Hello there,
It's Mandy here.
Thanks for joining me tonight and welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.
M.
Delafield.
An interesting fact about Edmé Delafield is that after the outbreak of World War I,
She worked as a nurse in a voluntary aid detachment.
In the last two years of the war,
She worked for the Ministry of National Service in Bristol and published two novels during that time as well.
In fact,
She went on publishing one or two novels every year until she was near the end of her life.
Anyway,
We've reached Chapter 13.
Before I go ahead,
Please make sure to make yourself really comfortable and settle down into your chair or into your bed.
Relax your hands,
Soften your shoulders and release your jaw.
That's great.
So if you're ready,
Then I shall begin.
March the 8th.
Cook,
Relent,
So far as to say that she will stay until I am suited.
Feel inclined to answer that in that case she had better make up her mind to a lifetime spent together,
But naturally refrain.
Spend exhausting day in Plymouth chasing mythical house parlour maids.
Meet Lady B,
Who says the servant difficulty in reality is non-existent.
She had no trouble.
It is a question of knowing how to treat them.
Firmness,
She says,
But at the same time,
One must be human.
Am I human?
She asks.
Do I understand that they want occasional diversion just as I do myself?
I lose my head and reply,
No,
It is my custom to keep my servants chained up in the cellar when their work is done.
This flight of satire rather spoilt by Lady B laughing heartily and saying,
I am always so amusing.
Well,
She adds,
We shall no doubt see one another at lunchtime at the Duke of Cornwall Hotel,
Where alone it is possible to get a decent meal.
I reply with ready cordiality that no doubt we shall and go and partake of my usual lunch of baked beans and a glass of water in small and obscure cafe.
Unavoidable query of painfully searching character here presents itself.
If Lady B had invited me as her guest to lunch at the DFC Hotel,
Should I have accepted?
I'm conscious of being heartily tired of baked beans and water,
Which in any case,
Do not really serve to support one through long day of shopping and servant hunting.
Moreover,
I'm always ready to see life in hotels or anywhere else.
On the other hand,
I'm aware that self-respect would suffer severely through accepting five shillings worth of luncheon from Lady B.
Ponder this problem of psychology in train on the way home,
But to each no definite conclusion.
Day a complete failure as regards House Parlour Maid,
But expedition not wasted,
Having found two cigarette cards on pavement,
Both quite clean,
Curious beaks.
March the 9th.
Cannot hear of a House Parlour Maid.
Ethel,
On the other hand,
Can hear of at least a hundred situations and opulent motor cars constantly dash up to front door containing applicants for her services.
Cook more and more unsettled.
If this goes on,
Shall go to London and stay with 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 her adenoids removed.
She says,
Will I be an angel and look in on her mother now practically an invalid?
I reply warmly,
Of course I will.
Not really meaning it,
But remember that we are now in Lent and suddenly decide to go at once.
Admire the new tweed.
Barbara says it is rather nice,
Isn't it?
And adds a little strangely that it came out of John Barker's sale catalogue under four guineas and only needed letting out at the waist 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 I find in shawls,
Sitting in an armchair reading rather ostentatiously enormous life of Lord Beaconsfield.
I ask how she is and she shakes her head and inquires if I should ever guess that her pet name among her friends once used to be Butterfly.
This kind of question always so difficult as either affirmative or negative reply,
Apt to sound unsympathetic,
Feel it would hardly do to suggest that chrysalis in view of the shawls would now be more appropriate.
However,
Says Mrs Blankensop with a sad smile,
It is never her way to dwell upon herself and her own troubles.
She just sits there day after day always ready to sympathise in the little joys and troubles of others and I would hardly believe how unfailingly these are brought to her.
People say,
She adds deprecatingly,
That just her smile does them good.
She doesn't 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 to pour out my little joys and troubles.
Perhaps she hopes that Robert has been unfaithful to me or that I have fallen in love with the vicar.
I'm unable to rise to the occasion so begin instead to talk about Barbara's new tweed.
Mrs Blankensop at once replies that for her part she has never given up all those little feminine touches that make all the difference.
A ribbon here,
A flower there.
This leads to a story about what was once said to her by a friend beginning,
It's so wonderful dear Mrs Blankensop to see the trouble you always take on behalf of others and ending with Mrs B's own reply to the effect that she is only a useless old woman but that she has many,
Many friends and that 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 to Lord Beaconsfield.
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 to Mrs B,
Ah how lonely it must be for you alone here when dear Barbara is out enjoying herself with other young things.
But Mrs B's reply to this is no,
No,
She is never alone when she has her books.
Books to her are friends.
Give her Shakespeare or Jane Austen,
Meredith or Hardy and she is lost,
Lost in a world of her own.
She sleeps so little that most of her nights are spent in reading.
Have I any idea,
Asks Mrs B,
What it is like to hear every hour,
Every half hour chiming out all through the night?
I have no idea whatever since I'm invariably obliged to struggle with overwhelming sleepiness from nine o'clock onwards but do not like to tell her this so take my departure.
Mrs B's parting observation is an expression of thanks to me for coming to inquire after an old woman and she is as well as she can hope to be at 66 years old.
She should say 66 years young,
All her friends tell her.
Reach home totally unbenefited by this visit and with strange tendency to snap at everybody I meet.
March the 10th,
Still no house parlor made and write to ask Rose if I can go to her for a week.
Also write to old Aunt Gertrude in Shropshire to inquire if I may send Vicky and Madam there on a visit as this will make less work in house while we are shorthanded.
Do not however give Aunt Gertrude this reason for sending them.
Ask Robert if he will be terribly lonely and he says oh no he hopes I shall enjoy myself in London.
Spend a great deal of eloquence explaining that I am not going to London to enjoy myself but experience sudden fear that I am resembling Mrs Blenkinsop and stop abruptly.
Robert says nothing.
To be continued.
