slowly and agonisinglyas possible.
April 20th.—Vicky develops unmistakable measles, and doctor saysthat Robin may follow suit any day. Infection must have been picked up at AuntGertrude's, and shall write and tell her so.
Extraordinary and nightmare-like state of affairs sets in, and I alternatebetween making lemonade for Vicky and telling her the story ofFrederick andthe Picnic upstairs, and bathing Robin's pink-eye with boracic lotion andreadingThe Coral Island to him downstairs.
Mademoiselle isdévouée in the extreme, and utterlyrefuses to let anyone but herself sleep in Vicky's room, but find it difficultto understand exactly on what principle it is that she persists in wearing apeignoir andpantoufles day and night alike. She is alsounwearied in recommending very strangetisanes, which she proposes tobrew herself from herbs—fortunately unobtainable—in the garden.
Robert, in this crisis, is less helpful than I could wish, and takes upcharacteristically masculine attitude that We are All Making a Great Fuss aboutVery Little, and the whole thing has been got up for the express purpose ofputting him to inconvenience—(which, however, it does not do, as he stays outall day, and insists on having dinner exactly the same as usual everyevening).
Vicky incredibly and alarmingly good, Robin almost equally so in patches,but renders himself unpopular with Fitzs. by leaving smears of Plasticine,pools of paint-water, and even blots of ink on much of the furniture. Find itvery difficult to combine daily close inspection of him, with a view todiscovering the beginning of measles, with light-hearted optimism that I feelto be right and rational attitude of mind.
Weather very cold and rainy, and none of the fires will burn up. Cannot saywhy this is, but it adds considerably to condition of gloom and exhaustionwhich I feel to be gaining upon me hourly.
April 25th.—Vicky recovering slowly, Robin showing no signs ofmeasles. Am myself victim of curious and unpleasant form of chill, no doubt dueto over-fatigue.
Howard Fitzsimmons gives notice, to the relief of everyone, and I obtainservice of superior temporary house-parlourmaid at cost of enormous weeklysum.
April 27th.—Persistence of chill compels me to retire to bed forhalf a day, and Robert suggests gloomily that I have caught the measles. Idemonstrate that this is impossible, and after lunch get up and play cricketwith Robin on the lawn. After tea, keep Vicky company. She insists upon playingat the Labours of Hercules, and we give energetic representations ofslaughtering the Hydra, cleaning out the Augean Stables, and so on. Am dividedbetween gratification at Vicky's classical turn of mind and strongdisinclination for so much exertion.
May 7th.—Resume Diary after long and deplorable interlude,vanquished chill having suddenly reappeared with immense force and fury, andrevealed itself as measles. Robin, on same day, begins to cough, and expensivehospital nurse materialises and takes complete charge. She proves kind andefficient, and brings me messages from the children, and realistic drawing fromRobin entitled "Ill person being eaten up by jerms".
(Query: Is dear Robin perhaps future Heath Robinson or Arthur Watts?)
Soon after this all becomes incoherent and muddled. Chief recollection is ofhearing the doctor say that of course my Age is against me, which hurts myfeelings and makes me feel like old Mrs. Blenkinsop. After a few days, however,I get the better of my age, and am given champagne, grapes, and Valentine'sMeat Juice.
Should like to ask what all this is going to cost, but feel it would beungracious.
The children, to my astonishment, are up and about again, and allowed tocome and see me. They play at Panthers on the bed, until removed by Nurse.Robin reads aloud to me, article on Lord Chesterfield from pages ofTime andTide, which has struck him because he, like the writer, finds it difficultto accept a compliment gracefully. What doI do, he enquires, when Ireceive so many compliments all at once that I am overwhelmed? Am obliged toadmit that I have not yet found myself in this predicament, at which Robinlooks surprised, and slightly disappointed.
Robert, the nurse, and I decide in conclave that the children shall be sentto Bude for a fortnight with Nurse, and Mademoiselle given a holiday in whichto recover from her exertions. I am to join the Bude party when doctorpermits.
Robert goes to make this announcement to the nursery, and comes back withfatal news that Mademoiselle isblessée, and that the more heasks her to explain, the more monosyllabic she becomes. Am not allowed eitherto see her or to write explanatory and soothing note and am far from reassuredby Vicky's report that Mademoiselle, bathing her, has wept, and said that inEngland there are hearts of stone.
May 12th.—Further interlude, this time owing to trouble with theeyes. (No doubt concomitant of my Age, once again.) The children and hospitalnurse depart on the 9th, and I am left to gloomy period of total inactivity andlack of occupation. Get up after a time and prowl about in kind ofsemi-ecclesiastical darkness, further intensified by enormous pair of tintedspectacles. One and only comfort is that I cannot see myself in the glass. Twodays ago, decide to make great effort and come down for tea, but nearly relapseand go straight back to bed again at sight of colossal demand for the Rates,confronting me on hall-stand without so much as an envelope between us.
(Mem.: This sort of thing so very unlike picturesque convalescence ina novel, when heroine is gladdened by sight of spring flowers, sunshine, andwhat not. No mention ever made of Rates, or anything like them.)
Miss the children very much and my chief companion is kitchen cat, ahard-bitten animal with only three and a half legs and a reputation forcatching and eating a nightly average of three rabbits. We get on well togetheruntil I have recourse to the piano, when he invariably yowls and asks to be letout. On the whole, am obliged to admit that he is probably right, for I haveforgotten all I ever knew, and am reduced to playing popular music by ear,which I do badly.
Dear Barbara sends me a book of Loopy Limericks, and Robert assures me thatI shall enjoy them later on. Personally, feel doubtful of surviving many moredays of this kind.
May 13th.—Regrettable, but undeniable ray of amusement lightensgeneral murk on hearing report, through Robert, that Cousin Maud Blenkinsoppossesses a baby Austin, and has been seen running it all round the parish withold Mrs. B., shawls and all, beside her. (It is many years since Mrs. B. gaveus all to understand that if she so much as walked across the room unaided, shewould certainly fall down dead.)
Cousin Maud, adds Robert thoughtfully, is nothis idea of a gooddriver. He says no more, but I at once have dramatic visions of old Mrs. B.flying over the nearest hedge, shawls waving in every direction, while CousinMaud and the baby Austin charge a steam-roller in a narrow lane. Am sorry torecord that this leads to hearty laughter on my part, after which I feel betterthan for weeks past.
The doctor comes to see me, says that hethinks my eyelashes willgrow again—(should have preferred something much more emphatic, but am toomuch afraid of further reference to my age to insist)—and agrees to my joiningchildren at Bude next week. He also, reluctantly, and with an air of suspicion,says that I may use my eyes for an hour every day, unless pain ensues.
May 15th.—Our Vicar's wife, hearing that I am no longer inquarantine, comes to enliven me. Greet her with an enthusiasm to which shemust, I fear, be unaccustomed, as it appears to startle her. Endeavour toexplain it (perhaps a little tactlessly) by saying that I have been alone solong...Robert out all day...children at Bude...and end up with quotation to theeffect that I never hear the sweet music of speech, and start at the sound ofmy own. Can see by the way our Vicar's wife receives this that she does notrecognise it as a quotation, and believes the measles to have affected mybrain. (Query: Perhaps she is right?) More normal atmosphere established by aplea from our Vicar's wife that kitchen cat may be put out of the room. It is,she knows, very foolish of her, but the presence of a cat makes her feel faint.Her grandmother was exactly the same. Put a cat into the same room as hergrandmother, hidden under the sofa if you liked, and in two minutes thegrandmother would say: "I believe there's a cat in this room," and at once turnqueer. I hastily put kitchen cat out of the window, and we agree that heredityis very odd.
And now, says our Vicar's wife, how am I? Before I can reply, she does sofor me, and says that she knows just how I feel. Weak as a rat, legs likecotton-wool, no spine whatever, and head like a boiled owl. Am depressed bythis diagnosis, and begin to feel that it must be correct. However, she adds,all will be different after a blow in the wind at Bude, and meanwhile, she musttell me all the news.
She does so.
Incredible number of births, marriages, and deaths appear to have takenplace in the parish in the last four weeks; also Mrs. W. has dismissed her cookand cannot get another one, our Vicar has written a letter about Drains to thelocal paper and it has been put in, and Lady B. has been seen in a new car. Tothis our Vicar's wife adds rhetorically: Why not an aeroplane, she would liketo know? (Why not, indeed?)
Finally a Committee Meeting has been held—at which, she interpolateshastily I was much missed—and a Garden Fête arranged, in aid of fundsfor Village Hall. It would be so nice, she adds optimistically, if theFête could be heldhere. I agree that it would, and stifle amisgiving that Robert may not agree. In any case, he knows, and I know, and ourVicar's wife knows, that Fête will have to take place here, as there isn'tanywhere else.
Tea is brought in—superior temporary's afternoon out, and Cook has, asusual, carried out favourite labour-saving device of three sponge-cakes and onebun jostling one another on the same plate—and we talk about Barbara andCrosbie Carruthers, beekeeping, modern youth, and difficulty of removingoil-stains from carpets. Have I, asks our Vicar's wife, readA Brass Hat inNo Man's Land? No, I have not. Then, she says,don't, on anyaccount. There are so many sad and shocking things in life as itis,that writers should confine themselves to the bright, the happy, and thebeautiful. This the author ofA Brass Hat has entirely failed to do. Itsubsequently turns out that our Vicar's wife has not read the book herself, butthat our Vicar has skimmed it, and declared it to be very painful andunnecessary. (Mem.: PutBrass Hat down forTimes Book Clublist, if not already there.)
Our Vicar's wife suddenly discovers that it is six o'clock, exclaims thatshe is shocked, and attemptsfausse sortie, only to return with urgentrecommendation to me to try Valentine's Meat Juice, which once practically,under Providence, saved our Vicar's uncle's life. Story of the uncle's illness,convalescence, recovery, and subsequent death at the age of eighty-one,follows. Am unable to resist telling her, in return, about wonderful effect ofBemax on Mary Kell-way's youngest, and this leads—curiously enough—to thenovels of Anthony Trollope, death of the Begum of Bhopal, and scenery in theLake Country.
At twenty minutes to seven, our Vicar's wife is again shocked, and rushesout of the house. She meets Robert on the doorstep and stops to tell him that Iam as thin as a rake, and a very bad colour, and the eyes, after measles, oftengive rise to serious trouble. Robert, so far as I can hear, makes no answer toany of it, and our Vicar's wife finally departs.
(Query here suggests itself: Is not silence frequently more efficacious thanthe utmost eloquence? Answer probably yes. Must try to remember this more oftenthan I do.)
Second post brings a long letter from Mademoiselle, recuperating withfriends at Clacton-on-Sea, written, apparently, with a pin point dipped inviolet ink on thinnest imaginable paper, and crossed in every direction.Decipher portions of it with great difficulty, but am relieved to find that Iam still "Bien-chère Madame" and that recent mysterious affront has beencondoned.
(Mem.: If Cook sends up jelly even once again, as being suitable dietfor convalescence, shall send it straight back to the kitchen.)
May 16th.—But for disappointing children, should be much tempted toabandon scheme for my complete restoration to health at Bude. Weather icy cold,self feeble and more than inclined to feverishness, and Mademoiselle, who wasto have come with me, and helped with children, now writes that she isdésolée, but has developedune angine. Do not knowwhat this is, and have alarming thoughts about Angina Pectoris, but dictionaryreassures me. I say to Robert: "After all, shouldn't I get well just as quicklyat home?" He replies briefly: "Better go," and I perceive that his mind is madeup. After a moment he suggests—but without real conviction—that I might liketo invite our Vicar's wife to come with me. I reply with a look only, andsuggestion falls to the ground.
A letter from Lady B. saying that she has only just heard aboutmeasles—(Why only just, when news has been all over parish for weeks?) and isso sorry, especially as measles are no joke at my age—(Can she be in leaguewith Doctor, who also used identical objectionable expression?).—She cannotcome herself to enquire, as with so many visitors always coming and going itwouldn't be wise, but if I want anything from the House, I am to telephonewithout hesitation. She has given "her people" orders that anything I ask foris to be sent up. Have a very good mind to telephone and ask for a pound of teaand Lady B.'s pearl necklace—(Could Cleopatra be quoted as precedenthere?)—and see what happens.
Further demand for the Rates arrives, and Cook sends up jelly once more forlunch. I offer it to Helen Wills, who gives one heave, and turns away. Feelthat this would more than justify me in sending down entire dish untouched, butCook will certainly give notice if I do, and cannot face possibility.Interesting to note that although by this time all Cook's jellies take away atsight what appetite measles have left me, am more wholly revolted by emeraldgreen variety than by yellow or red. Should like to work out possible Freudiansignificance of this, but find myself unable to concentrate.
Go to sleep in the afternoon, and awake sufficiently restored to do what Ihave long contemplated and Go Through my clothes. Result so depressing that Iwish I had never done it. Have nothing fit to wear, and if I had, should looklike a scarecrow in it at present. Send off parcel with knitted red cardigan,two evening dresses (much too short for present mode), three out-of-date hats,and tweed skirt that bags at the knees, to Mary Kellway's Jumble Sale, whereshe declares thatanything will be welcome. Make out a list of all thenew clothes I require, get pleasantly excited about them, am again confrontedwith the Rates, and put the list in the fire.
May 17th.—Robert drives me to North Road station to catch train forBude. Temperature has fallen again, and I ask Robert if it is below zero. Hereplies briefly and untruthfully that the day will get warmer as it goes on,and no doubt Bude will be one blaze of sunshine. We arrive early and sit on abench on the platform next to a young woman with a cough, who takes one look atme and then says: "Dreadful, isn't it?" Cannot help feeling that she hassummarised the whole situation quite admirably. Robert hands me my ticket—hehas handsomely offered to make it first-class and I have refused—and gazes atme with rather strange expression. At last he says: "You don't think you'regoing there todie, do you?" Now that he suggests it, realise that Ido feel very like that, but summon up smile that I feel to beunconvincing and make sprightly reference to Bishop, whose name I forget,coming to lay his bones at place the name of which I cannot remember. All of itappears to be Greek to Robert, and I leave him still trying to unravel it.Journey ensues and proves chilly and exhausting. Rain lashes at the windows,and every time carriage door opens—which is often—gust of icy wind,mysteriously blowing in two opposite directions at once, goes up my legs anddown back of my neck. Have not told children by what train I am arriving, so noone meets me, not even bus on which I had counted. Am, however, secretlythankful, as this gives me an excuse for taking a taxi. Reach lodgings atrather uninspiring hour of 2.45, too early for tea or bed, which constitutepresent summit of my ambitions. Uproarious welcome from children, both inblooming health and riotous spirits, makes up for everything.
May 19th.—Recovery definitely in sight, although almost certainlyretarded by landlady's inspiration of sending up a nice jelly for supper onevening of arrival. Rooms reasonably comfortable—(except for extreme cold,which is, says landlady, quite unheard-of at this or any other time ofyear)—all is linoleum, pink and gold china, and enlarged photographs offemales in lace collars and males with long moustaches and bow ties. Robin,Vicky, and the hospital nurse—retained at vast expense as a temporarysubstitute for Mademoiselle—have apparently braved the weather and spent muchtime on the Breakwater. Vicky has also made friends with a little dog, whosename she alleges to be "Baby", a gentleman who sells papers, another gentlemanwho drives about in a Sunbeam, and the head waiter from the Hotel. I tell herabout Mademoiselle's illness, and after a silence she says "Oh!" in tones ofbrassy indifference, and resumes topic of little dog "Baby". Robin, from whom Icannot help hoping better things, makes no comment except "Is she?" andimmediately adds a request for a banana.
(Mem.: Would it not be possible to write more domesticated and lessforeign version ofHigh Wind in Jamaica, featuring extraordinarycallousness of infancy?) Can distinctly recollect heated correspondence inTime and Tide regardingvraisemblance or otherwise of Jamaicachildren, and now range myself, decidedly and for ever, on the side of theauthor. Can quite believe that dear Vicky would murder any number of sailors,if necessary.
May 23rd.—Sudden warm afternoon, children take off their shoes anddash into pools, landlady says that it's often like this On thelastday of a visit to the sea, she's noticed, and I take brisk walk over thecliffs, wearing thick tweed coat, and really begin to feel quite warm at theend of an hour. Pack suit-case after children are in bed, register resolutionnever to let stewed prunes and custard form part of any meal ever again as longas I live, and thankfully write postcard to Robert, announcing time of ourarrival at home to-morrow.
May 28th.—Mademoiselle returns, and is greeted with enthusiasm—tomy great relief. (Robin and Vicky perhaps less like Jamaica children than Ihad feared.) She has on new black and white check skirt, white blouse withfrills, black kid gloves, embroidered in white on the backs, and black strawhat almost entirely covered in purple violets, and informs me that the wholeoutfit was made by herself at a total cost of one pound, nine shillings, andfourpence-halfpenny. The French undoubtedly thrifty, and gifted in using aneedle, but cannot altogether stifle conviction that a shade less economy mighthave produced better results.
She presents me, in the kindest way, with a present in the shape of two blueglass flower-vases, of spiral construction, and adorned with gilt knobs at manyunexpected points. Vicky receives a large artificial-silk red rose, which shefortunately appears to admire, and Robin a small affair in wire that isintended, says Mademoiselle, to extract the stones out of cherries.
(Mem.: Interesting to ascertain number of these ingeniouscontrivances sold in a year.)
Am privately rather overcome by Mademoiselle's generosity, and wish that wecould reach the level of the French in what they themselves describe aspetits soins. Place the glass vases in conspicuous position ondining-room mantelpiece, and am fortunately just in time to stem comment whichI see rising to Robert's lips when he sits down to midday meal and perceivesthem.
After lunch, Robin is motored back to school by his father, and I examineVicky's summer wardrobe with Mademoiselle, and find that she has outgrowneverything she has in the world.
May 30th.—Arrival ofTime and Tide, find that I have beenawarded half of second prize for charming little effort that in my opiniondeserves better. Robert's attempt receives an honourable mention. Recognisepseudonym of first-prize winner as being that adopted by Mary Kellway. Shouldlike to think that generous satisfaction envelops me, at dear friend's success,but am not sure. This week's competition announces itself as aTriolet—literary form that I cannot endure, and rules of which I am totallyunable to master.
Receive telephone invitation to lunch with the Frobishers on Sunday. Iaccept, less because I want to see them than because a change from domesticroast beef and gooseberry-tart always pleasant; moreover, absence makes worklighter for the servants. (Mem.: Candid and intelligent self-examinationas to motive, etc., often leads to very distressing revelations.)
Constrained by conscience, and recollection of promise to Barbara, to go andcall on old Mrs. Blenkinsop. Receive many kind enquiries in village as to mycomplete recovery from measles, but observe singular tendency on part ofeverybody else to treat this very serious affliction as a joke.
Find old Mrs. B.'s cottage in unheard-of condition of hygienic ventilation,no doubt attributable to Cousin Maud. Windows all wide open, and casementcurtains flapping in every direction, very cold east wind more than noticeable.Mrs. B.—(surely fewer shawls than formerly?)—sitting quite close to openwindow, and not far from equally open door, seems to have turned curious shadeof pale-blue, and shows tendency to shiver. Room smells strongly of furniturepolish and black-lead. Fireplace, indeed, exhibits recent handsome applicationof the latter, and has evidently not held fire for days past. Old Mrs. B. moresilent than of old, and makes no reference to silver linings and the like. (Canspirit of optimism have been blown away by living in continual severe draught?)Cousin Maud comes in almost immediately. Have met her once before, and say so,but she makes it clear that this encounter left no impression, and has entirelyescaped her memory. Am convinced that Cousin Maud is one of those people whopride themselves on always speaking the truth. She is wearing brick-redsweater—feel sure she knitted it herself—tweed skirt, longer at the back thanin front—and large row of pearl beads. Has very hearty and emphatic manner,and uses many slang expressions.
I ask for news of Barbara, and Mrs. B.—(voice a mere bleat, by comparisonwith Cousin Maud's)—says that the dear child will be coming down once morebefore she sails, and that continued partings are the lot of the Aged, and tobe expected. I begin to hope that she is approaching her old form, but all isstopped by Cousin Maud, who shouts out that we're not to talk Rot, and it's ajolly good thing Barbara has got Off the Hooks at last, poor old girl. Wethen talk about golf handicaps, Roedean—Cousin Maud's dear oldschool—and the baby Austin. More accurate statement would perhaps be thatCousin Maud talks, and we listen. No sign ofLife of Disraeli, or anyother literary activities, such as old Mrs. B. used to be surrounded by, and donot like to enquire what she now does with her time. Disquieting suspicion thatthis is probably settled for her, without reference to her wishes.
Take my leave feeling depressed. Old Mrs. B. rolls her eyes at me as I saygoodbye, and mutters something about not being here much longer, but this isdrowned by hearty laughter from Cousin Maud, who declares that she is Nothingbut an Old Humbug and will See Us All Out.
Am escorted to the front gate by Cousin Maud, who tells me what a toppingthing it is for old Mrs. B. to be taken out of herself a bit, and asks if itisn't good to be Alive on a bracing day like this? Should like to reply that itwould be far better for some of us to be dead, in my opinion, but spirit forthis repartee fails me, and I weakly reply that I know what she means. I goaway before she has time to slap me on the back, which I feel certain will bethe next thing.
Had had in mind amiable scheme for writing to Barbara to-night to tell herthat old Mrs. B. is quite wonderful, and showing no signs of depression, butthis cannot now be done, and after much thought, do not write at all, butinstead spend the evening trying to reconcile grave discrepancy betweenaccount-book, counterfoils of cheque-book, and rather unsympathetically wordedcommunication from the Bank.
June 1st.—Sunday lunch with the Frobishers, and four guests stayingin the house with them—introduced as, apparently, Colonel and Mrs.Brightpie—(which seems impossible)—Sir William Reddieor Ready, or Reddy, orperhaps even Reddeigh—and My sister Violet. Latter quite astonishingly pretty,and wearing admirable flowered tussore that I, as usual, mentally try uponmyself, only to realise that it would undoubtedly suggest melancholy sayingconcerning mutton dressed as lamb.
The Colonel sits next to me at lunch, and we talk about fishing, which Ihave never attempted, and look upon as cruelty to animals, but this, withundoubted hypocrisy and moral cowardice, I conceal. Robert has My sisterViolet, and I hear him at intervals telling her about the pigs, which seemsodd, but she looks pleased, so perhaps is interested.
Conversation suddenly becomes general, as topic of present-day Dentistry isintroduced by Lady F. We all, except Robert, who eats bread, have much tosay.
(Mem.: Remember to direct conversation into similar channel, whencustomary periodical deathly silence descends upon guests at my own table.)
Weather is wet and cold, and had confidently hoped to escape tour of thegarden, but this is not to be, and directly lunch is over we rush out into thedamp. Boughs drip on to our heads and water squelches beneath our feet, butrhododendrons and lupins undoubtedly very magnificent, and references to RuthDraper not more numerous than usual. I find myself walking with Mrs. Brightpie(?), who evidently knows all that can be known about a garden. Fortunately sheis prepared to originate all the comments herself, and I need only say, "Yes,isn't that an attractive variety?" and so on. She enquires once if I haveever succeeded in making the dear blue Grandiflora MagnificaSuperbiensis—(or something like that)—feel really happy and at home in thisclimate? to which I am able to reply with absolute truth by a simple negative,at which I fancy she looks rather relieved. Is her own life perhaps one longstruggle to acclimatise the G. M. S.? and what would she have replied if I hadsaid that, inmy garden, the dear thing grew like a weed?
(Mem.: Must beware of growing tendency to indulge in similar idlespeculations, which lead nowhere, and probably often give me the appearance ofbeing absentminded in the society of my fellow-creatures.)
After prolonged inspection, we retrace steps, and this time find myself withSir William R. and Lady F. talking about grass. Realise with horror that we arenow making our way towards thestables. Nothing whatever to be doneabout it, except keep as far away from the horses as possible, and refrain fromany comment whatever, in hopes of concealing that I know nothing about horsesexcept that they frighten me. Robert, I notice, looks sorry for me, and placeshimself between me and terrifying-looking animal that glares out at me fromloose-box and curls up its lip. Feel grateful to him, and eventually leavestables with shattered nerves and soaking wet shoes. Exchange customarygraceful farewells with host and hostess, saying how much I have enjoyedcoming.
(Query here suggests itself, as often before: Is it utterly impossible tocombine the amenities of civilisation with even the minimum of honesty requiredto satisfy the voice of conscience? Answer still in abeyance at present.)
Robert goes to Evening Service, and I play Halma with Vicky. She says thatshe wants to go to school, and produces string of excellent reasons why sheshould do so. I say that I will think it over, but am aware, by previousexperience, that Vicky has almost miraculous aptitude for getting her own way,and will probably succeed in this instance as in others.
Rather depressing Sunday supper—cold beef, baked potatoes, salad, anddepleted cold tart—after which I write to Rose, the Cleaners, the Army andNavy Stores, and the County Secretary of the Women's Institute, and Robert goesto sleep over theSunday Pictorial.
June 3rd.—Astounding and enchanting change in the weather, whichbecomes warm. I carry chair, writing-materials, rug, and cushion into thegarden, but am called in to have a look at the Pantry Sink, please, as it seemsto have blocked itself up. Attempted return to garden frustrated by arrival ofnote from the village concerning Garden Fête arrangements, which requiresimmediate answer, necessity for speaking to the butcher on the telephone, andsudden realisation that Laundry List hasn't yet been made out, and the Van willbe here at eleven. When it does come, I have to speak about the tablecloths,which leads—do not know how—to long conversation about the Derby, the Vanspeaking highly of an outsider—Trews—whilst I uphold the chances ofSilver Flare—(mainly because I like the name).
Shortly after this, Mrs. S. arrives from the village, to collect jumble forGarden Fête, which takes time. After lunch, sky clouds over, andMademoiselle and Vicky kindly help me to carry chair, writing-materials, rug,and cushion into the house again.
Robert receives letter by second post announcing death of his godfather,aged ninety-seven, and decides to go to the funeral on 5th June.
(Mem.: Curious, but authenticated fact, that a funeral is the onlygathering to which the majority of men ever go willingly. Should like to thinkout why this should be so, but must instead unearth top-hat and otheraccoutrements of woe and try if open air will remove smell of naphthaline.)
June 7th.—Receive letter—(Why, in Heaven's name, nottelegram?)—from Robert, to announce that godfather has left him Five HundredPounds. This strikes me as so utterly incredible and magnificent that I shedtears of pure relief and satisfaction. Mademoiselle comes in, in the midst ofthem, and on receiving explanation kisses me on both cheeks and exclaims: "Ah,je m'en doutais! Voilà bien ce bon Saint Antoine!" Can only drawconclusion that she has, most touchingly, been petitioning Heaven on ourbehalf, and very nearly weep again at the thought. Spend joyful evening makingout lists of bills to be paid, jewellery to be redeemed, friends to bebenefited, and purchases to be made, out of legacy, and am only slightlydisconcerted on finding that net total of lists, when added together, comes toexactly one thousand three hundred and twenty pounds.
June 9th.—Return, yesterday, of Robert, and have every reason tobelieve that, though neither talkative nor exuberant, he fully appreciatesnewly achieved stability of financial position. He warmly concurs in mysuggestion that great-aunt's diamond ring should be retrieved from Plymouthpawnbroker's in time to figure at our next excitement, which is the GardenFête, and I accordingly hasten to Plymouth by earliest available bus.
Not only do I return with ring—(pawnbroker, after a glance at the calendar,congratulates me on being just in time)—but have also purchased new hat formyself, many yards of material for Vicky's frocks, a Hornby train for Robin,several gramophone records, and a small mauve bag for Mademoiselle. All givethe utmost satisfaction, and I furthermore arrange to have hot lobster andfruit salad for dinner—these, however, not a great success with Robert,unfortunately, and he suggests—though kindly—that I was perhaps thinking moreof my own tastes than of his, when devising this form of celebration. Mustregretfully acknowledge truth in this. Discussion of godfather's legacy fillsthe evening happily, and I say that we ought to give a Party, and suggestcombining it with Garden Fête. Robert replies, however,—and on furtherreflection find that I agree with him—that this would not conduce to thesuccess of either entertainment, and scheme is abandoned. He also begs me toget Garden Fête over before I begin to think of anything else, and Iagree to do so.
June 12th.—Nothing is spoken of but weather, at the momentpropitious—but who can say whether similar conditions will prevail on17th?—relative merits of having the Tea laid under the oak trees or near thetennis-court, outside price that can be reasonably asked for articles on JumbleStall, desirability of having Ice-cream combined with Lemonade Stall, and thelike. Date fortunately coincides with Robin's half-term, and I feel that hemust and shall come home for the occasion. Expense, as I point out to Robert,now nothing to us. He yields. I become reckless, have thoughts of aHouse-party, and invite Rose to come down from London. She accepts.
Dear old school-friend Cissie Crabbe, by strange coincidence, writes thatshe will be on her way to Land's End on 16th June; may she stay for two nights?Yes, she may. Robert does not seem pleased when I explain that he will have tovacate his dressing-room for Cissie Crabbe, as Rose will be occupying sparebedroom, and Robin at home. This will complete House-party.
June 17th.—Entire household rises practically at dawn, in order totake part in active preparations for Garden Fête. Mademoiselle reported to haverefused breakfast in order to put final stitches in embroidered pink satinboot-bag for Fancy Stall, which she has, to my certain knowledge, been workingat for the past six weeks. At ten o'clock our Vicar's wife dashes in to askwhat I think of the weather, and to say that she cannot stop a moment. Ateleven she is still here, and has been joined by several stall-holders, andtiresome local couple called White, who want to know if there will be a TennisTournament, and if not, is there not still time to organise one? I reply curtlyin the negative to both suggestions and they depart, looking huffed. OurVicar's wife says that this may have lost us their patronage at the Fêtealtogether, and that Mrs. White's mother, who is staying with them, is said tobe rich, and might easily have been worth a couple of pounds to us.
Diversion fortunately occasioned by unexpected arrival of solid andrespectable-looking claret-coloured motor-car, from which Barbara and CrosbieCarruthers emerge. Barbara is excited; C. C. remains calm but looks benevolent.Our Vicar's wife screams, and throws a pair of scissors wildly into the air.(They are eventually found in Bran Tub containing Twopenny Dips, and are thecause of much trouble, as small child who fishes them out maintains them to bebona fide dip and refuses to give them up.)
Barbara looks blooming, and says how wonderful it is to see the dear oldplace quite unchanged. Cannot whole-heartedly agree with this, as it is notthree months since she was here last, but fortunately she requires no answer,and says that she and C. C. are looking up old friends and will return for theOpening of the Fête this afternoon.
Robert goes to meet old school-friend Cissie Crabbe at station, and Rose andI to help price garments at Jumble Stall. (Find that my views are not alwayssimilar to those of other members of Committee. Why, for instance, onlythree-and-sixpence for grey georgette only sacrificed reluctantly at eleventhhour from my wardrobe?)
Arrival of Cissie Crabbe (wearing curious wool hat which I at once feelwould look better on Jumble Stall) is followed by cold lunch. Have made specialpoint of remembering nuts and banana sandwiches for Cissie, but have difficultyin preventing Robin and Vicky—to whom I have omitted to giveexplanation—making it obvious that they would prefer this diet to cold lamband salad. Just as tinned pineapple and junket stage is passed, Robin informsme that there are people beginning to arrive, and we all disperse in desperatehaste and excitement, to reappear in best clothes. I wear red foulard and newred hat, but find—as usual—that every petticoat I have in the world is eitherrather too long or much too short. Mademoiselle comes to the rescue and putssafety-pins in shoulder-straps, one of which becomes unfastened later andcauses me great suffering. Rose, also as usual, looks nicer than anybody elsein delightful green delaine. Cissie Crabbe also has reasonably attractivedress, but detracts from effect with numerous scarab rings, cameo brooches,tulle scarves, enamel buckles, and barbaric necklaces. Moreover, she clings (Ithink mistakenly) to little wool hat, which looks odd. Robin and Vicky bothpresent enchanting appearance, although Mary's three little Kellways, all alikein pale rose tussore, undeniably decorative. (Natural wave in hair of allthree, which seems to me unjust, but nothing can be done until Vicky reachesage suitable for Permanent Waving.)
Lady Frobisher arrives—ten minutes too early—to open Fête, and is walkedabout by Robert until our Vicar says, Well, he thinks perhaps that we are nowall gathered together...(Have profane impulse to add "In the sight ofGod", but naturally stifle it.) Lady F. is poised gracefully on little bankunder the chestnut tree, our Vicar beside her, Robert and myself modestlyretiring a few paces behind, our Vicar's wife kindly, but mistakenly, trying toinduce various unsuitable people to mount bank—which she humorously refers toas the Platform—when all is thrown into confusion by sensational arrival ofcolossal Bentley containing Lady B.—in sapphire-blue and pearls—with escortof fashionable creatures, male and female, apparently dressed for Ascot.
"Go on, go on!" says Lady B., waving hand in white kid glove, and droppingsmall jewelled bag, lace parasol, and embroidered handkerchief as she does so.Great confusion while these articles are picked up and restored, but at last wedo go on, and Lady F. says what a pleasure it is to her to be here to-day, whata desirable asset a Village Hall is, and much else to the same effect. OurVicar thanks her for coming here to-day—so many claims upon her time—Robertseconds him with almost incredible brevity—someone else thanks Robert andmyself for throwing open these magnificent grounds—(tennis-court, three flowerborders, and microscopic shrubbery)—I look at Robert, who shakes his head,thus obliging me to make necessary reply myself, and our Vicar's wife, withundeniable presence of mind, darts forward and reminds Lady F. that she hasforgotten to declare the Fête open. This is at once done and we disperse tostalls and sideshows.
Am stopped by Lady B., who asks reproachfully, Didn't I know that she wouldhave been perfectly ready to open the Fête herself, if I had asked her? Anothertime, she says, I am not to hesitate for amoment. She then spendsninepence on a lavender bag, and drives off again with expensive-lookingfriends. This behaviour provides topic of excited conversation for us all,throughout the whole of the afternoon.
Everyone else buys nobly, unsuitable articles are raffled—(rafflingillegal, winner to pay sixpence)—guesses are made as to contents of sealedboxes, number of currants in large cake, weight of bilious-looking ham, and soon. Band arrives, is established on lawn, and plays selections fromTheGeisha. Mademoiselle's boot-bag bought by elegant purchaser in greyflannels, who turns out, on closer inspection, to be Howard Fitzsimmons. Justas I recover from this, Robin, in wild excitement, informs me that he has won aGoat in a raffle. (Goat has fearful local reputation, and is of immense age andsavageness.) Have no time to do more than say hownice this is, and hehad better run and tell Daddy, before old Mrs. B., Barbara, C. C., and CousinMaud all turn up together. (Can baby Austinpossibly have accommodatedthem all?) Old Mrs. B. rather less subdued than at our last meeting, and goesso far as to say that she has very little money to spend, but that she alwaysthinks a smile and a kind word are better than gold, with which I inwardlydisagree.
Am definitely glad to perceive that C. C. has taken up cast-iron attitude ofunfriendliness towards Cousin Maud, and contradicts her whenever she speaks.Sports, tea, and dancing on the tennis-lawn all successful—(except possiblyfrom point of view of future tennis-parties)—and even Robin and Vicky do notdream of eating final ice cream cornets, and retiring to bed, until teno'clock.
Robert, Rose, Cissie Crabbe, Helen Wills, and myself all sit in thedrawing-room in pleasant state of exhaustion, and congratulate ourselves andone another. Robert has information, no doubt reliable, but source remainsmysterious, to the effect that we have Cleared Three Figures. All, for themoment, iscouleur-de-rose.
June 23rd.—Tennis-party at wealthy and elaborate house, to whichRobert and I now bidden for the first time. (Also, probably, the last.) Immenseopulence of host and hostess at once discernible in fabulous display ofdeck-chairs, all of complete stability and miraculous cleanliness. Amintroduced to youngish lady in yellow, and serious young man with horn-rimmedspectacles. Lady in yellow says at once that she is sure I have a lovelygarden. (Why?)
Elderly, but efficient-looking, partner is assigned to me, and we playagainst the horn-rimmed spectacles and agile young creature in expensivecrepe-de-chine. Realise at once that all three play very much better tennisthan I do. Still worse, realise thatthey realise this. Just as webegin, my partner observes gravely that he ought to tell me he is a left-handedplayer. Cannot imagine what he expects me to do about it, lose my head, andreply madly that That is Splendid.
Game proceeds, I serve several double-faults, and elderly partner becomesgraver and graver. At beginning of each game he looks at me and repeats scorewith fearful distinctness, which, as it is never in our favour, entirelyunnerves me. At "Six-one" we leave the court and silently seek chairs asfar removed from one another as possible. Find myself in vicinity of OurMember, and we talk about the Mace, peeresses in the House of Lords—on whichwe differ—winter sports, and Alsatian dogs.
Robert plays tennis, and does well.
Later on, am again bidden to the court and, to my unspeakable horror, toldto play once more with elderly and efficient partner.
I apologise to him for this misfortune, and he enquires in return, withextreme pessimism. Fifty years from now, what will it matter if wehavelost this game? Neighbouring lady—probably his wife?—looks agitated at this,and supplements it by incoherent assurances about its being a great pleasure,in any case. Am well aware that she is lying, but intention evidently verykind, for which I feel grateful. Play worse than ever, and am not unpreparedfor subsequent enquiry from hostess as to whether I think I havereallyquite got over the measles, as she has heard that it often takes a full year. Ireply, humorously, that, so far as tennis goes, it will take far more than afull year. Perceive by expression of civil perplexity on face of hostess thatshe has entirely failed to grasp this rather subtle witticism, and wish that Ihadn't made it. Am still thinking about this failure, when I notice thatconversation has, mysteriously, switched on to the United States of Ameerca,about which we are all very emphatic. Americans, we say, undoubtedlyhospitable—but what about the War Debt? What about Prohibition? Whatabout Sinclair Lewis? Aimée MacPherson, and Co-education? By the time wehave done with them, it transpires that none of is have ever been to America,but all hold definite views, which fortunately coincide with the views ofeverybody else.
(Query: Could not interesting little experiment he tried, by possessor ofunusual amount of moral courage, in the shape of suddenly producing perfectlybrand-new opinion: for example, to the effect that Americans have bettermanners than we have, or that their divorce laws are a great improvement uponour own? Should much like to see effect of these, or similar, psychologicalbombs, but should definitely wish Robert to he absent from the scene.)
Announcement of tea breaks off these intelligent speculations.
Am struck, as usual, by infinite superiority of other people's food to myown.
Conversation turns upon Lady B. and everyone says she is really verykindhearted, and follows this up by anecdotes illustrating all her lessattractive qualities. Youngish lady in yellow declares that she met Lady B.last week in London, face three inches thick in new sunburn-tan. Can quitebelieve it. Feel much more at home after this, and conscious of new bond ofunion cementing entire party. Sidelight thus thrown upon human natureregrettable, but not to be denied. Even tennis improves after this, entirelyowing to my having told funny story relating to Lady B.'s singular behaviourin regard to local Jumble Sale, which meets with success. Serve fewerdouble-faults, but still cannot quite escape conviction that whoever plays withme invariably loses the set—which I cannot believe to be mere coincidence.
Suggest to Robert, on the way home, that I had better give up tennisaltogether, to which, after long silence—during which I hope he is perhapsevolving short speech that shall be at once complimentary and yetconvincing—he replies that he does not know what I could take up instead. As Ido not know either, the subject is dropped, and we return home in silence.
June 27th.—Cook says that unless I am willing to let her have theSweep, she cannot possibly be responsible for the stove. I say that of courseshe can have the Sweep. If not, Cook returns, totally disregarding this, shereally can't say what won't happen. I reiterate my complete readiness to sendthe Sweep a summons on the instant, and Cook continues to look away from me andto repeat that unless Iwill agree to having the Sweep in, there's noknowing.
This dialogue—cannot say why—upsets me for the remainder of the day.
June 30th.—The Sweep comes, and devastates the entire day.Bath-water and meals are alike cold, and soot appears quite irrelevantly inportions of the house totally removed from sphere of Sweep's activities. Amcalled upon in the middle of the day to produce twelve-and-sixpence in cash,which I cannot do. Appeal to everybody in the house, and find that nobody elsecan, either. Finally Cook announces that the Joint has just come and can obligeat the back door, if I don't mind its going down in the book. I do not, and theSweep is accordingly paid and disappears on a motor-bicycle.
July 3rd.—Breakfast enlivened by letter from dear Rose written at,apparently, earthly paradise of blue sea and red rocks, on South Coast ofFrance. She says that she is having complete rest, and enjoying congenialsociety of charming group of friends, and makes unprecedented suggestion that Ishould join her for a fortnight. I am moved to exclaim—perhaps ratherthoughtlessly—that the most wonderful thing in the world must be to be achildless widow—but this is met by unsympathetic silence from Robert, whichrecalls me to myself, and impels me to say that that isn't in the least what Imeant.
(Mem.: Should often be very, very sorry to explain exactly what it isthat Ido mean, and am in fact conscious of deliberately avoidingself-analysis on many occasions. Do not propose, however, to go into this nowor at any other time.)
I tell Robert that if it wasn't for the expense, and not having any clothes,and the servants, and leaving Vicky, I should think seriously of Rose'ssuggestion. Why, I enquire rhetorically, should Lady B. have a monopoly of theSouth of France? Robert replies, Well—and pauses for such a long while that Iget agitated, and have mentally gone through the Divorce Court with him, beforehe ends up by saying Well, again, and picking up theWestern MorningNews. Feel—but do not say—that this, as contribution to discussion, isinadequate. Am prepared, however, to continue it single-handed sooner thanallow subject to drop altogether. Do so, but am interrupted first by entranceof Helen Wills through the window—(Robert says, Dam' that cat, I shall have itdrowned, but only absent-mindedly)—and then by spirit-lamp, which isdiscovered to be extinct, and to require new wick. Robert strongly in favour ofringing immediately, but I discourage this, and undertake to speak about itinstead, and tie knot in pocket-handkerchief. (Unfortunately overcharged memoryfails later when in kitchen, and find myself unable to recollect whethermarmalade has run to sugar through remaining too long in jar, or merelyporridge lumpier than usual—but this a digression.)
I read Rose's letter all over again, and feel that I have here opportunityof a lifetime. Suddenly hear myself exclaiming passionately that Travelbroadens the Mind, and am immediately reminded of our Vicar's wife, whofrequently makes similar remark before taking our Vicar to spend fortnight'sholiday in North Wales.
Robert finally says Well, again—this time tone of voice slightly morelenient—and then asks if it is quite impossible for his bottle of Eno's to beleft undisturbed on bathroom shelf?
I at once and severely condemn Mademoiselle as undoubted culprit, althoughguiltily aware that original suggestion probably emanated from myself. Andwhat, I add, about the South of France? Robert looks astounded, and soonafterwards leaves the dining-room without having spoken.
I deal with my correspondence, omitting Rose's letter. Remainder boils downto rather uninspiring collection of Accounts Rendered, offensive littlepamphlet that makes searching enquiry into the state of my gums, postcard fromCounty Secretary of Women's Institutes with notice of meeting that I amexpected to attend, and warmly worded personal communication addressed me byname from unknown Titled Gentleman, which ends up with a request for fiveshillings if I cannot spare more, in aid of charity in which he is interested.Whole question of South of France is shelved until evening, when I seekMademoiselle in schoolroom, after Vicky has gone to bed. Am horrified to seethat supper, awaiting her on the table, consists of cheese, pickles, and sliceof jam roly-poly, grouped on single plate—(Would not this suggest to theartistic mind a Still-life Study in Modern Art?)—flanked by colossal jug ofcold water. Is this, I ask, what Mademoisellelikes? She assures me thatit is and adds, austerely, that food is of no importance to her. She could gowithout anything for days and days, without noticing it. From her earlychildhood, she has always been the same.
(Query unavoidably suggests itself here: Does Mademoiselle really expect meto believe her, and if so, what can be her opinion of my mental capacity?)
We discuss Vicky: tendency to argumentativeness, I hint. "C'est un petitcoeur d 'or," returns Mademoiselle immediately. I agree, in modified terms, andMademoiselle at once points out dear Vicky's undeniable obstinacy andself-will, and goes so far as to say: "Plus tard, ce sera un esprit fort...elleira loin, cette petite."
I bring up the subject of the South of France. Mademoiselle more thansympathetic, assures me that I must, at all costs, go, adding—a littleunnecessarily—that I have grown many, many years older in the last few months,and that to live as I do, without any distractions, only leads to madness inthe end.
Feel that she could hardly have worded this more trenchantly, and am a gooddeal impressed.
(Query: Would Robert see the force of these representations, or not? Robertapt to take rather prejudiced view of all that is not purely English.)
Return to drawing-room and find Robert asleep behind theTimes. ReadRose's letter all over again, and am moved to make list of clothes that Ishould require if I joined her, estimate of expenses—financial situation,though not scintillating, still considerably brighter than usual, owing torecent legacy—and even Notes, on back of envelope, of instructions to be givento Mademoiselle, Cook, and the tradespeople, before leaving.
July 6th.—Decide definitely on joining Rose at Ste. Agathe, andwrite and tell her so. Die now cast, and Rubicon crossed—or rather will be, onachieving further side of the Channel. Robert, on the whole, takes lenient viewof entire project, and says he supposes that nothing else will satisfy me, andbetter not count on really hot weather promised by Rose but take good supply ofwoollen underwear. Mademoiselle is sympathetic, but theatrical, and exclaims:"C'est la Ste. Vierge qui a tout arrangé!" which sounds like a travel agency,and shocks me.
Go to Women's Institute Meeting and tell our Secretary that I am afraid Ishall have to miss our next Committee Meeting. She immediately replies that thedate can easily be altered. I protest, but am defeated by small calendar, whichshe at once produces, and begs me to select my own date, and says that It willbe All the Same to the eleven other members of the Committee.
(Have occasional misgivings at recollection of rousing speeches made byvarious speakers from our National Federation, to the effect that all W.I.members enjoy equal responsibilities and equal privileges...Can only hope thatnone of them will ever have occasion to enter more fully into the innerworkings of our Monthly Committee Meetings.)
July 12th.—Pay farewell calls, and receive much good advice. OurVicar says that it is madness to drink water anywhere in France, unlesspreviously boiled and filtered; our Vicar's wife shares Robert's distrust as toclimate, and advises Jaeger next the skin, and also offers loan of smalltravelling medicine-chest for emergencies. Discussion follows as to whetherBisulphate of Quinine is, or is not, dutiable article, and is finally broughtto inconclusive conclusion by our Vicar's pronouncing definitely that, inany case, Honesty is the Best Policy.
Old Mrs. Blenkinsop—whom I reluctantly visit whenever I get a letter fromBarbara saying how grateful she is for my kindness—adopts quavering andenfeebled manner, and hopes she may be here to welcome me home again on myreturn, but implies that this is not really to be anticipated. I say Come,come, and begin well-turned sentence as to Mrs. B.'s wonderful vitality, whenCousin Maud bounces in, and inspiration fails me on the spot. What Ho! saysCousin Maud—(or at least, produces the effect of having said it, thoughpossibly slang slightly more up-to-date than this—but not much)—What is allthis about our cutting a dash on the Lido or somewhere, and leaving our home totake care of itself? Talk about the Emancipation of Females, says Cousin Maud.Should like to reply that no one, except herself, everdoes talk aboutit—but feel this might reasonably be construed as uncivil, and do not want toupset unfortunate old Mrs. B., whom I now regard as a victim pure and simple.Ignore Cousin Maud, and ask old Mrs. B. what books she would advise me to take.Amount of luggage strictly limited, both as to weight and size, but couldmanage two very long ones, if in pocket editions, and another to be carried incoat-pocket for journey.
Old Mrs. B.—probably still intent on thought of approachingdissolution—suddenly says that there is nothing like the Bible—suggestionwhich I feel might more properly have been left to our Vicar. Naturally, giveher to understand that I agree, but do not commit myself further. Cousin Maud,in a positive way that annoys me, recommends No book At All, especially whencrossing the sea. It is well known, she affirms, that any attempt to fix theeyes on printed page while ship is moving induces sea-sickness quicker thananything else. Better repeat poetry, or the multiplication-table, as thisserves to distract the mind. Have no assurance that the multiplication-table isat my command, but do not reveal this to Cousin Maud.
Old Mrs. B., abandoning Scriptural attitude, now says, Give her Shakespeare.Everything is to be found in Shakespeare. Look atKing Lear, she says.Cousin Maud assents with customary energy—but should be prepared to takeconsiderable bet that she has never read a word ofKing Lear since itwas—presumably—stuffed down her throat at dear old Roedean, in intervals ofcricket and hockey.
We touch on literature in general—old Mrs. B. observes that much that ispublished nowadays seems to her unnecessary, and why so much Sex ineverything?—Cousin Maud says that books collect dust, anyway, and whisks awayinoffensive copy ofTime and Tide with which old Mrs. B. is evidentlysolacing herself in intervals of being hustled in and out of baby Austin—and Itake my leave. Am embraced by old Mrs. B. (who shows tendency to have one ofher old-time Attacks, but is briskly headed off it by Cousin Maud) and slappedon the back by Cousin Maud in familiar and extremely offensive manner.
Walk home, and am overtaken by well-known blue Bentley, from which Lady B.waves elegantly, and commands chauffeur to stop. He does so, and Lady B. says,Get in, Get in, never mind muddy boots—which makes me feel like a plough-boy.Good works, she supposes, have been taking me plodding round the village asusual? The way I go on, day after day, is too marvellous. Reply with utmostdistinctness that I am just on the point of starting for the South of France,where I am joining party of distinguished friends. (This not entirely untrue,since dear Rose has promised introduction to many interesting acquaintances,including Viscountess.)
Really, says Lady B. But why not go at the right time of year? Or why not goall the way by sea?—yachting too marvellous. Or why not, again, make itScotland, instead of France?
Do not reply to any of all this, and request to be put down at the corner.This is done, and Lady B. waves directions to chauffeur to drive on, butsubsequently stops him again, and leans out to say that she can find out allabout quite inexpensivepensions for me if I like. I donot like,and we part finally.
Find myself indulging in rather melodramatic fantasy of Bentley crashinginto enormous motor-bus and being splintered to atoms. Permit chauffeur toescape unharmed, but fate of Lady B. left uncertain, owing to ineradicableimpression of earliest childhood to the effect that It is Wicked to wish forthe Death of Another. Do not consider, however, that severe injuries, withpossible disfigurement, come under this law—but entire topic unprofitable, andhad better be dismissed.
July 14th.—Question of books to be taken abroad undecided till latehour last night. Robert says, Why take any? and Vicky proffersLes Malheursde Sophie, which she puts into the very bottom of my suit-case, whence itis extracted with some difficulty by Mademoiselle later. Finally decide onLittle Dorrit andThe Daisy Chain, withJane Eyre incoat-pocket. Should prefer to be the kind of person who is inseparable fromvolume of Keats, or even Jane Austen, but cannot compass this.
July 15th.—Mem.: Remind Robert before starting that Gladys'swages due on Saturday. Speak about having my room turned out. Speak aboutlaundry. Speak to Mademoiselle about Vicky's teeth, glycothymoline, Helen Willsnot on bed, and lining of tussore coat. Write butcher. Wash hair.
July 17th.—Robert sees me off by early train for London, afterscrambled and agitating departure, exclusively concerned with franticendeavours to induce suit-case to shut. This is at last accomplished, butleaves me with conviction that it will be at least equally difficult to induceit to open again. Vicky bids me cheerful, but affectionate, good-bye and thenshatters me at eleventh hour by enquiring trustfully if I shall be home in timeto read to her after tea? As entire extent of absence has already beenexplained to her in full, this enquiry merely senseless—but serves to unnerveme badly, especially as Mademoiselle ejaculates: "Ah! la pauvre chèremignonne!" into the blue.
(Mem.: The French very often carried away by emotionalism to whollypreposterous lengths.)
Cook, Gladys, and the gardener stand at hall-door and hope that I shallenjoy my holiday, and Cook adds a rider to the effect that It seems to beblowing up for a gale, and for her part, she has always had a Norror of deathby drowning. On this, we drive away.
Arrive at station too early—as usual—and I fill in time by asking Robertif he will telegraph if anything happens to the children, as I could be backagain in twenty-four hours. He only enquires in return whether I have mypassport? Am perfectly aware that passport is in my small purple dressing-case,where I put it a week ago, and have looked at it two or three times every dayever since—last time just before leaving my room forty-five minutes ago. Amnevertheless mysteriously impelled to open hand-bag, take out key, unlock smallpurple dressing-case, and verify presence of passport all over again.
(Query: Is not behaviour of this kind well known in therapeutic circles assymptomatic of mental derangement? Vague but disquieting association here withsingular behaviour of Dr. Johnson in London streets—but too painful to bepursued to a finish.)
Arrival of train, and I say good-bye to Robert, and madly enquire if hewould rather I gave up going at all? He rightly ignores this altogether.
(Query: Would not extremely distressing situation arise if similar impulsiveoffer were one day to be accepted? This gives rise to unavoidable speculationin regard to sincerity of such offers, and here again, issue too painful to befrankly faced, and am obliged to shelve train of thought altogether.)
Turn my attention to fellow-traveller—distrustful-looking woman with greyhair—who at once informs me that door of lavatory—opening out ofcompartment—has defective lock, and will not stay shut. I say Oh, in tone ofsympathetic concern, and shut door. It remains shut. We watch it anxiously, andit flies open again. Later on, fellow-traveller makes fresh attempt, withsimilar result. Much of the journey spent in this exercise. I observethoughtfully that Hope springs eternal in the human breast, andfellow-traveller looks more distrustful than ever. She finally says indespairing tones that Really, it isn't what she calls very nice, and lapsesinto depressed silence. Door remains triumphantly open.
Drive from Waterloo to Victoria, take out passport in taxi in order to HaveIt Ready, then decide safer to put it back again in dressing-case, which I do.(Dr. Johnson recrudesces faintly, but is at once dismissed.) Observe withhorror that trees in Grosvenor Gardens are swaying with extreme violence instiff gale of wind.
Change English money into French at Victoria Station, where superior younggentleman in little kiosk refuses to let me have anything smaller thanone-hundred franc notes. I ask what use that will be when it comes to porters,but superior young gentleman remains adamant. Infinitely competent person inblue and gold, labelled Dean & Dawson, comes to my rescue, miraculouslyprovides me with change, says Have I booked a seat, pilots me to it, and tellsme that he represents the best-known Travel Agency in London. I assure himwarmly that I shall never patronise any other—which is true—and we part withmutual esteem. I make note on half of torn luggage-label to the effect that itwould be merest honesty to write and congratulate D. & D. on admirableemployee—but feel that I shall probably never do it.
Journey to Folkestone entirely occupied in looking out of train window andseeing quite large trees bowed to earth by force of wind. Cook's words recurmost unpleasantly. Also recall various forms of advice received, and find itdifficult to decide between going instantly to the Ladies' Saloon, taking offmy hat, and lying down Perfectly Flat—(Mademoiselle's suggestion)—or Keepingin the Fresh Air at All Costs and Thinking about Other Things—(courseadvocated on a postcard by Aunt Gertrude). Choice taken out of my hands bydiscovery that Ladies' Saloon is entirely filled, within five minutes of goingon board, by other people, who have all taken off their hats and are lying downPerfectly Flat.
Return to deck, sit on suit-case, and decide to Think about Other Things.Schoolmaster and his wife, who are going to Boulogne for a holiday, talk to oneanother across me about University Extension Course, and appear to be superiorto the elements. I take outJane Eyre from coatpocket—partly in fainthope of impressing them, and partly to distract my mind—but remember CousinMaud, and am forced to conclusion that she may have been right. Perhaps adviceequally correct in respect of repeating poetry? Can think of nothing whatever,except extraordinary damp chill which appears to be creeping over me.Schoolmaster suddenly says to me: "Quite allright, aren't you?" Towhich I reply, Oh yes, and he laughs in a bright and scholastic way, and talksabout the Matterhorn. Although unaware of any conscious recollection of it,find myself inwardly repeating curious and ingenious example of alliterativeverse, committed to memory in my schooldays. (Note: Can dimly understandwhy the dying revert to impressions of early infancy.)
Just as I get to:
"Cossack Commanders cannonading come
Dealing destruction's devastating doom—"
elements overcome me altogether. Have dim remembrance of hearingschoolmaster exclaim in authoritative tones to everybody within earshot: "Makeway for this lady—she isIll"—which injunction he repeats every time Iam compelled to leave suitcase. Throughout intervals, I continue to grapple,more or less deliriously, with alliterative poem, and do not give up altogetheruntil
"Reason returns, religious rights redound"
is reached. This I consider creditable.
Attain Boulogne at last, discover reserved seat in train, am told by severalofficials whom I question that we do, or alternatively, do not, change when wereach Paris, give up the elucidation of the point for the moment, anddemand—and obtain small glass of brandy, which restores me.
July 18th, at Ste. Agathe.—Vicissitudes of travel very strange, andam struck—as often—by enormous dissimilarity between journeys undertaken inreal life, and as reported in fiction. Can remember very few novels in whichtrain journey of any kind does not involve either (a) Hectic encounter withmember of opposite sex, leading to tense emotional issue; (b) discovery ofmurdered body in hideously battered condition, under circumstances whichutterly defy detection; (c) elopement between two people each of whom ismarried to somebody else, culminating in severe disillusionment, or loftyrenunciation.
Nothing of all this enlivens my own peregrinations, but on the other hand,the night not without incident.
Second-class carriage full, and am not fortunate enough to obtaincorner-seat. American young gentleman sits opposite, and elderly French couple,with talkative friend wearing blue béret, who trims his nails with apocket-knife and tells us about the state of the wine-trade.
I have dusty and elderly mother in black on one side, and her twosons—names turn out to be Guguste and Dédé—on the other.(Dédé looks about fifteen, but wears socks, which I think amistake, but must beware of insularity.)
Towards eleven o'clock we all subside into silence, except the bluebéret, who is now launched on tennis-champions, and has much to sayabout all of them. American young gentleman looks uneasy at mention of any ofhis compatriots, but evidently does not understand enough French to follow bluebéret's remarks—which is as well.
Just as we all—except indefatigable béret, now eating smallsausage-rolls—drop one by one into slumber, train stops at station andfragments of altercation break out in corridor concerning admission, orotherwise, of someone evidently accompanied by large dog. This is opposed bymasculine voice repeating steadily, at short intervals: "Un chien n'est pas unepersonne," and heavily backed by assenting chorus, repeating after him: "Maisnon, un chien n'est pas une personne."
To this I fall asleep, but wake a long time afterwards, to sounds ofappealing enquiry, floating in from corridor: "Mais voyons—N'est-ce pas qu'unchien n'est pas une personne?"
The point still unsettled when I sleep again, and in the morning no more isheard, and I speculate in vain as to whether owner of thechien remainedwith him on the station, or is havingtête-à-têtejourney with him in separate carriage altogether. Wash inadequately, inextremely dirty accommodation provided, after waiting some time in lengthyqueue. Make distressing discovery that there is no way of obtaining breakfastuntil train halts at Avignon. Break this information later to American younggentleman, who falls into deep distress and says that he does not know theFrench for grapefruit. Neither do I, but am able to inform him decisively thathe will not require it.
Train is late, and does not reach Avignon till nearly ten. American younggentleman has a severe panic, and assures me that if he leaves the train itwill start without him. This happened once before at Davenport, Iowa. In orderto avoid similar calamity, on this occasion, I offer to procure him a cup ofcoffee and two rolls, and successfully do so—but attend first to my ownrequirements. We all brighten after this, and Guguste announces his intentionof shaving. His mother screams, and says, "Mais c'est fou"—with which Iprivately agree—and everybody else remonstrates with Guguste (exceptDédé, who is wrapped in gloom), and points out that the train isrocking, and he will cut himself. The blue béret goes so far as topredict that he will decapitate himself, at which everybody screams.
Guguste remains adamant, and produces shaving apparatus and a little mug,which is given to Dédé to hold. We sit around in great suspense,and Guguste is supported by one elbow by his mother, while he conductsoperations to a conclusion which produces no perceptible change whatever in hisappearance.
After this excitement, we all suffer from reaction, and sink into hot anddusty silence. Scenery gets rocky and sandy, with heat-haze shimmering overall, and occasional glimpses of bright blue-and-green sea.
At intervals train stops, and ejects various people. We lose the elderlyFrench couple—who leave a Thermos behind them and have to be screamed at byGuguste from the window—and then the blue béret, eloquent to the last,and turning round on the platform to bow as train moves off again. Guguste,Dédé, and the mother remain with me to the end, as they are going on as far asAntibes. American young gentleman gets out when I do, but lose sight of himaltogether in excitement of meeting Rose, charming in yellow embroidered linen.She says that she is glad to see me, and adds that I look a Rag—which is true,as I discover on reaching hotel and looking-glass—but kindly omits to add thatI have smuts on my face, and that petticoat has mysteriously descended two anda half inches below my dress, imparting final touch of degradation to generalappearance.
She recommends bath and bed, and I agree to both, but refuse proffered cupof tea, feeling this would be altogether too reminiscent of Englishcountryside, and quite out of place. I ask, insanely, if letters from home areawaiting me—which, unless they were written before I left, they could notpossibly be. Rose enquires after Robert and the children, and when I reply thatI feel I ought not really to have come away without them, she again recommendsbed. Feel that she is right, and go there.
July 23rd.—Cannot avoid contrasting deliriously rapid flight of timewhen on a holiday, with very much slower passage of days and even hours, inother and more familiar surroundings.
(Mem.: This disposes once and for all of fallacy that days seem longwhen spent in complete idleness. They seem, on the contrary, very much longerwhen filled with ceaseless activities.)
Rose—always so gifted in discovering attractive and interesting friends—isestablished in circle of gifted—and in some cases actuallycelebrated—personalities. We all meet daily on rocks, and bathe in sea.Temperature and surroundings very, very different to those of English Channelor Atlantic Ocean, and consequently find myself emboldened to the extent ofquite active swimming. Cannot, however, compete with Viscountess, who dives, orher friend, who has unique and very striking method of doing back-fall into thewater. Am, indeed, led away by spirit of emulation into attempting dive on onesolitary occasion, and am convinced that I have plumbed the depths of theMediterranean—have doubts, in fact, of ever leaving it again—but on enquiringof extremely kind spectator—(famous Headmistress)—How I went In, she repliesgently: About level with the Water, she thinks—and we say no more aboutit.
July 25th.—Vicky writes affectionately, but briefly—Mademoiselle atgreater length, and quite illegibly, but evidently full of hopes that I amenjoying myself. Am touched, and send each a picture-postcard. Robin's letter,written from school, arrives later, and contains customary allusions to boysunknown to me, also information that he has asked two of them to come and staywith him in the holidays, and has accepted invitation to spend a week withanother. Postscript adds straightforward enquiry, Have I bought any chocolateyet?
I do so forthwith.
July 26th.—Observe in the glass that I look ten years younger thanon arrival here, and am gratified. This, moreover, in spite of what I cannothelp viewing as perilous adventure recently experienced in (temporarily) choppysea, agitated byvent d'est, in which no one but Rose's Viscountessattempts to swim. She indicates immense and distant rock, and announces herintention of swimming to it. I say that I will go too. Long before we arehalf-way there, I know that I shall never reach it, and hope that Robert'ssecond wife will be kind to the children. Viscountess, swimming calmly, says,Am I all right? I reply, Oh quite, and am immediately submerged.
(Query: Is this a Judgement?)
Continue to swim. Rock moves further and further away. I reflect that therewill be something distinguished about the headlines announcing my demise insuch exalted company, and mentally frame one or two that I think would lookwell in local paper. Am just turning my attention to paragraph in our ParishMagazine when I hit a small rock, and am immediately submerged again.Mysteriously rise again from the foam—though not in the least, as I know toowell, like Venus.
Death by drowning said to be preceded by mental panorama of entire pastlife. Distressing reflection which very nearly causes me to sink again. Evenone recollection from my past, if injudiciously selected, disconcerts me in theextreme, and cannot at all contemplate entire series. Suddenly perceive thatspace between myself and rock has actually diminished. Viscountess—who haskept near me and worn slightly anxious expression throughout—achieves itsafely, and presently find myself grasping at sharp projections with tips of myfingers and bleeding profusely at the knees. Perceive that I have been, as theysay, Spared.
(Mem.: Must try and discover for what purpose, if any.)
Am determined to take this colossal achievement as a matter of course, andmerely make literary reference to Byron swimming the Hellespont—which wouldsound better if said in less of a hurry, and when not obliged to gasp, and spitout several gallons of water.
Minor, but nerve-racking, little problem here suggests itself: Whatsubstitute for a pocket-handkerchief exists when sea-bathing? Can conceive ofno occasion—except possibly funeral of nearest and dearest—when this homelylittle article more frequently and urgently required. Answer, when it comes,anything but satisfactory.
I say that I am cold—which is true—and shall go back across the rocks.Viscountess, with remarkable tact, does not attempt to dissuade me, and Igo.
July 27th.—End of holiday quite definitely in sight, and everyonevery kindly says, Why not stay on? I refer, in return, to Robert and thechildren—and add, though not aloud, the servants, the laundry, the Women'sInstitute, repainting the outside of bath, and the state of my overdraft.Everyone expresses civil regret at my departure, and I go so far as to declarerecklessly that I shall be coming back next year—which I well know to beunlikely in the extreme.
Spend last evening sending picture-postcards to everyone to whom I have beenintending to send them ever since I started.
July 29th, London.—Return journey accomplished under greatlyimproved conditions, travelling first-class in company with one of Rose's mostdistinguished friends. (Should much like to run across Lady B. by chance inParis or elsewhere, but no such gratifying coincidence supervenes. Shall takecare, however, to let her know circles in which I have been moving.)
Crossing as tempestuous as ever, and again have recourse to "An AustrianArmy" with same lack of success as before. Boat late, train even more so, lastavailable train for west of England has left Paddington long before I reachVictoria, and am obliged to stay night in London. Put through long-distancecall to tell Robert this, but line is, as usual, in a bad way, and all I canhear is "What?" As Robert, on his side, can apparently hear even less, we donot get far. I find that I have no money, in spite of having borrowed fromRose—expenditure, as invariably happens, has exceeded estimate—but confideall to Secretary of my club, who agrees to trust me, but adds, ratherdisconcertingly—"as it's for one night only".
July 30th.—Readjustment sometimes rather difficult, after absence ofunusual length and character.
July 31st.—The beginning of the holidays signalled, as usual, by themaking of appointments with dentist and doctor. Photographs taken at Ste.Agathe arrive, and I am—perhaps naturally—much more interested in them thananybody else appears to be. (Bathing dress shows up as being even more becomingthan I thought it was, though hair, on the other hand, not at itsbest—probably owing to salt water.) Notice, regretfully, how much more time Ispend in studying views of myself, than on admirable group of delightfulfriends, or even beauties of Nature, as exemplified in camera studies of seaand sky.
Presents for Vicky, Mademoiselle, and our Vicar's wife all meet withacclamation, and am gratified. Blue flowered chintz frock, however, bought atSte. Agathe for sixty-three francs, no longer becoming to me, as sunburn fadesand original sallowness returns to view. Even Mademoiselle, usually sosympathetic in regard to clothes, eyes chintz frock doubtfully, and says,"Tiens! On dirait un bal masqué." As she knows, and I know, that theneighbourhood never has, and never will, run tobals masqués,this equals unqualified condemnation of blue chintz, and I remove it in silenceto furthest corner of the wardrobe.
Helen Wills, says Cook, about to produce more kittens. Cannot say if Robertdoes, or does not, know this.
Spend much time in writing to, and hearing from, unknown mothers whose sonshave been invited here by Robin, and one grandmother, with whose descendantRobin is to spend a week. Curious impossibility of combining dates and trainsconvenient to us all, renders this whole question harassing in the extreme.Grandmother, especially, sends unlimited letters and telegrams, to all of whichI feel bound to reply—mostly with civil assurances of gratitude for herkindness in having Robin to stay. Very, very difficult to think of new ways ofwording this—moreover, must reserve something for letter I shall have to writewhen visit is safely over.
August 1st:—Return of Robin, who has grown, and looks pale. He hasalso purchased large bottle of brilliantine, and applied it to his hair, whichsmells like inferior chemist's shop. Do not like to be unsympathetic aboutthis, so merely remain silent while Vicky exclaims rapturously that it islovely—which is also Robin's own opinion. They get excited and scream,and I suggest the garden. Robin says that he is hungry, having had no lunch.Practically—he adds conscientiously. "Practically" turns out to be packet ofsandwiches, two bottles of atrocious liquid called Cherry Ciderette, slab ofmilk chocolate, two bananas purchased on journey, and small sample tin ofcheese biscuits, swopped by boy called Sherlock, for Robin's last year's copyofPop's Annual.
Customary rather touching display of affection between Robin and Vicky muchto the fore, and am sorry to feel that repeated experience of holidays hastaught me not to count for one moment upon its lasting more than twenty-fourhours—if that.
(Query: Does motherhood lead to cynicism? This contrary to every conventionof art, literature, or morality, but cannot altogether escape conviction thatanswer may be in the affirmative.)
In spite of this, however, cannot remain quite unmoved on hearing Vickyinform Cook that when she marries, her husband will beexactly likeRobin. Cook replies indulgently, That's right, but come out of that sauce-boat,there's a good girl, and what about Master Robin's wife? To which Robinrejoins, he doesn't suppose he'll beable to get a wife exactly likeVicky, as she's so good, there couldn't be another one.
August 2nd.—Noteworthy what astonishing difference made in entirehousehold by presence of one additional child. Robert finds one marble—whichhe unfortunately steps upon—mysterious little empty box with hole in bottom,and half of torn sponge on the stairs, and says, This house is a perfectShambles—which I think excessive. Mademoiselle refers to sounds emitted byRobin, Vicky, the dog, and Helen Wills—all, apparently, gone mad together inthe hay-loft—as "tohu-bohu". Very expressive word.
Meal-times, especially lunch, very, very far from peaceful. From time totime remember, with pained astonishment, theories subscribed to inpre-motherhood days, as to inadvisability of continually saying Don't,incessant fault-finding, and so on. Should now be sorry indeed to count numberof times that I find myself forced to administer these and similar checks tothe dear children. Am often reminded of enthusiastic accounts given me byAngela of other families, and admirable discipline obtaining there withouteffort on either side. Should like—or far more probably shouldnotlike—to hear what dear Angela says aboutour house, when visitingmutual friends or relations.
Rose writes cheerfully, still in South of France—sky still blue, rocks red,and bathing as perfect as ever. Experience curious illusion of receivingcommunication from another world, visited many aeons ago, and dimly remembered.Weather abominable, and customary difficulty experienced of finding indooroccupation for children that shall be varied, engrossing, and reasonably quiet.Cannot imagine what will happen if these conditions still prevail when visitingschool-fellow—Henry by name—arrives. I ask Robin what his friend's tastesare, and he says, Oh, anything. I enquire if he likes cricket, and Robinreplies, Yes, he expects so. Does he care for reading? Robin says that he doesnot know. I give it up, and write to Army and Navy Stores for large tin ofPicnic Biscuits.
Messrs. R. Sydenham, and two unknown firms from places in Holland, send melittle books relating to indoor bulbs. R. Sydenham particularly optimistic,and, though admitting that failures have been known, pointing out that all,without exception, have been owing to neglect of directions on page twenty-two.Immerse myself in page twenty-two, and see that there is nothing for it but toget R. Sydenham's Special Mixture for growing R. Sydenham's Special Bulbs.
Mention this to Robert, who does not encourage scheme in any way, and refersto last November. Cannot at the moment think of really good answer, but shallprobably do so in church on Sunday, or in other surroundings equallyinappropriate for delivering it.
August 3rd.—Difference of opinion arises between Robin and hisfather as to the nature and venue of former's evening meal, Robin makingsweeping assertions to the effect that All Boys of his Age have Proper LateDinner downstairs, and Robert replying curtly More Fools their Parents, which Iprivately think unsuitable language for use before children. Final andunsatisfactory compromise results in Robin's coming nightly to the dining-roomand partaking of soup, followed by interval, and ending with dessert, duringthe whole of which Robert maintains disapproving silence and I talk to both atonce on entirely different subjects.
(Life of a wife and mother sometimes very wearing.)
Moreover, Vicky offended at not being included in what she evidently looksupon as nightly banquet of Lucullan magnificence, and covertly supported inthis rebellious attitude by Mademoiselle. Am quite struck by extraordinarypersistence with which Vicky, day after day, enquiresWhy she can't stayup to dinner too? and equally phenomenal number of times that I reply withunvarying formula that Six years old is too young, darling.
Weather cold and disagreeable, and I complain. Robert asserts that it isreally quite warm, only I don't take enough exercise. Have often noticedcurious and prevalent masculine delusion, to the effect that sympathy shouldnever, on any account, be offered when minor ills of life are in question.
Days punctuated by recurrent question as to whether grass is, or is not, toowet to be sat upon by children, and whether they shall, or shall not, weartheir woollen pullovers. To all enquiries as to whether they are cold, theyinvariably reply, with aggrieved expressions, that they areBoiling.Should like scientific or psychological explanation of this singular state ofaffairs, and mentally reserve the question for bringing forward on nextoccasion of finding myself in intellectual society. This, however, seems at themoment remote in the extreme.
Cook says that unless help is provided in the kitchen they cannot possiblymanage all the work. I think this unreasonable, and quite unnecessary expense.Am also aware that there is no help to be obtained at this time of the year. Amdisgusted at hearing myself reply in hypocritically pleasant tone of voicethat, Very well, I will see what can be done. Servants, in truth, make cowardsof us all.
August 7th.—Local Flower Show takes place. We walk about inBurberrys, on wet grass, and say that it might have been much worse, and lookat the day they had last week at West Warmington! Am forcibly reminded of whatI have heard of Ruth Draper's admirable sketch of country Bazaar, but try hardnot to think about this. Our Vicar's wife takes me to look at theschool-children's needlework, laid out in tent amidst onions, begonias, andother vegetable products. Just as I am admiring pink cotton camisoleembroidered with mauve pansies, strange boy approaches me and says, If Iplease, the little girl isn't very well, and can't be got out of theswing-boat, and will I come, please. I go, our Vicar's wife following, andsaying—absurdly—that it must be the heat, and those swingboats have alwaysseemed to her very dangerous, ever since there was a fearful accident at herold home, when the whole thing broke down, and seven people were killed and agood many of the spectators injured. A relief, after this, to find Vicky merelygreen in the face, still clinging obstinately to the ropes and disregarding twomen below saying Come along out of it, missie, and Now then, my dear, andMademoiselle in terrific state of agitation, clasping her hands and pacingbackwards and forwards, uttering many Gallic ejaculations and adjurations tothe saints. Robin has removed himself to furthest corner of the ground, and isfeigning interest in immense carthorse tied up in red ribbons.
(N.B. Dear Robin perhaps not so utterly unlike his father as one issometimes tempted to suppose.)
I tell Vicky, very, very shortly, that unless she descends instantly, shewill go to bed early every night for a week. Unfortunately, tremendous outburstof "Land of Hope and Glory" from brass band compels me to say this inundignified bellow, and to repeat it three times before it has any effect, bywhich time quite large crowd has gathered round. General outburst of applausewhen at last swing-boat is brought to a standstill, and Vicky—mottled to thelast degree—is lifted out by man in check coat and tweed cap, who saysHere we are, Amy Johnson! to fresh applause.
Vicky removed by Mademoiselle, not a moment too soon. Our Vicar's wife saysthat children are all alike, and it may be a touch of ptomaine poisoning, onenever knows, and why not come and help her judge decorated perambulators?
Meet several acquaintances and newly-arrived Miss Pankerton, who has boughtsmall house in village, and on whom I have not yet called. She wears pince-nezand is said to have been at Oxford. All I can get out of her is that the wholething reminds her of Dostoeffsky.
Feel that I neither know nor care what she means. Am convinced, however,that I have not heard the last of either Miss P. or Dostoeffsky, as she assuresme that she is the most unconventional person in the whole world, and neverstands on ceremony. If she meets an affinity, she adds, she knows it directly,and then nothing can stop her. She just follows the impulse of the moment, andmay as like as not stroll in for breakfast, or be strolled in upon forafter-dinner coffee.
Am quite unable to contemplate Robert's reaction to Miss P. and Dostoeffskyat breakfast, and bring the conversation to an end as quickly as possible.
Find Robert, our Vicar, and neighbouring squire, looking at horses. OurVicar and neighbouring squire talk about the weather, but do not say anythingnew. Robert says nothing.
Get home towards eight o'clock, strangely exhausted, and am discouraged atmeeting both maids just on their way to the Flower-Show Dance. Cook saysencouragingly that the potatoes are in the oven, and everything else on thetable, and she only hopes Pussy hasn't found her way in, on account of thebutter. Eventually do the washing-up, while Mademoiselle puts children to bed,and I afterwards go up and readTanglewood Tales aloud.
(Query, mainly rhetorical: Why are nonprofessional women, if married andwith children, so frequently referred to as "leisured"? Answer comes therenone.)
August 8th.—Frightful afternoon, entirely filled by call from MissPankerton, wearing hand-woven blue jumper, wider in front than at the back,very short skirt, and wholly incredible small black béret. She smokescigarettes in immense holder, and sits astride the arm of the sofa.
(N.B. Arm of the sofa not at all calculated to bear any such strain,and creaks several times most alarmingly. Must remember to see if anything canbe done about it, and in any case manoeuvre Miss P. into sitting elsewhere onsubsequent visits, if any.)
Conversation very, very literary and academic, my own part in it beingmostly confined to saying that I haven't yet read it, and, It's down on mylibrary list, but hasn't come, so far. After what feels like some hours ofthis, Miss P. becomes personal, and says that I strike her as being a womanwhose life has never known fulfilment. Have often thought exactly the samething myself, but this does not prevent my feeling entirely furious with MissP. for saying so. She either does not perceive, or is indifferent to, my fury,as she goes on to ask accusingly whether I realise that I have norightto let myself become a domestic beast of burden, with no interests beyond thenursery and the kitchen. What, for instance, she demands rousingly, have I readwithin the last two years? To this I reply weakly that I have readGentlemenPrefer Blondes, which is the only thing I seem able to remember, whenRobert and the tea enter simultaneously. Curious and difficult interludefollows, in the course of which Miss P. talks about the N.U.E.C.—(Cannotimagine what this is, but pretend to know all about it)—and the situation inIndia, and Robert either says nothing at all, or contradicts her very brieflyand forcibly. Miss P. finally departs, saying that she is determined to scrapeall the barnacles off me before she has done with me, and that I shall soon beseeing her again.
August 9th.—The child Henry deposited by expensive-looking parentsin enormous red car, who dash away immediately, after one contemptuous look athouse, garden, self, and children. (Can understand this, in a way, as theyarrive sooner than expected, and Robin, Vicky, and I are all equally untidyowing to prolonged game of Wild Beasts in the garden.)
Henry unspeakably immaculate in grey flannel and red tie—but all isdiscarded when parents have departed, and he rapidly assumes disreputableappearance and loud, screeching tones of complete at-homeness. Robert, forreasons unknown, appears unable to remember his name, and calls him Francis.(Should like to trace connection of ideas, if any, but am baffled.)
Both boys come down to dinner, and Henry astonishes us by pouring out steadystream of information concerning speedboats, aeroplanes, and submarines, fromstart to finish. Most informative. Am quite relieved, after boys have gone tobed, to find him looking infantile in blue-striped pyjamas, and asking to havedoor left open so that he can see light in passage outside.
I go down to Robert and ask—not very straightforwardly, since I know theanswer only too well—if he would not like to take Mademoiselle, me, and thechildren to spend long day at the sea next week. We might invite one or twopeople to join us and have a picnic, say I with false optimism. Robert lookshorrified and says, Surely that isn't necessary? but after some discussion,yields, on condition that weather is favourable.
(Should not be surprised to learn that he has been praying for rain eversince.)
August 10th.—See Miss Pankerton through Post Office window and haveserious thoughts of asking if I may just get under the counter for a moment, orretire into back premises altogether, but am restrained by presence ofchildren, and also interesting story, embarked upon by Postmistress, concerningextraordinary decision of Bench, last Monday week, as to Separation Orderapplied for by Mrs. W. of theQueen's Head. Just as we get to its beingwell known that Mr. W. once threw hand-painted plate with view of Teignmouthright across the bedroom—absolutely right across it, from end to end, saysPostmistress impressively—we are invaded by Miss P., accompanied by twosheep-dogs and some leggy little boys.
Little boys turn out to be nephews, paying a visit, and are told to go andmake friends with Robin, Henry, and Vicky—at which all exchange looks ofblackest hatred, with regrettable exception of Vicky, who smirks at the tallestnephew, who takes no notice. Miss P. pounces on Henry and says to me Is this myboy, his eyes are so exactly like mine she'd have known him anywhere. Nobodycontradicts her, although I do not feel pleased, as Henry, in my opinion,entirely undistinguished-looking child.
Postmistress—perhaps diplomatically—intervenes with, Did I say atwo-shilling book, she has them, but I usually take the three-shilling, if I'llexcuse her. I do excuse her, and explain that I only have two shillings withme, and she says that doesn't matter at all and Harold will take the othershilling when he calls for the letters. I agree to all, and turn cast-irondeafness to Miss P. in background exclaiming that this is Pure Hardy.
We all surge out of Post Office together, and youngest Pankerton nephewsuddenly remarks that athis home the water once came through thebathroom floor into the dining-room. Vicky says Oh, and all then become silentagain until Miss P. tells another nephew not to twist the sheep-dog's tail likethat, and the nephew, looking astonished, says in return, Why not? to whichMiss P. rejoins, Noel, that willDo.
Mem.: Amenities of conversation sometimes very curious, especiallywhere society of children is involved. Have sometimes wondered at what stage ofdevelopment the idea of continuity in talk begins to seem desirable—but here,again, disquieting reflection follows that perhaps this stage is never reachedat all. Debate for an instant whether to put the point to Miss Pankerton, butdecide better not, and in any case, she turns out to be talking about H. G.Wells, and do not like to interrupt. Just as she is telling me that it is quiteabsurd to compare Wells with Shaw—(which I have never thought of doing)—aPankerton nephew and Henry begin to kick one another on the shins, and have tobe told that that is Quite Enough. The Pankerton nephew is agitated and says,Tell him my nameisn't Noah, it's Noel. This misunderstanding clearedup, but the nephew remains Noah to his contemporaries, and is evidentlydestined to do so for years to come, and Henry receives much applause asoriginator of brilliant witticism.
Do not feel that Miss P. views any of it as being in the least amusing, andin order to create a diversion, rush into an invitation to them all to joinprojected picnic to the sea next week.
(Query: Would it not be instructive to examine closely exact motivesgoverning suggestions and invitations that bear outward appearance ofspontaneity? Answer: Instructive undoubtedly, but probably in many casespainful, and—on second thoughts—shall embark on no such exercise.)
We part with Pankertons at the crossroads, but not before Miss P. hasaccepted invitation to picnic, and added that her brother will be staying withher then, and a dear friend who Writes, and that she hopes that will not be toolarge a party. I say No, not at all, and feel that this settles the question ofbuying another half-dozen picnic plates and enamel mugs, and better throw in anew Thermos as well, otherwise not a hope of things going round. That, saysMiss P., will be delightful, and shall they bring their own sandwiches?—atwhich I exclaim in horror, and she says Really? and I say Really, with equalemphasis but quite different inflection, and we part.
Robin says he does not know why I asked them to the picnic, and I stifleimpulse to reply that neither do I, and Henry tells me all about hydrauliclifts.
Send children upstairs to wash for lunch, and call out several times thatthey must hurry up or they will be late, but am annoyed when gong, eventually,is sounded by Gladys nearly ten minutes after appointed hour. Cannot decidewhether I shall, or shall not, speak about this, and am preoccupied all throughroast lamb and mint sauce, but forget about it when fruit-salad is reached, asCook has disastrously omitted banana and put in loganberries.
August 13th.—I tell Cook about the picnic lunch—for about tenpeople, say I—which sounds less than if I just said "ten" straight out—butshe is not taken in by this, and at once declares that there isn't anything tomake sandwiches of, that she can see, and butcher won't be calling till the dayafter tomorrow, and then it'll be scrag-end for Irish stew. I perceive that themoment has come for taking up absolutely firm stand with Cook, and surprise usboth by suddenly saying Nonsense, she must order chicken from farm, and have itcold for sandwiches. It won't go round, Cook protests—but feebly—and I pursueadvantage and advocate supplementary potted meat and hard-boiled eggs. Cookutterly vanquished, and I leave kitchen triumphant, but am met in the passageoutside by Vicky, who asks in clarion tones (easily audible in kitchen andbeyond) if I know that I threw cigarette-end into drawing-room grate, and thatit has lit the fire all by itself?
August 15th.—Picnic takes place under singular and rather disastrousconditions, day not beginning well owing to Robin and Henry having strangeovernight inspiration about sleeping out in summer-house, which is prepared forthem with much elaboration by Mademoiselle and myself—even to crowning touchfrom Mademoiselle of small vase of flowers on table. At 2 A.M. they decide thatthey wish to come in, and do so through study window left open for them. Henryinvolves himself in several blankets, which he tries to carry upstairs, andtrips and falls down, and Robin knocks over hall-stool, and treads on HelenWills.
Robert and myself are roused, and Robert is not pleased. Mademoiselleappears on landing inpeignoir and with head swathed in little greyshawl, but screams at the sight of Robert in pyjamas, and rushes away again.(The French undoubtedly very curious mixture of modesty and the reverse.)
Henry and Robin show tendency to become explanatory, but are discouraged,and put into beds. Just as I return down passage to my room, sounds indicatethat Vicky has now awakened, and is automatically opening campaign by sayingCan't I come too? Instinct—unclassified, but evidently stronger than maternalone—bids me leave Mademoiselle to deal with this, which I unhesitatinglydo.
Get into bed again, feeling that the day has not opened very well, but sleepoff and on until Gladys calls me—ten minutes late—but do not say anythingabout her unpunctuality, as Robert does not appear to have noticed it.
Sky is grey, but not necessarily threatening, and glass has not fallenunreasonably. All is in readiness when Miss Pankerton (wearing Burberry, greenknitted cap, and immense yellow gloves) appears in large Ford car which brimsover with nephews, sheep-dogs, and a couple of men. Latter resolve themselvesinto the Pankerton brother—who turns out to be from Vancouver—and the friendwho Writes—very tall and pale, and is addressed by Miss P. in a proprietarymanner as "Jahsper".
(Something tells me that Robert and Jahsper are not going to care about oneanother.)
After customary preliminaries about weather, much time is spent indiscussing arrangements in cars. All the children show tendency to wish to sitwith their own relations rather than anybody else, except Henry, who sayssimply that the hired car looks much the best, and may he sit in front with thedriver, please. All is greatly complicated by presence of the sheep-dogs, andRobert offers to shut them into an outhouse for the day, but Miss Pankertonreplies that this would break their hearts, bless them, and they can just popdown anywhere amongst the baskets. (In actual fact, both eventually pop down onMademoiselle's feet, and she looks despairing, and presently ask if I have byany chance a little bottle of eau-de-Cologne with me—which I naturallyhaven't.)
Picnic baskets, as usual, weigh incredible amount, and Thermos flasks stickup at inconvenient angles and run into our legs. (I quote "John Gilpin", ratheraptly, but nobody pays any attention.)
When we have driven about ten miles, rain begins, and goes on and on. Carsare stopped, and we find that two schools of thought exist, one—of which MissP. is leader—declaring that we are Running out of It, and the other—headed bythe Vancouver brother and heavily backed by Robert—that we are Running intoIt. Miss P.—as might have been expected—wins, and we proceed; but Run into Itmore and more. By the time destination is reached, we have Run into It to anextent that makes me wonder if we shall ever Run out of It.
Lunch has to be eaten in three bathing huts, hired by Robert, and thechildren become hilarious and fidgety. Miss P. talks about CompanionateMarriage to Robert, who makes no answer, and Jahsper asks me what I think ofJames Elroy Flecker. As I cannot remember exact form of J. E. F.'s activities,I merely reply that in many ways he was very wonderful—which no doubt hewas—and Jahsper seems satisfied, and eats tomato sandwiches. The children askriddles—mostly very old and foolish ones—and Miss P. looks annoyed, and saysSee if it has stopped raining—which it hasn't. I feel that she and thechildren must, at all costs, be kept apart, and tell Robert in urgent whisperthat, rain or no rain, they must go out.
They do.
Miss Pankerton becomes expansive, and suddenly remarks to Jahsper thatNow he can see what she meant, about positively Victorian survivalsstill to be found in English family life. At this, Vancouver brother looksaghast—as well he may—and dashes out into the wet. Jahsper says Yerse, Yerse,and sighs, and I at once institute vigorous search for missing plate, whichcreates a diversion.
Subsequently the children bathe, get wetter than ever, drip all over theplace, and are dried—Mademoiselle predicts death from pneumonia for all—andwe seek the cars once more. One sheep-dog is missing, but eventually recoveredin soaking condition, and is gathered on to united laps of Vicky, Henry, and anephew. I lack energy to protest, and we drive away.
Beg Miss P., Jahsper, brother, nephews, sheep-dogs, and all, to come in andget dry and have tea, but they have the decency to refuse, and I make nofurther effort, but watch them depart with untold thankfulness.
(Should be sorry to think impulses of hospitality almost entirely dependenton convenience, but cannot altogether escape suspicion that this is so.)
Robert extremely forbearing on the whole, and says nothing worse thanWell!—but this very expressively.
August 16th.—Robert, at breakfast, suddenly enquires if thatnasty-looking fellow does anything for a living? Instinct at once tells me thathe means Jahsper, but am unable to give him any information, except thatJahsper writes, which Robert does not appear to think is to his credit. He goesso far as to say that he hopes yesterday's rain may put an end to himaltogether—but whether this means to his presence in the neighbourhood, or tohis existence on this planet, am by no means certain, and prefer not toenquire. Ask Robert instead if he did not think, yesterday, about MissEdgeworth, Rosamond, and the Party of Pleasure, but this wakens no response,and conversation—such as it is—descends once more to level of slightbitterness about the coffee, and utter inability to get really satisfactorybacon locally. This is only brought to a close by abrupt entrance of Robin, whoremarks without preliminary: "Isn't Helen Wills going to have kittens almost atonce? Cook thinks so."
Can only hope that Robin does not catch exact wording of short ejaculationwith which his father receives this.
August 18th.—Pouring rain, and I agree to let all three childrendress up, and give them handsome selection from my wardrobe for the purpose.This ensures me brief half-hour uninterrupted at writing-table, where I dealwith baker—brown bread far from satisfactory—Rose—on a picture-postcard ofBacks at Cambridge, which mysteriously appears amongst stationery—Robin'sHeadmaster's wife—mostly about stockings, but Boxing may be substituted forDancing, in future—and Lady Frobisher, who would be so delighted if Robert andI would come over for tea whilst there is still something to be seen in thegarden. (Do not like to write back and say that I would far rather come whenthere is nothing to be seen in the garden, and we might enjoy excellent tea inpeace—so, as usual, sacrifice truth to demands of civilisation.)
Just as I decide to tackle large square envelope of thin blue paper, withcurious purple lining designed to defeat anyone endeavouring to read letterwithin—which would anyhow be impossible, as Barbara Carruthers always mostillegible—front door bell rings.
Thoughts immediately fly to Lady B., and I rapidly rehearse references thatI intend to make to recent stay in South of France—(shall not specify lengthof visit)—and cordial relations there established with distinguished society,and Rose's Viscountess in particular. Have also sufficient presence of mind tomake use of pocket comb, mirror, and small powder-puff kept for emergencies indrawer of writing-table. (Discover, much later, that I have overdonepowder-puff very considerably, and reflect, not for the first time, that we arespared much by inability—so misguidedly deplored by Scottish poet—to seeourselves as others see us.)
Door opens, and Miss Pankerton is shown in, followed—it seems to mereluctantly—by Jahsper. Miss P. has on military-looking cape, and béretas before, which strikes me as odd combination, and anyhow cape looks to me asthough it might drip rain-drops on furniture, and I beg her to take it off.This she does with rather spacious gesture—(Can she have been seeingTheThree Musketeers at local cinema?)—and unfortunately one end of it,apparently heavily weighted, hits Jahsper in the eye. Miss P. is very breezyand off-hand about this, but Jahsper, evidently in severe pain, falls into deepdejection, and continues to hold large yellow crêpe-de-chine handkerchiefto injured eye for some time. Am distracted by wondering whether I ought to askhim if he would like to bathe it—which would involve taking him up tobathroom, probably untidy—and trying to listen intelligently to Miss P., whois talking about Proust.
This leads, by process that I do not follow, to a discussion on Christiannames, and Miss P. says that All Flower Names are Absurd. Am horrified to hearmyself replying, senselessly, that I think Rose is a pretty name, as one of mygreatest friends is called Rose—to which Miss P. rightly answers that that,really, has nothing to do with it, and Jahsper, still dabbing at injured eye,contributes austere statement to the effect that only the Russians reallyunderstand Beauty in Nomenclature. Am again horrified at hearing myselfinterject "Ivan Ivanovitch" in entirely detached and irrelevant manner,and really begin to wonder if mental weakness is overtaking me. Moreover, amcertain that I have given Miss P. direct lead in the direction of Dostoeffsky,about whom I do not wish to hear, and am altogether unable to converse.
Entire situation is, however, revolutionised by totally unexpected entranceof Robin—staggering beneath my fur coat and last summer's red crinoline strawhat—Henry, draped in blue kimono, several scarfs belonging to Mademoiselle,old pair of fur gloves, with scarlet school-cap inappropriately crowningall—and Vicky, wearing nothing whatever but small pair of green silkknickerbockers and large and unfamiliar black felt hat put on at rakishangle.
Completely stunned silence overtakes us all, until Vicky, advancing withperfect aplomb, graciously says, "How do you do?" and shakes hands with Jahsperand Miss P. in turn, and I succeed in surpassing already well-establishedrecord for utter futility, by remarking that They have been Dressing Up.
Atmosphere becomes very, very strained indeed, only Vicky embarking onsprightly reminiscences of recent picnic, which meet with no response. Finaldepths of unsuccess are plumbed, when it transpires that Vicky's blacksombrero, picked up in the hall, is in reality the property of Jahsper. Iapologise profusely, the children giggle, Miss P. raises her eyebrows to quiteunnatural heights, and gets up and looks at the book-shelves in a remote andsuperior way, and Jahsper says, Oh, never mind, it really is of no consequence,at the same time receiving hat with profound solicitude, and dusting it withtwo fingers.
Greatest possible relief when Miss P. declares that they must go, otherwisethey will miss the Brahms Concerto on the wireless. I hastily agree that thiswould never do, and tell Robin to open the door. Just as we all cross the hall,Gladys is inspired to sound the gong for tea, and I am compelled to say, Won'tthey stay and have some? but Miss P. says she never takes anything at allbetween lunch and dinner, thanks, and Jahsper pretends he hasn't heard me andmakes no reply whatever.
They march out into pouring rain, Miss P. once more giving martial fling tomilitary cape—(at which Jahsper flinches, and removes himself some yards awayfrom her)—and entirely disdaining small and elegant umbrella beneath whichJahsper and his black felt take refuge. Robin enquires, in tones of markeddistaste, if Ilike those people? but I feel it better to ignore this,and recommend getting washed for tea. Customary discussion follows as towhether washing is, or is not, necessary.
(Mem.: Have sometimes considered—though idly—writing letter to theTimes to find out if any recorded instances exist of parents andchildren whose views on this subject coincide. Topic of far wider appeal thanmany of those so exhaustively dealt with.)
August 25th.—Am displeased by Messrs. R. Sydenham, who have besoughtme, in urgently worded little booklet, to Order Bulbs Early, and when I doso—at no little inconvenience, owing to customary pressure of holidays—replyon a postcard that order will be forwarded "when ready". Have serious thoughtsof cancelling the whole thing—six selected, twelve paper-whites, a dozen earlyassorteds, and a half bushel of Fibre, Moss, and Charcoal. Cannot very well dothis, however, owing to quite recent purchase of coloured bowls fromWoolworth's, as being desirable additions to existing collection of odd pots,dented enamel basins, large red glass jam-dish, and dear grandmamma's disusedwillow-pattern foot-bath.
Departure of the boy Henry—who says that he has enjoyed himself, which Ihope is true—accompanied by Robin, who is to be met and extracted from trainat Salisbury by uncle of boy with whom he is to stay.
(Query: How is it that others are so frequently able to obtain services ofthis nature from their relations? Feel no conviction that either William orAngela would react favourably, if called upon to meet unknown children atSalisbury or anywhere else.)
Vicky, Mademoiselle, and I wave goodbye from hall door—rain pouring down asusual—and Vicky seems a thought depressed at remaining behind. This tendencygreatly enhanced by Mademoiselle's exclamation, on retiring into the house oncemore—"On dirait un tombeau!"
Second post brings letter from Barbara in the Himalayas, which gives mesevere shock of realising that I haven't yet read her last one, owing to lackof time and general impression that it is illegibly scrawled and full ofallusions to native servants. Remorsefully open this one, perceive with reliefthat it is quite short and contains nothing that looks like native servants,but very interesting piece of information, rather circuitously worded by dearBarbara, but still quite beyond misunderstanding. I tell Mademoiselle, who says"Ah, comme c'est touchant!" and at once wipes her eyes—display which I thinkexcessive.
Robert, to whom I also impart news, goes to the other extreme, and makes nocomment except "I daresay". On the other hand, our Vicar's wife calls, for theexpress purpose of asking whether I think it will be a boy or a girl, and ofsuggesting that we should at once go together and congratulate old Mrs.Blenkinsop. I remind her that Barbara stipulates in letter for secrecy, and ourVicar's wife says, Of course, of course—it had slipped her memory for themoment—but surely old Mrs. B. must know all about it? However, she concedesthat dear Barbara may perhaps not wish her mother to know that we know, justyet, and concludes with involved quotation from Thomas a Kempis about exerciseof discretion. We then discuss educational facilities in the Himalayas, theCarruthers nose—which neither of us cares about—and the desirability orotherwise of having twins. Our Vicar's wife refuses tea, talks about books—shelikes to have somethingsolid in hand, always—is reminded of MissPinkerton, about whom she is doubtful, but admits that it is early days tojudge—again refuses tea, and assures me that she must go. She eventually staysto tea, and walks up and down the lawn with me afterwards, telling me of LadyB.'s outrageous behaviour in connection with purchase of proposed site for theVillage Hall. This, as usual, serves to unite us in warm friendship, and wepart cordially.
August 28th.—Picnic, and Cook forgets to put in the sugar. Postcardfrom Robin's hostess says that he has arrived, but adds nothing as to hisbehaviour, or impression that he is making, which makes me feel anxious.
August 31st.—ReadThe Edwardians which everybody else hasread months ago—and am delighted and amused. Remember that V. Sackville-Westand I once attended dancing classes together at the Albert Hall, many yearsago, but feel that if I do mention this, everybody will think I amboasting—which indeed I should be—so better forget about it again, and in anycase, dancing never my strongest point, and performance at Albert Hallextremely mediocre and may well be left in oblivion. Short letter from Robinwhich I am very glad to get, but which refers to nothing whatever exceptanimals at home, and project for going out in a boat and diving from it on someunspecified future occasion. Reply to all, and am too modern to beg tiresomelyfor information concerning himself.
September 1st.—Postcard from the station announces arrival ofparcel, that I at once identify as bulbs, with accompanying Fibre, Moss, andCharcoal mixture. Suggest that Robert should fetch them this afternoon, but heis unenthusiastic, and says tomorrow, when he will be meeting Robin andschool-friend, will do quite well.
(Mem.: Very marked difference between the sexes is male tendency toprocrastinate doing practically everything in the world except sitting down tomeals and going up to bed. Should like to purchase little painted motto:Doit now, so often on sale at inferior stationers' shops, and present it toRobert, but on second thoughts quite see that this would not conduce todomestic harmony, and abandon scheme at once.)
Think seriously about bulbs, and spread sheets of newspaper on attic floorto receive them and bowls. Resolve also to keep careful record of alloperations, with eventual results, for future guidance. Look out notebook forthe purpose, and find small green booklet, with mysterious references of whichI can make neither head nor tail, in own handwriting on two first pages. Spendsome time in trying to decide what I could have meant by: Kp. p. in sh. twicep. w.without fail or: Tell H.not 12" by 8" Washable f.c. to beg'd, but eventually give it up, and tear out two first pages of little greenbook, and write BULBS and to-morrow's date in capital letters.
September 2nd.—Robert brings home Robin, and friend called MickyThompson, from station, but has unfortunately forgotten to call for the bulbs.Micky Thompson is attractive and shows enchanting dimple whenever he smiles,which is often.
(Mem.: Theory that mothers think their own children superior to anyothers Absolute Nonsense. Can see only too plainly that Micky easily surpassesRobin and Vicky in looks, charm, and good manners—and am very much annoyedabout it.)
September 4th.—Micky Thompson continues to show himself as charmingchild, with cheerful disposition, good manners, and excellent health. Enquiryreveals that he is an orphan, which does not surprise me in the least. Haveoften noticed that absence of parental solicitude usually very beneficial tooffspring. Bulbs still at station.
September 10th.—Unbroken succession of picnics, bathing expeditions,and drives to Plymouth Cafe in search of ices. Mademoiselle continuallypredicts catastrophes to digestions, lungs, or even brains—but nonematerialise.
September 11th.—Departure of Micky Thompson, but am less concernedwith this than with Robert's return from station, this time accompanied bybulbs and half-bushel of Fibre, Moss, and Charcoal. Devote entire afternoon toplanting these, with much advice from Vicky and Robin, and enter full detailsof transaction in little green book. Prepare to carry all, with utmost care,into furthest and darkest recess of attic, when Vicky suddenly announces thatHelen Wills is there already, with six bran-new kittens.
Great excitement follows, which I am obliged to suggest had better bemodified before Daddy enquires into its cause. Children agree to this, but feelvery little confidence in their discretion. Am obliged to leave bulbs insecondary corner of attic, owing to humane scruples about disturbing H. Willsand family.
September 20th.—Letter from County Secretary of adjoining County,telling me that she knows how busy I am—which I'm certain she doesn't—butWomen's Institutes of Chick, Little March, and Crimpington find themselves interrible difficulty owing to uncertainty about next month's speaker. Involvedfragments about son coming, or not coming, home on leave from Patagonia, anddaughter ill—but not dangerously—at Bromley, Kent—follow. President isaway—(further fragment, about President being obliged to visit aged relativewhile aged relative's maid is on holiday)—and County Secretary does not knowwhat to do. What she does do, however, is to suggest that I should be preparedto come and speak at all three Institute meetings, if—as she rather strangelyputs it—the worst comes to the worst. Separate half-sheet of paper givesdetails about dates, times, and bus between Chick and Little March, leading onto doctor's sister's two-seater, at cross-roads between Little March andCrimpington Hill. At Crimpington, County Secretary concludes triumphantly, Ishall be put up for the night by Lady Magdalen Crimp—always so kind, and sucha friend to the Movement—at Crimpington Hall. P.S. Travel talks alwayspopular, but anything I like will be delightful. Chick very keen about FolkLore, Little March more on the Handicraft side.But anything I like.P.P.S. Would I be so kind as to judge Recitation Competition atCrimpington?
I think this over for some time, and decide to write and say that I will doit, as Robin will have returned to school next week, and should like todistract my mind. Tell Mademoiselle casually that I may be going on a shorttour, speaking, and she is suitably impressed. Vicky enquires: "Like amenagerie, mummie?" which seems to me very extraordinary simile, thoughinnocently meant. I reply, "No, not in the least like a menagerie," andMademoiselle adds, officiously, "More like a mission." Am by no means at onewith her here, but have no time to go further into the subject, as Gladyssummons me to prolonged discussion with the Laundry—represented by man inwhite coat at the back gate—concerning cotton sheet, said to be one of a pair,but which has been returned in solitary widowhood. The Laundry has much to sayabout this, and presently Cook, gardener, Mademoiselle, Vicky, and unidentifiedboy apparently attached to Laundry, have all gathered round. Everyone exceptboy supports Gladys by saying "That's right" to everything she asserts, and Ieventually leave them to it. Evidently all takes time, as it is not till fortyminutes later that I see gardener slowly returning to his work, and hear vandriving away.
Go up to attic and inspect bulb-bowls, but nothing to be seen. Cannot decidewhether they require water or not, but think perhaps better be on the safeside, so give them some. Make note in little green book to this effect, as amdetermined to keep full record of entire procedure.
September 22nd.—Invitation from Lady B.—note delivered by hand,wait reply—to Robert and myself to come and dine tonight. Reads more like aRoyal Command, and no suggestion that short notice may be inconvenient. Robertout, and I act with promptitude and firmness on own responsibility, and replythat we are already engaged for dinner.
(Query: Will this suggest convivial evening at neighbouring Rectory, orrissoles and cocoa with old Mrs. Blenkinsop and Cousin Maud? Can conceive of noother alternatives.)
Telephone rings in a peremptory manner just as I am reading aloud enchantingbook,The Exciting Family by M. D. Hillyard—(surely occasionalcontributor toTime and Tide?)—and I rush to dining-room to deal withit. (N.B. Must really overcome foolish and immature tendency to feelthat any telephone-call may be prelude to (a) announcement of a fortune or,alternatively, (b) news of immense and impressive calamity.)
On snatching up receiver, unmistakable tones of Lady B. are heard—at oncesuggesting perhaps rather ill-natured, but not unjustifiable, comparison with apea-hen. What, she enquires, is all this nonsense? Of course we must dineto-night—she won't hear of a refusal. Besides, what else can we possibly bedoing, unless it's Meetings, and if so, we can cut them for once.
Am at once invaded by host of improbable inspirations: e.g. that theLord-Lieutenant of the County and his wife are dining here informally, or thatRose's Viscountess is staying with us and refuses either to be left alone or tobe taken to Lady B.'s—(which I know she would at once suggest)—or even that,really, Robert and I have had so many late nights recently that we cannot faceanother one—but do not go so far as to proffer any of them aloud. Amdisgusted, instead, to hear myself saying weakly that Robin goes back to schoolday after tomorrow, and we do not like to go out on one of his last fewevenings at home. (This may be true so far as I am concerned, but can imagineno suggestion less likely to be endorsed by Robert, and trust that he may nevercome to hear of it.) In any case, it instantly revives long-standingdetermination of Lady B.'s to establish me with reputation for being a PerfectMother, and she at once takes advantage of it.
I return toThe Exciting Family in a state of great inward fury.
September 24th.—Frightful welter of packing, putting away, andearnest consultations of School List. Robin gives everybody serious injunctionsabout not touching anythingwhatever in his bedroom—which looks likeinferior pawnbroking establishment at stocktaking time—and we all more or lesscommit ourselves to leaving it alone till Christmas holidays—which iscompletely out of the question.
He is taken away by Robert in the car, looking forlorn and infantile, andVicky roars. I beseech her to desist at once, but am rebuked by Mademoiselle,who says, "Ah, elle a tant de coeur!" in tone which implies that she cannot sayas much for myself.
October 1.—Tell Robert about proposed short tour to Chick, LittleMarch, and Crimpington, on behalf of W. Is. He says little, but that little notvery enthusiastic. I spend many hours—or so it seems—looking out Notes forTalks, and trying to remember anecdotes that shall be at once funny andsuitable. (This combination rather unusual.)
Pack small bag, search frantically all over writing-table, bedroom, anddrawing-room for W.I. Badge—which is at last discovered by Mademoiselle inremote corner of drawer devoted to stockings—and take my departure. Robertdrives me to station, and I beg that he will keep an eye on the bulbs whilst Iam away.
October 2nd.—Bus from Chick conveys me to Little March, aftersuccessful meeting last night, at which I discourse on Amateur Theatricals, amapplauded, thanked by President in the chair—name inaudible—applauded oncemore, and taken home by Assistant Secretary, who is putting me up for thenight. We talk about the Movement—Annual Meeting at Blackpool perhaps amistake, why not Bristol or Plymouth?—difficulty of thinking out newProgrammes for monthly meetings, and really magnificent performance of Chick atrecent Folk-dancing Rally, at which Institute members called upon to go through"Gathering Peas-cods" no less than three times—two of Chick's best performers,says Assistant Secretary proudly, being grandmothers. I express astonishedadmiration, and we go on to Village Halls, Sir Oswald Mosley, and methods ofremoving ink-stains from linen. Just as Assistant Secretary—who is unmarriedand lives in nice little cottage—has escorted me to charming little bedroom,she remembers that I am eventually going on to Crimpington, and embarks oninteresting scandal about two members of Institute there, and unaccountabledisappearance of one member's name from Committee. This keeps us up till eleveno'clock, when she begs me to say nothing whatever about her having mentionedthe affair, which was all told her in strictest confidence, and we part.
Reach Little March, via the bus—which is old, and rattles—in time forlunch. Doctor's sister meets me—elderly lady with dog—and talks abouthunting. Meeting takes place at three o'clock, in a delightful Hut, and amimpressed by business-like and efficient atmosphere. Doctor's sister, in thechair, introduces me—unluckily my name eludes her at eleventh hour, but Ihastily supply it and she says, "Of course, of course"—and I launch out into AVisit to Switzerland. As soon as I have finished, elderly member surges up fromfront row and says that this has been particularly interesting toher,as she once lived in Switzerland for nearly fourteen years and knows every inchof it from end to end. (My own experience confined to six weeks round and aboutLucerne, ten years ago.)
We drink cups of tea, eat excellent buns, sing several Community Songs, andMeeting comes to an end. Doctor's sister's two-seater, now altogetherhome-like, receives me once again, and I congratulate her on Institute. Shesmiles and talks about hunting.
Evening passes off quietly, doctor comes in—elderly man with two dogs—healso talks about hunting, and we all separate for bed at ten o'clock.
October 3rd.—Part early from doctor, sister, dogs, and two-seater,and proceed by train to Crimpington, as Meeting does not take place tillafternoon, and have no wish to arrive earlier than I need. Curiouscross-country journey with many stops, and one change involving long anddraughty wait that I enliven by cup of Bovril.
Superb car meets me, with superb chauffeur who despises me and my bag atsight, but is obliged to drive us both to Crimping-ton Hall. Butler receivesme, and I am conducted through immense and chilly hall with stone flags toequally immense and chilly drawing-room, where he leaves me. Very small fire islurking behind steel bars at far end of room, and I make my way to it pastlittle gilt tables, large chairs, and sofas, cabinets apparently lined withchina cups and lustre tea-pots, and massive writing-tables entirely furnishedwith hundreds of photographs in silver frames. Butler suddenly reappears withtheTimes, which he hands to me on small salver. Have already read itfrom end to end in the train, but feel obliged to open it and begin all overagain. He looks doubtfully at the fire, and I hope he is going to put on morecoal, but instead he goes away, and is presently replaced by Lady MagdalenCrimp, who is about ninety-five and stone-deaf. She wears black, and large furcape—as well she may. She produces trumpet, and I talk down it, and she smilesand nods, and has evidently not heard one word—which is just as well, as noneof them worth hearing. After some time she suggests my room, and we creep alongslowly for about quarter of a mile, till first floor is reached, and vastbedroom with old-fashioned four-poster in the middle of it. Here she leaves me,and I wash, from little brass jug of tepid water, and note—by no means for thefirst time—that the use of powder, when temperature has sunk below a certainlevel, merely casts extraordinary azure shade over nose and chin.
Faint hope of finding fire in dining-room is extinguished on entering it,when I am at once struck by its resemblance to a mausoleum. Lady M. and I sitdown at mahogany circular table, she says Do I mind a Cold Lunch? I shake myhead, as being preferable to screaming "No" down trumpet—though equally farfrom the truth—and we eat rabbit-cream, coffee-shape, and Marie biscuits.
Conversation spasmodic and unsatisfactory, and I am reduced to looking atportraits on wall, of gentlemen in wigs and ladies with bosoms, alsoobjectionable study of dead bird, dripping blood, lying amongst oranges andother vegetable matter. (Should like to know what dear Rose, with herappreciation of Art, would say to this.) Later we adjourn to drawing-room—firenow a mere ember—and Lady M. explains that she is not going to the Meeting,but Vice-President will look after me, and she hopes I shall enjoy RecitationCompetition—some of our members really very clever, and one in particular, soamusing in dialect. I nod and smile, and continue to shiver, and presently carfetches me away to village. Meeting is held in reading-room, which seems to meperfect paradise of warmth, and I place myself as close as possible to largeoil-stove. Vice-President—very large and expansive in blue—conductseverything successfully, and I deliver homily about What Our Children Read,which is kindly received. After tea—delightfully hot, in fact scalds me, but Iwelcome it—Recitation Competition takes place and have to rivet my attentionon successive members, who mount a little platform and declaim in turns. Webegin with not very successful rendering of verses hitherto unknown to me,entitled "Our Institute", and which turn out to be original composition ofreciter. This followed by "Gunga Din" and very rousing poem about Keeping theOld Flag Flying. Elderly member then announces "The Mine" and is very dramaticand impressive, but not wholly intelligible, which I put down to Dialect.Finally award first place to "The Old Flag", and second to "The Mine", andpresent prizes. Am unfortunately inspired to observe that dialect poems arealways so interesting, and it then turns out that "The Mine" wasn't in dialectat all. However, too late to do anything about it.
Meeting is prolonged, for which I am thankful, but finally can no longerdefer returning to arctic regions of Crimpington Hall. Lady M. and I spendevening cowering over grate, and exchanging isolated remarks, and many nods andsmiles, across ear-trumpet. Finally I get into enormous four-poster, covered byvery inadequate supply of blankets, and clutching insufficiently heatedhot-water bottle.
October 5th.—Develop really severe cold twenty-four hours afterreaching home. Robert says that all Institutes are probably full ofgerms—which is both unjust and ridiculous.
October 13th.—Continued cold and cough keep me in house, and make meunpopular with Robert, Cook, and Gladys—the latter of whom both catch mycomplaint. Mademoiselle keeps Vicky away, but is sympathetic, and brings Vickyto gesticulate dramatically at me from outside the drawing-room window, asthough I had the plague. Gradually this state of affairs subsides, my dailyquota of pocket-handkerchiefs returns to the normal, and Vapex, cinnamon,camphorated oil, and jar of cold cream all go back to medicine-cupboard inbathroom once more.
Unknown benefactor sends me copy of new Literary Review, which seems to befull of personal remarks from well-known writers about other well-knownwriters. This perhaps more amusing to themselves than to average reader.Moreover, competitions most alarmingly literary, and I return with immenserelief to old friendTime and Tide.
October 17th.—Surprising invitation to evening party—Dancing,9.30—at Lady B.'s. Cannot possibly refuse, as Robert has been told to makehimself useful there in various ways; moreover, entire neighbourhood isevidently being polished off, and see no object in raising question as towhether we have, or have not, received invitation. Decide to get new dress, butmust have it made locally, owing to rather sharply worded enquiry from Londonshop which has the privilege of serving me, as to whether I have not overlookedoverdue portion of account? (Far from overlooking it, have actually been keptawake by it at night.) Proceed to Plymouth, and get very attractive blacktaffeta, with little pink and blue posies scattered over it. Mademoiselleremoves, and washes, Honiton lace from old purple velvet every-night tea-gown,and assures me that it will begentil à ​ croquer on new taffeta.Also buy new pair black evening-shoes, but shall wear them every evening for atleast an hour in order to ensure reasonable comfort at party.
Am able to congratulate myself that great-aunt's diamond ring, for once, isat home when needed.
Robert rather shatteringly remarks that he believes the dancing is only fortheyoung people, and I heatedly enquire how line of demarcation is tobe laid down? Should certainly not dream of accepting ruling from Lady B. onany such delicate question. Robert merely repeats that only the young will beexpected to dance, and we drop the subject, and I enquire into nature ofrefreshments to be expected at party, as half-past nine seems to me singularlyinhospitable hour, involving no regular meal whatever. Robert begs that I willorder dinner at home exactly as usual, and make it as substantial as possible,so as to give him every chance of keeping awake at party, and I agree that thiswould indeed appear desirable.
October 9th.—Rumour that Lady B.'s party is to be in Fancy Dressthrows entire neighbourhood into consternation. Our Vicar's wife comes down ongardener's wife's bicycle—borrowed, she says, for greater speed andurgency—and explains that, in her position, she does not think that fancydress would do at all—unless perhapspoudré, which, she asserts,is different, but takes ages to brush out afterwards. She asks what I am goingto do, but am quite unable to enlighten her, as black taffeta alreadycompleted. Mademoiselle, at this, intervenes, and declares that black taffetacan be transformed by a touch into Dresden China Shepherdessàravir. Am obliged to beg her not to be ridiculous, nor attempt to make meso, and she then insanely suggests turning black taffeta into costume for (a)Mary Queen of Scots, (b) Mme. de Pompadour, (c) Cleopatra.
I desire her to take Vicky for a walk; she isblessée, andmuch time is spent in restoring her to calm.
Our Vicar's wife—who has meantime been walking up and down drawing-room instate of stress and agitation—says What about asking somebody else? What aboutthe Kellways? Why not ring them up?
We immediately do so, and are lightheartedly told by Mary Kellway that itis Fancy Dress, and she is going to wear her Russian Peasantcostume—absolutely genuine, brought by sailor cousin from Moscow long yearsago—but if in difficulties, can she lend me anything? Reply incoherently tothis kind offer, as our Vicar's wife, now in uncontrollable agitation, makes itimpossible for me to collect my thoughts. Chaos prevails, when Robert enters,is frenziedly appealed to by our Vicar's wife, and says Oh, didn't he say so?one or two peoplehave had "Fancy Dress" put on invitation cards, asLady B.'s own house-party intends to dress up, but no such suggestion has beenmade to majority of guests.
Our Vicar's wife and I agree at some length that, really, nobody in thisworldbut Lady B. would behave like this, and we have very good mindsnot to go near her party. Robert and I then arrange to take our Vicar and hiswife with us in car to party, she is grateful, and goes.
October 23rd.—Party takes place. Black taffeta and Honiton lace lookcharming and am not dissatisfied with general appearance, after extracting twoquite unmistakable grey hairs. Vicky goes so far, as to say that I look Lovely,but enquires shortly afterwards why old people so often wear black—whichdiscourages me.
Received by Lady B. in magnificent Eastern costume, with pearls dripping allover her, and surrounded by bevy of equally bejewelled friends. She smilesgraciously and shakes hands without looking at any of us, and strange fancycrosses my mind that it would be agreeable to bestow on her sudden sharpshaking, and thus compel her to recognise existence of at least one of guestsinvited to her house. Am obliged, however, to curb this unhallowed impulse, andproceed quietly into vast drawing-room, at one end of which band is performingbriskly on platform.
Our Vicar's wife—violet net and garnets—recognises friends, and takes ourVicar away to speak to them. Robert is imperatively summoned by Lady B.—(Isshe going to order him to take charge of cloak room, or what?)—and I amgreeted by an unpleasant-looking Hamlet, who suddenly turns out to be MissPankerton. Why, she asks accusingly, am I not in fancy dress? It would do meall the good in the world to give myself over to the Carnival spirit. It iswhat Ineed. I make enquiry for Jahsper—should never be surprised tohear that he has come as Ophelia—but Miss P. replies that Jahsper is inBloomsbury again. Bloomsbury can do nothing without Jahsper. I say, No, Isuppose not, in order to avoid hearing any more about either Jahsper orBloomsbury, and talk to Mary Kellway—who looks nice in Russian Peasantcostume—and eventually dance with her husband. We see many of our neighbours,most of them not in fancy dress, and am astounded at unexpected sight ofBlenkinsops' Cousin Maud, bounding round the room with short, stout partner,identified by Mary's husband as great hunting man.
Lady B.'s house-party, all in expensive disguises and looking highlysuperior, dance languidly with one another, and no introductions takeplace.
It later becomes part of Robert's duty to tell everyone that supper isready, and we all flock to buffet in dining-room, and are given excellentsandwiches and unidentified form of cup. Lady B.'s expensive-lookinghouse-party nowhere to be seen, and Robert tells me in gloomy aside that hethinks they are in the library, having champagne. I express charitable—andimprobable—hope that it may poison them, to which Robert merely replies, Hush,not so loud—but should not be surprised to know that he agrees with me.
Final, and most unexpected, incident of the evening is when I come upon oldMrs. Blenkinsop, all over black jet and wearing martyred expression, sitting inlarge armchair underneath platform, and exactly below energetic saxophone. Sheevidently has not the least idea how to account for her presence there, andsaxophone prevents conversation, but can distinguish something about Maud, andnot getting between young things and their pleasure, and reference to old Mrs.B. not having very much longer to spend amongst us. I smile and nod my head,then feel that this may look unsympathetic, so frown and shake it, and aminvited to dance by male Frobisher—who talks about old furniture and birds.House-party reappear, carrying balloons, which they distribute like buns at aSchool-feast, and party proceeds until midnight.
Band then bursts into Auld Lang Syne and Lady B. screams Come along, Comealong, and all are directed to form a circle. Singular mêléeensues, and I see old Mrs. Blenkinsop swept from armchair and clutching ourVicar with one hand and unknown young gentleman with the other. Our Vicar'swife is holding hands with Miss Pankerton—whom she cannot endure—and looksdistraught, and Robert is seized upon by massive stranger in scarlet, andCousin Maud. Am horrified to realise that I am myself on one side clasping handof particularly offensive young male specimen of house-party, and on the otherthat of Lady B. We all shuffle round to well-known strains, and sing ForOle Lang Syne, ForOle Lang Syne, over and over again, since noone appears to know any other words, and relief is general when this exerciseis brought to a close.
Lady B., evidently fearing that we shall none of us know when she has hadenough of us, then directs band to play National Anthem, which is done, and shereceives our thanks and farewells.
Go home, and on looking at myself in the glass am much struck withundeniable fact that at the end of a party I do not look nearly as nice as Idid at the beginning. Should like to think that this applies to every woman,but am not sure—and anyway, this thought ungenerous—like so many others.
Robert says, Why don't I get into Bed? I say, Because I am writing my Diary.Robert replies, kindly, but quite definitely, that In his opinion, That isWaste of Time.
I get into bed, and am confronted by Query: Can Robert be right?
Can only leave reply to Posterity.
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