Diary Of A Provincial Lady, Chapter 29

Diary of a Provincial Lady, published nearly a hundred years ago by E M Delafield, is a direct ancestor of Bridget Jones' Diary. In tonight's episode, our narrator attends the local Flower Show, meets a new and rather intimidating woman who has just moved to the village and takes delivery of one of dear Robin's school friends, who has come to stay during the school holidays.

This gentle story of the daily ups and downs of domestic life has been compared with George Grossmith's Diary of a Nobody, also available narrated by me in Free Tracks.

If you would like to listen to the tracks seamlessly, please download the playlist, to which tracks are added as they are published here. You can find all my playlists listed in my profile.

For more diary-style humor, do also try Ted the Shed, narrated by me in Free Tracks.

Transcript

Hello there, It's Mandy here. Welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E. M. Delafield. We've reached chapter 29 and it's a good moment to say thank you to you if you've come all the way thus far. We've still got a few chapters to go, You'll be pleased to know. At the beginning of the last episode I mentioned the magazine Time and Tide, Which Delafield was involved with. She began contributing book reviews to it in 1922. She published a short story in the This was a volume of 37 short stories that were first printed in the magazine. They were written by writers including Cicely Hamilton, Winifred Holtby and Delafield herself, And they promoted Time and Tide as a publisher of literary short fiction, Whose aesthetic and political agendas were unpalatable to editors of more commercial women's magazines. Anyway, Before we go ahead, Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable and settle down into your chair or your bed. Relax your hands, Loosen your shoulders and soften your jaw. That's good. Okay, So if you're ready, Then I shall begin. August the 7th. Local flower show takes place. We walk about in Burberry's on wet grass and say, It might have been much worse, And look at the day they had last week at West Warmington. I'm forcibly reminded of what I have heard of Ruth Draper's admirable sketch of Country Bazaar, But try hard not to think about this. Our vicar's wife takes me to look at the school children's needlework laid out in tent amidst onions, Begonias and other vegetable products. Just as I'm admiring pink camisole embroidered with mauve pansies, A strange boy approaches me and says, If I please, The little girl isn't very well and can't be got out of the swing boat, And will I come, Please? I go, Our vicar's wife following and saying absurdly that it must be the heat, And those swing boats have always seemed to her very dangerous. Ever since there was a fearful accident at her old home when the whole thing broke down and seven people were killed and a good many of the spectators injured. A relief after this to find Vicky merely green in the face, Still clinging obstinately to the ropes and disregarding two men below saying, Come along out of it missy, And now then my dear, And mademoiselle in a terrific state of agitation clasping her hands and pacing backwards and forwards, Uttering many gallic expressions and adorations to the saints, Robin has removed himself to furthest corner of the ground and is feigning interest in immense cart horse tied up in red ribbons. N. B. Dear Robin, Perhaps not so utterly unlike his father as one is sometimes tempted to suppose. I tell Vicky very, Very shortly that unless she descends instantly, She will go to bed early every night for a week. Unfortunately, Tremendous outburst of land of hope and glory from brass band compels me to say this in an undignified bellow and to repeat it three times before it has any effect, By which time quite large crowd has gathered round. General outburst of applause when at last swing boat is brought to a standstill and Vicky, Mottled to the last degree, Is lifted out by man in check coat and tweed cap who says, Here we are, Amy Johnson, To fresh applause. Vicky removed by Mademoiselle, Not a moment too soon. Our vicar's wife says children are all alike and it may be a touch of tomane poisoning, One never knows, And why not come and help her judge decorated perambulators. Meet several acquaintances and newly arrived Miss Pankerton, Who has bought small house in village and on whom I have not yet called. She wears pince-nez and is said to have been at Oxford. All I can get out of her is that the whole thing reminds her of Dostoyevsky. Feel that I neither know nor care what she means. I'm convinced, However, That I have not heard the last of either Miss P or Dostoyevsky, As she assures me that she is the most unconventional person in the whole world and never stands 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 and may as like as not stroll in for breakfast or be strolled in upon for after dinner coffee. I'm quite unable to contemplate Robert's reaction to Miss P and Dostoyevsky at breakfast and bring the conversation to an end as quickly as possible. Find Robert, Our vicar and neighbouring squire looking at horses. Our vicar and neighbouring squire talk about the weather but do not say anything new. Robert says nothing. Get home towards eight o'clock, Strangely exhausted and I'm discouraged at meeting both maids just on their way to the flower show dance. Cook says encouragingly that the potatoes are in the oven and everything else on the table and she only hopes Pussy hasn't found her way in on account of the butter. Eventually do the washing up while Mademoiselle puts children to bed and I afterwards go up and read Tanglewood Tales aloud. Queery, Mainly rhetorical, Why are non-professional women, If married and with children, So frequently referred to as leisured? Answer comes there none. August the 8th, Frightful afternoon, Entirely filled by call from Miss Pankerton, Wearing hand-woven blue jumper, Wider in front than at the back, Very short skirt and wholly incredible small black beret. She smokes cigarettes in an immense holder and sits astride the arm of the sofa. NB, Arm of sofa not at all calculated to bear any such strain and creaks several times, Most alarmingly. Must remember to see if anything can be done about it and in any case manoeuvre Miss P into sitting elsewhere on subsequent visits, If any. Conversation, Very, Very literary and academic, My own part in it being mostly confined to saying that I haven't yet read it and it's down on my library list but hasn't come so far. After what feels like some hours of this, Miss P becomes personal and says I strike her as being a fulfillment. Have often thought exactly the same thing myself but this does not prevent my feeling entirely furious with Miss P 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 no right to let myself become a domestic beast of burden with no interests beyond the nursery and the kitchen. What for instance, She demands rousingly, Have I read within the last two years? To this I reply weakly that I have read Gentleman Prefer Blondes which is the only thing I seem able to remember when Robert and the tea enter simultaneously. Curious and difficult interlude follows in the course of which Miss P talks about the N-U-E-C, Cannot imagine what this is but pretend to know all about it and the situation in India and Robert either says nothing at all or contradicts her very briefly and forcibly. Miss P finally departs saying she is determined to scrape all the barnacles off me before she is done with me and that I shall soon be seeing her again. August the 9th. The child Henry deposited by expensive looking parents in enormous red car who dash away immediately after one contemptuous look at house, Garden, Self and children. Can understand this in a way as they arrive sooner than expected and Robin, Vicky and I are all equally untidy owing to prolonged game of wild beasts in the garden. Henry unspeakably immaculate in grey flannel and red tie but all is discarded when parents have departed and he rapidly assumes disreputable appearance and loud screeching tones of complete at-homeness. Robert for reasons unknown appears unable to remember his name and calls him Francis. Should like to trace connection of ideas if any but I'm baffled. Both boys come down to dinner and Henry astonishes us by pouring out steady stream of information concerning speed boats, Aeroplanes and submarines from start to finish. Most informative. I'm quite relieved after boys have gone to bed to find him looking infantile in blue striped pyjamas and asking to have door left open so that he can see light in passage outside. I go down to Robert and ask, Not very straightforwardly since I know the answer only too well, If he would not like to take mademoiselle, Me and the children to spend a long day at the sea next week. We might invite one or two people to join us and have a picnic say I with false optimism. Robert looks horrified 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 ever since. To be continued.

Reviews

Even though our lady is lucky to have so much help at home, she can’t escape the criticism, conformity and often the monotony demanded by everyday life. Yet she can have a good time with her children running about in their garden and seems to have the measure of those surrounding her. I love the bit about Miss P sitting on the arm of the sofa; we held our breath when a certain aunt visited and sat in the chair not equal to her heft. Thanks Mandy 🙏🏻

I can’t get over the fact that she has so much help on the domestic side and with the kiddos. That there are generations of English people who have that kind of home life and upbringing. This book gives a good insight to that lifestyle… probably on its way out. Thanks as ever, Mandy!