Diary Of A Provincial Lady, Chapter 9

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, the family finally shake off their colds, though our narrator is unable to shake off the knowledge that her cold has adversely affected her looks. Robert's remarks don't help.

This gentle story of the daily ups and downs of domestic life has also 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.

Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Thanks so much for joining me tonight and welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.

M.

Dellafield.

E.

M.

Dellafield was born in Gemini,

Sign of the twins,

Which some people have said indicates a duality of her nature.

On the one hand,

There was the successful,

Sophisticated writer,

The unblinking satirist whose field was the world and who looked,

With reality,

At everything.

But on the other,

There was a gentle,

Home-loving dreamer who liked to look back on childhood and old photographs,

Who prayed and meditated on the hereafter and on her own wrongdoing,

And who loved her family,

Her house and her village,

Forever doing kindnesses and forever concerned with this or that one's happiness.

Anyway,

We've reached chapter nine and before I go ahead,

Please make yourself really comfortable and settle down into your chair or your bed.

Relax your hands,

Drop your shoulders,

Release any tightness in your jaw.

That's great.

So if you're ready,

Then I shall begin.

January the 17th.

Mademoiselle suggests butter muslin to use as handkerchiefs.

There is none in the house.

I say that I will go out and buy some.

Mademoiselle says,

No,

The fresh air gives pneumonia.

Feel that I ought to combat this un-British attitude,

But lack energy,

Especially when she adds that she will go herself.

She puts on black kid gloves,

Buttoned boots with pointed tips and high heels,

Hat with little feather in it,

Black jacket and several silk neckties,

And goes,

Leaving me to amuse Robin and Vicki,

Both in bed.

Twenty minutes after she has started,

I remember it is early closing day.

Go up to Knight Nursery and offer to read Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare.

Vicki says she prefers Pip,

Squeak and Wilfrid.

Robin says that he would like Gulliver's Travels.

Compromise with Grimm's Fairy Tales,

Though slightly uneasy as to their being in accordance with best modern ideals.

Both children take immense interest in story of highly undesirable person who wins fortune,

Fame and beautiful princess by means of lies,

Violence and treachery.

Feel sure that this must have disastrous effect on both in years to come.

Our vicar's wife calls before Mlle.

Wazell returns.

Go down to her sneezing and suggest that she had better not stay.

She says,

Much better not,

And she won't keep me a minute.

Tells me long story about the vicar having a stye on one eye.

I retaliate with Cook's sore throat.

This leads to drafts,

The heating apparatus in the church and news of Lady Box in south of France.

The vicar's wife has had a picture postcard from her which she produces from her bag with a small cross marking bedroom window of hotel.

She says,

It is rather interesting,

Isn't it?

To which I reply,

Yes,

It is very,

Which is not in the least true.

NB,

Truth telling in everyday life,

Extraordinarily difficult.

Is this personal and highly deplorable idiosyncrasy or do others suffer in the same way?

Have momentary impulse to put this to our vicar's wife,

But decide better not.

How,

She says,

Are the dear children and how is my husband?

I reply suitably and she tells me about cinnamon,

Vapex,

Gargling with glycerin of thymol,

Blackcurrant tea,

Onion broth,

Friars balsam,

Linseed poultices and thermogene wool.

I sneeze and say,

Thank you,

Thank you very much,

A good many times.

She goes but turns back at the door to tell me about wool next to the skin,

Nasal douching and hot milk last thing at night.

I say,

Thank you again.

On returning to night nursery,

Find that Robin has unscrewed top of hot water bottle in Vicky's bed,

Which apparently contained several hundred gallons of tepid water,

Now distributed through and through pillows,

Pyjamas,

Sheets,

Blankets and mattresses of both.

I ring for Ethel,

Who helps me to reorganise entire situation and says,

It's like a hospital,

Isn't it?

Trays up and down stairs all day long and all this extra work.

January the 20th.

Take Robin,

Now completely restored,

Back to school.

I ask the headmaster what he thinks of Robin's progress.

The headmaster answers that the new buildings will be finished before Easter and that their numbers are increasing so rapidly that he will probably add on a new wing next term and perhaps I saw a letter of his in the Times replying to Dr Cyril Norwood.

Make mental note to the effect that headmasters are a race apart and that if parents would remember this,

Much time could be saved.

Robin and I say goodbye with hideous brightness and I cry all the way back to the station.

January 22nd.

Robert startles me at breakfast by asking if my cold,

Which he has hitherto ignored,

Is better.

I reply that it has gone.

Then why,

He asks,

Do I look like that?

Refrain from asking like what,

As I know only too well.

Feel that life is wholly unendurable and decide madly to get a new hat.

Customary painful situation between bank and myself necessitates expedient,

Also customary,

Of pawning great aunt's diamond ring,

Which I do under usual conditions and am greeted as old friend by Plymouth pawnbroker who says facetiously,

And what name will it be this time?

Visit four linen drapers and try on several dozen hats.

Look worse and worse in each one as hair gets wilder and wilder and expression paler and more harassed.

Decide to get myself shampooed and waved before doing any more in hopes of improving the position.

Hairdresser's assistant says it's a pity my hair is losing all its colour and have I ever thought of having it touched up?

After long discussion I do have it touched up and emerged with mahogany coloured head.

Hairdresser's assistant says this will wear off in a few days.

I am very angry but all to no purpose.

Return home in old hat showing as little hair as possible and keep it on till dressing time but cannot hope to conceal my shame at dinner.

January the 23rd.

Mary Calway telegraphs she is motoring past here this morning.

Can I give her lunch?

Telegraph yes delighted and rushed to kitchen.

Cook unhelpful and suggests cold beef and beetroot.

I say yes excellent unless perhaps roast chicken and bread sauce even better.

Cook talks about the oven.

Compromise in the end on cutlets and mashed potatoes as very luckily this is the day the butcher calls.

Always delighted to see dear Mary.

So clever and amusing and able to write stories which actually get published and paid for.

But very uneasy about the colour of my hair which is not wearing off in the least.

Think seriously of keeping a hat on all through lunch but this on the whole would look even more unnatural.

Besides could not hope that it would pass without observation from Vicky let alone Robert.

Later worst fears realised as to hair.

Dear Mary always so observant gazes at it in nerve shattering silence but says nothing until I am driven to make half-hearted explanation.

Her only comment is that she cannot imagine why anybody should deliberately make themselves look 10 years older than they need.

Feel that if she wishes to discourage further experiments on my part this observation could scarcely be improved upon.

Change the subject and talk about the children.

Mary most empathetic and goes so far as to say that my children have brains which encourages me to tell anecdotes about them until I see Robert looking at me just as I get to Robin's precocious taste for really good literature.

By curious coincidence Second Post brings letter from Robin saying that he wishes to collect cigarette cards and will I send him all the types of national beauty curious beaks and famous footballers that I can find.

Make no comment on this singular request allowed.

Mary stays to tea and we talk about HG Wells,

Women's Institutes,

Infectious Illness and Journey's End.

Mary says she cannot go and see this latter because she always cries at the theatre.

I say then once more we'll make no difference.

Discussion becomes involved and we drop it.

Vicki comes in and immediately offers to recite.

Can see that Mary who has three children of her own does not in the least want to hear her but she feigns enthusiasm politely.

Vicki recites Enby suggests to mademoiselle that Vicki's repertory should be enlarged.

Feel sure that I've heard Maitre Corbeau alternately with La Cigale et la Fourmi some 800 times within the last six months.

After Mary has gone Robert looks at me and suddenly remarks now that's what I call an attractive woman.

I'm gratified at his appreciation of talented friend but should like to be a little clearer regarding exact significance of emphasis on the word that.

Robert however says no more and opportunity is lost as Ethel comes in to say Cook is sorry she's run right out of milk but if I will come to the store cupboard she thinks there's a tin of ideal and she'll make do with that.

To be continued.

Reviews

I find the contrast of blunt truth telling by some characters and the white lies of the narrator (who seems to be the only one aware of this) so interesting. Thanks Mandy 🙏🏻

Oh, the hot water bottle! And Robert, what a drip! Thank you😂🙄 💕🙏🏼✌️

Fun! The vicar's wife who stayed too long brought back memories for me, age 13, and I enjoyed the irony of her exposing herself to more germs by staying.

Still trying to listen to the ending, but thank you for your soothing voice.

It’s less than 15 minutes long and yet I don’t stay awake to hear how the chapter ends!! BTW I’m a Gemini as well. But I don’t think I have a duel personality. But still an interesting view of our author. Thank you Mandy. I’ll give it another listen!!