Hello there,
It's Mandy here.
Thanks for joining me tonight and welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.
M.
Delafield.
As mentioned before,
Delafield worked and was published in a feminist magazine called Time and Tide.
It was founded in May 1920 and it was unique in becoming the only female-produced publication of its kind,
Successfully taking up a position alongside its chief competitor,
The New Statesman,
As a leading review of politics and culture during the interwar years.
One of its marketing slogans was,
We've reached Chapter 28.
Before I go ahead,
Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable settling down into your chair or your bed,
Relaxing your hands,
Releasing your shoulders and softening your jaw.
That's great.
So if you're ready,
Then I shall begin.
July 31st.
The beginning of the holidays signalled,
As usual,
By the making of appointments with dentist and doctor.
Photographs taken at St.
Agathe arrive and I am,
Perhaps naturally,
Much more interested in them than anybody else appears to be.
Bathing dress,
Shows up as being even more becoming than I thought it was,
Though hair,
On the other hand,
Is not at its best,
Probably owing to salt water.
Notice,
Regretfully,
How much more time I spend in studying views of myself,
The non-admirable group of delightful friends,
Or even beauties of nature,
As exemplified in camera studies of sea and sky.
Presents for Vicky,
Mademoiselle,
And our vicar's wife,
All meet with acclamation and I'm gratified.
Blue-flowered chintz frock,
However,
Bought at St.
Agathe for 63 francs,
Is no longer becoming to me as sunburn fades and original sallowness returns to view.
Even mademoiselle,
Usually so sympathetic in regard to clothes,
Eyes the chintz frock doubtfully.
Helen Wills,
Says Cook,
About to produce more kittens.
Cannot say if Robert does or does not know this.
Spend much time in writing to and hearing from unknown mothers whose sons have been invited here by Robin and one grandmother with whose descendant Robin is to spend a week.
Curious impossibility of combining dates and trains convenient to us all renders this whole question harassing in the extreme.
Grandmother,
Especially,
Sends unlimited letters and telegrams to all of which I feel bound to reply,
Mostly with civil assurances of gratitude for her kindness in having Robin to stay.
Very,
Very difficult to think of new ways of wording this.
Moreover,
Must reserve something for letter I shall have to write when visited safely over.
August the 1st.
Return of Robin,
Who has grown and looks pale.
He has also purchased a large bottle of brilliantine and applied it to his hair,
Which smells like an inferior chemist's shop.
Do not like to be unsympathetic about this,
So merely remain silent while Vicky exclaims rapturously that it is lovely,
Which is also Robin's opinion.
They get excited and scream and I suggest the garden.
Robin says he is hungry,
Having had no lunch.
Practically,
He adds conscientiously.
Practically turns out to be packet of sandwiches,
Two bottles of atrocious liquid called cherry ciderette,
Slab of milk chocolate,
Two bananas purchased on journey and small sample tin of cheese biscuits swapped by a boy called Sherlock for Robin's last year's copy of Pop's Annual.
Customary,
Rather touching display of affection between Robin and Vicky,
Much to the fore,
And I'm sorry to feel that repeated experience of holidays has taught me not to count for one moment upon its lasting more than 24 hours,
If that.
Query,
Does motherhood lead to cynicism?
This,
Contrary to every convention of art,
Literature or morality,
But cannot altogether escape conviction that answer may be in the affirmative.
In spite of this,
However,
Cannot remain quite unmoved on hearing Vicky inform Cook that when she marries,
Her husband will be exactly like Robin.
Cook replies indulgently,
That's right,
But come out of that sauceboat,
There's a good girl.
And what about Master Robin's wife?
To which Robin rejoins,
He doesn't suppose he'll be able to get a wife exactly like Vicky,
As she's so good,
There couldn't be another one.
August the 2nd.
Noteworthy,
What astonishing difference made an entire household by presence of one additional child.
Robert finds one marble,
Which he 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 perfect shambles,
Which I think excessive.
Mademoiselle refers to sounds emitted by Robin,
Vicky,
The dog and Helen Wills,
All apparently gone mad together in the hayloft as tohubohu,
Very expressive word.
Mealtimes,
Especially lunch,
Very,
Very far from peaceful.
From time to time,
Remember,
With pained astonishment,
Theories subscribed to in pre-motherhood days as to inadvisability of continually saying don't,
Incessant fault finding,
And so on.
Should now be sorry indeed to count the number of times that I find myself forced to administer these and similar checks to the dear children.
I'm often reminded of enthusiastic accounts given me by Angela of other families and admirable discipline obtaining there without effort on either side.
Should like,
Or far more probably should not like,
To hear what dear Angela says about our house when visiting mutual 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 receiving communication from another world,
Visited many eons ago,
And only dimly remembered.
Whether abominable and customary difficulty experienced of finding indoor occupation for children that shall be varied,
Engrossing,
And reasonably quiet.
Cannot imagine what will happen if these conditions still prevail when visiting school fellow,
Henry by name,
Arrives.
I ask Robin what his friend's tastes are and he says,
Oh anything.
I inquire if he likes cricket and Robin replies,
Yes he expects so.
Does he care for reading?
Robin says that he does not know.
I give it up and write to army and navy stores for large tin of picnic biscuits.
Messrs R Sydenham and two unknown firms from places in Holland send me little 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 22.
Immerse myself in page 22 and see there is nothing for it but to get R Sydenham's special mixture for growing R Sydenham's special bulbs.
Mention this to Robert who does not encourage the scheme in any way and refers to last November.
Cannot at the moment think of a really good answer but shall probably do so in church on Sunday or in other surroundings equally inappropriate for delivering it.
August the 3rd.
Difference of opinion arises between Robin and his father as to the nature and venue of former's evening meal.
Robin making sweeping assertions to the effect that all boys of his age have proper late dinner downstairs and Robert replying curtly more fools their parents which I privately think unsuitable language for use before children.
Final and unsatisfactory compromise results in Robin's coming nightly to the dining room and partaking of soup followed by interval and ending with dessert during the whole of which Robert maintains disapproving silence and I talk to both at once on entirely different subjects.
Life of a wife and mother sometimes very wearing.
Moreover Vicky offended at not being included in what she evidently looks upon as nightly banquet of look cool and magnificence and covertly supported in this rebellious attitude by mademoiselle.
I'm quite struck by extraordinary persistence with which Vicky day after day inquires why can't she stay up to dinner too and equally phenomenal number of times that I reply with unvarying formula that six years old is too young darling.
Weather cold and disagreeable and I complain Robert asserts that it's really quite warm only I don't take enough exercise.
I've often noticed curious and prevalent masculine delusion to the effect that sympathy should never 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 too wet to be sat upon by children and whether they shall or shall not wear their woollen pullovers.
To all inquiries as to whether they're cold they invariably reply with aggrieved expressions that they are boiling.
Should like scientific or psychological explanation of this singular state of affairs and mentally reserve the question for bringing forward on next occasion of finding myself in intellectual society.
This however seems at the moment remote in the extreme.
Cook says that unless help is provided in the kitchen they cannot possibly manage all the work.
I think this unreasonable and quite unnecessary expense.
I'm also aware that there is no help to be obtained at this time of year.
I'm disgusted at hearing myself reply in hypocritically pleasant tone of voice that very well I will see what can be done.
Servants in truth make cowards of us all.
To be continued.
