Hello there,
It's Mandy here.
Welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.
M.
Delafield.
In 1919,
E.
M.
Delafield married Colonel Arthur Paul Dashwood OBE.
He was an engineer who had built the massive docks at Hong Kong Harbour.
After two years of living with him there,
Delafield insisted on coming back to England and they went to live in Devon.
So we've reached Chapter 14.
And before I go ahead,
Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable.
Settling down into your chair or your bed,
Relaxing your hands,
Loosening your shoulders and softening your jaw.
That's great.
So if you're ready,
Then I shall begin.
Chapter 14.
March the 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 should like to make,
Owing to grave fears that she should also give notice.
Tell her instead that I hope to get settled with the house parlor maid before my return.
Cook looks utterly 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 the kitchen.
Look through my clothes and find that I have nothing whatever to wear in London.
Read in the Daily Mirror that all evening dresses are worn long and realise with horror that not one of mine comes even halfway down my legs.
March the 12th.
Collect major portion of my wardrobe and dispatch to address mentioned in advertisement pages of Time and Tide as prepared to pay highest prices for outworn garments.
Check by return.
Have gloomy foreboding that six penny stamps by return will more adequately represent value of my contribution and I'm thereby impelled to add Robert's old shooting coat,
Macintosh dating from 1907 and least reputable woolen sweater.
Customary struggle ensues between frank and straightforward course of telling Robert what I have done and less straightforward but more practical decision to keep complete silence on the point and let him make discovery for himself after Parcel has left the house.
Conscience as usual is defeated but nevertheless unsilenced.
Query.
Would it not indicate greater strength of character even if lesser delicacy of feeling not to spend so much time on regretting errors of judgment and of behaviour?
Reply almost certainly in the affirmative.
Brilliant but nebulous outline of powerful article for Time and Tide here suggests itself.
Is ruthlessness more profitable than repentance?
Failing article for which time at the moment is lacking owing to departure of House Parlimade and necessity of learning Wreck of the Hesperus to recite at village concert.
Would this make suitable subject for debate at Women's Institute?
Feel doubtful as to whether our vicar's wife would not think subject matter trenching upon ground more properly belonging to our vicar.
Resign from Book of the Month Club owing to wide and ever-increasing divergence of opinion between us as to merits or demerits of recently published fiction.
Write them long and eloquent letter about this but remember after it is posted that I still owe 12 shillings and sixpence for Moraz's Byron.
March the 13th Vicki and Mademoiselle leave in order to pay visit to Aunt Gertrude.
Mademoiselle becomes sentimental and says Ah déjà je longue pour notre retour.
As total extent of her absence at this stage is about half an hour and they have three weeks before them,
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 gardener says that Miss Vicki seems such a little bit of a thing to be sent right away like that and it isn't as if she could write and tell me how she was getting on either.
Go to bed feeling like a murderess.
March the 14th.
Rather inadequate postal order arrives together with white tennis coat trimmed with rabbit which says accompanying letter is returned as being unsaleable.
Should like to know why.
Toy with idea of writing to Time and Tides editor Inquiring if every advertisement is subjected to personal scrutiny before insertion.
But decide that this in the event of a reply might involve me in difficult explanations and diminish my prestige as occasional recipient of first prize divided in weekly competition.
Memo see where the tennis coat could be dyed and transformed into evening cloak.
I'm unfortunately found at home by callers Mr and Mrs White who are starting a chicken farm in the neighbourhood and appear to have got married on the 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 play tennis and politely suggest that both are probably brilliant performers.
Mr White staggers me by replying.
Oh he wouldn't say that exactly meaning that he would if it didn't seem like boasting.
He inquires about tournaments.
Mrs White is reminded of tournaments in which they have or have not come out victors in the past.
They refer to their handicap.
Resolve never to ask the whites to play on our extremely inferior court.
Later on talk about politicians.
Mr White says that in his opinion Lloyd George is clever but nothing else.
That's all says Mr White impressively 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 thoroughly honest man and that Ramsey Macdonald is weak.
Mrs White supports him with an irrelevant statement to the effect that the Labour Party must be hand in glove with Russia otherwise how would the Bolshevists dare to go on like that.
I ask if she plays the piano to which she says no but the ukulele a little bit and we talk about local shops and the delivery of a Sunday paper.
NB amenities of conversation afford very very curious study sometimes especially in the country.
The whites take their departure hope never to set eyes on either of them again.
March the 15th Robert discovers absence of Macintosh dating from 1907 says that he would rather have lost a hundred pounds which I know to be untrue.
Unsuccessful evening follows cannot make up my mind whether to tell him at once about the shooting coat and sweater and get it all over in one or leave him to find out for himself when present painful impression has had time to die away.
Ray of light pierces impenetrable gloom when Robert is driven to inquire if I can tell him a word for karma in seven letters and I after some thought suggest Serena which he says will do and returns to time's crossword puzzle.
Later he asks for famous mountain in Greece but does not accept my too hasty offer of Mount Atlas nor listen to interesting explanation as to associative links between Greece Hercules and Atlas which I proffer after going into it at some length I perceive that Robert is not attending and retire to bed to be continued.
