Hello,
It's Mandy here.
Thanks for joining me tonight and welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.
M.
Delafield.
So I'm just going to read you a little bit more from E.
M.
Delafield's daughter,
Rosamund.
She says of her school days,
The one disadvantage about having a relatively famous mother was that the headmistress had an embarrassing habit.
When she was showing prospective visitors around the school,
She would invariably single me out and I had to come to the front of the class and be patted on the head by the visitors,
Which did nothing for my popularity amongst my fellow students.
So we've reached chapter 26 and before I go ahead,
Please feel free and make yourself really comfortable.
Settling down into your chair or into your bed,
Relaxing your hands,
Loosening your shoulders and softening your jaw.
That's great.
So if you're ready,
Then I shall begin.
July the 17th.
Robert sees me off by early train for London after scrambled and agitating departure,
Exclusively concerned with frantic endeavours to induce suitcase to shut.
This is at last accomplished,
But leaves me with conviction that it will be at least equally difficult to induce it to open again.
Vicky bids me cheerful and affectionate goodbye and then shatters me at the 11th hour by inquiring trustfully if I shall be home in time to read to her after tea.
As entire extent of absence has already been explained to her in full,
This inquiry,
Merely senseless,
But serves to unnerve me badly.
Cook,
Gladys and the gardener stand at hall door and hope I shall enjoy my holiday.
And Cook adds a rider to the effect that it seems to be blowing up for a gale.
And for her part,
She has always had an horror of death by drowning.
On this,
We drive away.
Arrive at station too early,
As usual,
And I fill in time by asking Robert if he will telegraph if anything happens to the children,
As I could be back again in 24 hours.
He only inquires in return whether I have my passport.
I'm 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 day ever since,
The last time just before leaving my room 45 minutes ago.
I'm nevertheless mysteriously impelled to open handbag,
Take out key,
Unlock small purple dressing case and verify presence of passport all over again.
Query is not behaviour of this kind well known in therapeutic circles as symptomatic of mental derangement.
Vague but disquieting association here with singular behaviour of Dr Johnson in London streets,
But too painful to be pursued to a finish.
Arrival of train and I say goodbye to Robert and madly inquire if he would rather I gave up going at all.
He rightly ignores this altogether.
Query,
Would not extremely distressing situation arise if similar impulsive offer were one day to be accepted?
This gives rise to unavoidable speculation in regard to sincerity of such offers and here again issue too painful to be frankly faced and I'm obliged to shelve train of thought altogether.
Turn my attention to fellow traveller,
Distrustful looking woman with grey hair who at once informs me that door of lavatory opening out of compartment has defective lock and will not stay shut.
I say oh in tone of sympathetic concern and shut door.
It remains shut.
We watch it anxiously and it flies open again.
Later on fellow traveller makes fresh attempt with similar result.
Much of the journey spent in this exercise.
I observe thoughtfully that hope springs eternal in the human breast and fellow traveller looks more distrustful than ever.
She finally says in despairing tones that really it isn't what she calls very nice and lapses into depressed silence.
Door remains triumphantly open.
Drive from Waterloo to Victoria.
Take out passport in taxi in order to have it 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 with horror that trees in Grosvenor Gardens are swaying with extreme violence in stiff gale.
Change English money into French at Victoria Station where superior young gentleman in little kiosk refuses to let me have anything smaller than 100 franc notes.
I ask what use that will be when it comes to porters but superior young gentleman remains adamant.
Infinitely competent person in blue and gold labelled Dean and Dawson comes to my rescue,
Miraculously provides me with change,
Says have I booked a seat,
Pilots me to it and tells me that he represents the best known travel agency in London.
I assure him warmly that I shall never patronise any other which is true and we part with mutual esteem.
I make note on half of torn luggage label to the effect that it would be merest honesty to write and congratulate D&D on admirable employee but feel I should probably never do it.
Journey to Folkestone entirely occupied in looking out of train window and seeing quite large trees bowed to earth by force of wind.
Cook's words recur most unpleasantly.
Also recall various forms of advice received and find it difficult to decide between going instantly to the ladies saloon,
Taking off my hat and lying down perfectly flat,
Mademoiselle's suggestion or keeping in the fresh air at all costs and thinking about other things,
Course advocated on a postcard by Aunt Gertrude.
Choice taken out of my hands by discovery that ladies saloon is entirely filled within five minutes of going on board by other people who have all taken off their hats and are lying down perfectly flat.
Return to deck,
Sit on suitcase and decide to think about other things.
Schoolmaster and his wife who were going to Boulogne for a holiday talk to one another across me about university extension course and appear to be superior to the elements.
I take Jane Eyre out of coat pocket partly in faint hope of impressing them and partly to distract my mind but remember cousin Maud and I'm forced to the conclusion that she may have been right.
Perhaps advice equally 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 all right aren't you?
To which I reply,
Oh yes and he laughs in a bright and scholastic way and talks about the Matterhorn.
Although unaware of any conscious recollection of it,
I find myself inwardly repeating curious and ingenious example of alliterative verse committed to memory in my school days.
Note,
Can dimly understand why the dying reverts to impressions of early infancy.
Just as I get to,
Cossack commanders cannonading come,
Dealing destructions devastating doom,
Elements overcome me altogether.
Have dim remembrance of hearing schoolmaster exclaim in authoritative tones to everyone within earshot,
Make way for this lady,
She is ill.
Which injunction he repeats every time I'm compelled to leave suitcase.
Throughout intervals I continue to grapple more or less deliriously with alliterative poem and do not give up altogether until reason returns,
Religious rights redound is reached.
This I consider creditable.
Attain Boulogne at last,
Discover reserved seat in train and I'm told by several officials whom I question that we do or alternatively do not change when we reach Paris.
Give up the elucidation of the point for the moment and demand and obtain small glass of brandy which restores me.
July the 18th,
Vicissitudes of travel very strange and I'm struck as often by enormous dissimilarity between journeys undertaken in real life and as reported in fiction.
Can remember very few novels in which train journey of any kind does not involve either a hectic encounter with member of opposite sex leading to tense emotional issue,
B discovery of murdered body in hideously battered condition under circumstances which utterly defy detection,
C elopement between two people each of whom is married to somebody else culminating in severe disillusionment or lofty renunciation.
Nothing of all this enlivens my own peregrinations but on the other hand the night is not without incident.
Second class carriage full and I'm not fortunate enough to obtain corner seat.
American young gentleman sits opposite and elderly French couple with talkative friend wearing blue beret who trims his nails with a pocket knife and tells us about the state of the wine trade.
I have dusty and elderly mother in black on one side and her two sons.
Names turn out to be Gugust and Dede on the other.
Dede looks about 15 but wears socks which I think is a mistake but must beware of insularity.
Towards 11 o'clock we all subside into silence except blue beret who is now launched on tennis champions and has much to say about all of them.
American young gentleman looks uneasy at mention of any of his compatriots but evidently does not understand enough French to follow blue beret's remarks which is as well.
Just as we all accept indefatigable beret now eating small sausage rolls one by one into slumber train stops at station and fragments of altercation break out in corridor concerning admission or otherwise of someone evidently accompanied by a large dog.
This is opposed by masculine voice repeating steadily at short intervals and heavily backed by a scenting chorus repeating after him no a dog is not a person.
To this I fall asleep but wake a long time afterwards to sounds of appealing inquiry floating in from the corridor.
Listen isn't it true that a dog isn't the same as a person?
The point is still unsettled when I sleep again and in the morning no more is heard and I speculate in vain as to whether owner of the chien remained with him on the station or is having tete-a-tete journey with him in separate carriage altogether.
Wash inadequately in extremely dirty accommodation provided after waiting some time in lengthy queue.
Make distressing discovery that there is no way of obtaining breakfast until train halts at avenue.
Break this information later to American young gentleman who falls into deep distress and says he does not know the French for grapefruit.
Neither do I but I'm able to inform him decisively that he will not require it.
Train is late and does not reach avenue until nearly 10.
American young gentleman has a severe panic and assures me that if he leaves the train it will start without him.
This happened once before at Davenport,
Iowa.
In order to avoid similar calamity on this occasion I offer to procure him a cup of coffee and two rolls and successfully do so but attend first to my own requirements.
We all brighten after this and Gougouste announce his intention of shaving.
His mother screams and says that is mad with which I privately agree and everybody else remonstrates with Gougouste except Didi who is wrapped in gloom and points out that the train is rocking and he will cut himself.
The blue beret goes so far as to predict that he will decapitate himself at which everybody screams.
Gougouste remains adamant and produces shaving apparatus and a little mug which is given to Didi to hold.
We all sit round in great suspense and Gougouste is supported by one elbow by his mother while he conducts operations to a conclusion which produces no perceptible change whatever in his appearance.
After this excitement we all suffer from reaction and sink into hot and dusty silence.
Scenery gets rocky and sandy with heat haze shimmering over all and occasional glimpses of bright blue and green sea.
At intervals train stops and ejects various people.
We lose the elderly French couple who leave a thermos behind them and have to be screamed at by Gougouste from the window and then the blue beret eloquent to the last and turning round on the platform to bow as the train moves off again.
Gougouste,
Didi and the mother remain with me to the end as they're going on as far as Antibes.
American young gentleman gets out when I do but lose sight of him altogether in excitement of meeting Rose charming in yellow embroidered linen.
She says 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 admits to add that I have smuts on my face and that petticoat has mysteriously descended two and a half inches below my dress imparting final touch to degradation to general appearance.
She recommends bath and bed and I agree to both but refuse proffered cup of tea feeling this would altogether too reminiscent of English countryside and quite out of place.
I ask insanely if letters from home are awaiting me which unless they were written before I left they could not possibly be.
Rose inquires after Robert and the children and when I reply that I feel I ought not really to have come away without them she again recommends bed.
Feel that she is right and go there.
To be continued
