A Vicarage Family: A Biography of Myself

by Noel Streatfeild

  ‘Though I think the difficulty is really dear Sylvia,’ Granny said. ‘This is sad, for I notice that when they are doing something which both are enjoying, Vicky and Sylvia are happy together.’

  Grandfather knew what she meant.

  ‘I agree. But I think it will be better if we talk to Jim alone; after all, he is our son. Sylvia might think we were interfering.’

  So that evening Aunt Sophie was instructed to take the children’s mother to the kitchen to choose homemade jam to take back to the vicarage, so that Granny and Grandfather should have the children’s father to themselves.

  Granny opened the conversation. ‘We wanted to speak to you about Vicky, Jim dear. She looks so unhappy.’

  Horrified, the children’s father stared at his mother.

  ‘Unhappy! But how can she be? Ours, as you know, is such a happy home.’

  ‘To you and to Sylvia and the other children, no doubt,’ Grandfather agreed. ‘But your mother is right. That child is not happy, Jim.’

  Granny patted his knee.

  ‘Something must be done, dear. Do you think that school is right for her?’

  The children’s father was surprised at the question.

  ‘Laughton House! It’s a splendid school. And Miss French is not only delightful but a most sincere Christian.’

  Grandfather spoke dryly.

  ‘A sincere Christian may not necessarily understand Vicky. Would you perhaps try keeping her at home next term, and allow her to learn with that admirable Miss Herbert?’

  That, distressed though he was, made the children’s father smile.

  ‘Miss Herbert is indeed admirable, but I’m afraid Vicky does not find her so; I should fear bloodshed if I tried that experiment.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked Granny. ‘Something should be done, dear.’

  The children’s father was most disturbed; it was appalling that his parents should have to say a child of his was unhappy. Then an answer came to him. He spoke slowly, as one repeating what he had been told.

  ‘Vicky has a difficult nature, far more difficult than have the other children. She therefore needs more help. I had planned that she should be confirmed next year, but now I know it should be this year. She is to start her classes immediately.’

  Convinced that God had spoken, it never crossed the minds of her father and grandparents to wonder if Victoria should also be consulted. And indeed, at that date young people seldom were consulted when plans were made for them.

  ‘We must make Vicky’s confirmation a great day for her,’ Grandfather said. ‘I shall of course attend and so will Sophie.’ Then he looked at Granny. ‘I think for so important a day even your dear mother will be at the service.’

  ‘And so will as many other members of the family as can get away,’ Granny promised. ‘Dear Vicky; she shall be surrounded with our prayers and with our love.’

  19

  Confirmation Day

  The children’s father did not tell Victoria she was to be confirmed until they got home. Then he called her into his study.

  ‘Vicky, I am going to prepare you for confirmation.’

  Victoria had no idea why she had been sent for; certainly being confirmed had not entered her thoughts. She answered like a flash.

  ‘No, thank you, Daddy, I don’t feel suitable for that yet.’

  Her father, who was sitting at his desk, held out a hand and when, unwillingly, Victoria came to him he pulled her on to the arm of his chair and put his arm round her, laying his face against hers in the way that made one of his eyebrows tickle her cheek.

  ‘Granny and Grandfather talked to me about you. They said you don’t look happy, Vicky.’ He paused for a moment.

  In that pause Victoria felt for a second almost a friend instead of a daughter. Daddy knew she was not happy. Now, since he had said that, she could explain everything. Perhaps, as he was so wise, he would understand why she felt inferior, and tell her how you stopped feeling it. She took a quick breath and opened her mouth, but before she could speak her father went on.

  ‘I told them that was nonsense. With a happy home such as ours how could any child not be happy, and that I was sure you liked Laughton House, for it is a splendid school and Miss French a wonderful woman.’ His lips twitched. ‘Granny wondered if perhaps you would be happier doing lessons with Miss Herbert.’

  The enormity of this suggestion swept every other thought out of Victoria’s head, so the moment when absolute truth might have been spoken passed, and was never in that form to be revived.

  It was probably a good thing, Victoria decided later, for would her father have accepted that he had a daughter who would be happier living away from her family? With his feeling about his home and the way he was brought up, could he have faced the truth that one of his children did not find the vicarage perfect?

  Victoria was stunned.

  ‘Lessons with Miss Herbert! Daddy!’

  Her father chuckled.

  ‘I knew that was how you would feel. Mind you, Miss Herbert is a wonderful woman and a great help, not only to Mummy but to me; but I don’t think she would like teaching you any more than you would like doing lessons with her. Now, about these confirmation classes …’

  Victoria’s chin shot up.

  ‘I told you, Daddy, I don’t feel suitable for them.’

  Her father held her closer to him.

  ‘I am not going to allow you to decide, Vicky darling. You have a more difficult nature than your sisters or Dick, so you need special help. That I know will come to you when you are able to attend Holy Communion. Your confirmation will be a big occasion, for many people will want to be present to pray that you may be especially helped and blessed.’

  Victoria tried to wriggle out of her father’s arm so that she could face him. But she could not for he held her tightly.

  ‘Please no, Daddy. I know you think it will be lovely for me, everybody praying and all, but …’ she was going to say ‘I’ll hate it’, but she had the sense to bite that back. Instead she said: ‘I won’t like it, I mean I can see it’s good of everybody, but oh, Daddy, please no.’

  If he had never had that, to him, shocking talk with his parents and had not been convinced God had suggested the answer, the children’s father might have yielded to Victoria’s pleas and postponed her confirmation for a year; but the talk had taken place and now he was dedicated to giving this much-loved but wayward child the spiritual help he was convinced would change her life. He took his arm from around her and got up and led the way to his prie-dieu.

  ‘We will ask God together for a very special blessing on me when I prepare you; and on you, not only on your confirmation day but for all your life.’

  Although her sisters did not understand why Victoria was making such a fuss about being confirmed they were sorry for her.

  ‘I don’t see why Vicky’s got to be confirmed, if she doesn’t want to be,’ Louise said to Isobel. ‘Lots of girls aren’t confirmed until they are fifteen, so she could have waited until next year.’

  Isobel was puzzled.

  ‘I don’t understand why she is so worried about it. I liked my confirmation day.’

  John wrote sensibly from school.

  ‘What a state to get in about it! You knew it would happen some time. As you know, I was done last year and it was all right. All the same, I can’t understand why Uncle Jim is making you be done if you don’t want to be. Still, I daresay you would not have felt any more like it next year.’

  Not to anyone could Victoria explain the horror with which she faced her confirmation day, for she did not understand it herself. She did talk about the subject to Isobel.

  ‘Being me, I ought to look forward to it. Everybody staring at me and praying for me. Half the parish there and heaps of relations all on their knees saying: “Let this be a turning point in Vicky’s life.” But instead, I feel sick when I think about it – and I don’t know why.’

  ‘It’s different being looked at for ordinar
y things,’ Isobel said sagely, ‘than being prayed about. But when you are being confirmed you’ll find you don’t think about the congregation.’

  ‘You didn’t, because you’re different. You never do anything bad. Nobody was praying you’d behave better, but just that you’d have less asthma and things like that. And it’s not only the confirmation day, it’s those awful preparation classes.’

  Isobel could not follow that.

  ‘They’re all right. Like lessons. You will be told by Daddy what to do, and how to prepare for Holy Communion, and about the Holy Ghost. Why do you mind that?’

  Victoria shuddered.

  ‘It’s bad enough having talks and praying with Daddy when I’m alone. But in front of other girls – some of them like Olive Gay who are my friends – I’ll be embarrassed all the time. I don’t think anyone could like their father to talk about God and all that in front of their friends. God should be kept private.’

  ‘It won’t be as bad as you think,’ Isobel consoled.

  ‘It won’t,’ Vicky agreed, ‘but only because at my confirmation classes I’ll be a deaf adder that stoppeth its ears.’

  This was what happened. Victoria had to attend her classes, but she was an experienced non-listener, so all the wise helpful things her father said, which were absorbed by the rest of his class, passed her by.

  It was not only over her classes that Victoria was obstructive, it was over everything to do with her confirmation. Had she not been so wrapped up in herself she would have realized that she had a sympathizer in her mother who, on principle, disapproved of a fuss being made about a religious ceremony. Since her marriage she had conformed to her husband’s wishes and, except for a cup of tea which she insisted helped to keep her tickling cough at bay, went to Holy Communion fasting. But that did not say she approved either for herself or for delicate Isobel. How much more sensible, she thought, was the way she had been brought up – to attend once a month after morning service, with a good breakfast inside her. She therefore admired Victoria’s fight, as it was one she wished she had the strength of mind to take part in herself. As a gesture to show understanding she cut down her list of necessities for the garden, so that one day she was able to say:

  ‘Vicky, you never have a new frock so, instead of squeezing you into Isobel’s confirmation dress, you can choose your own. If you will find a pattern you like, and choose the material, the dressmaker can make it.’

  Alas, Victoria was determined to like nothing to do with her confirmation. Without a thought as to where the money had come from she stuck her chin in the air.

  ‘Thank you, Mummy, but Isobel’s cast-off will do nicely.’

  It was that sort of remark that usually made the children’s mother’s temper rise. But on that occasion she refused to be upset.

  ‘Choose something not too warm and I’ll have it dyed for the summer, for I don’t think a girl of your age looks her best in white.’

  Stubborn to the end Victoria would not ask Isobel’s advice about design – still less Miss Herbert’s, who was knowledgeable about materials. Instead, with heaven knows what garment in mind, she had a real monstrosity made – acknowledged as such even in the badly dressed vicarage. The dress proper was made of a coarse, shiny, dotted cotton. But on the shoulders was a flapping trimming of what looked like Broderie Anglaise. The neckband and the wrists were finished off with the same kind of trimming.

  When Louise saw the dress she said to her family: ‘That looks like drawers, not a frock.’ And no one disagreed with her.

  The confirmation was towards the end of March. For days beforehand every post brought small packets addressed to Victoria. In those days little limp-covered books were sold for special occasions and also white books with gold on them. Isobel, seeing the pile of little books growing in Victoria’s bedroom, said:

  ‘I should think you’ve been given the lot.’

  Victoria scowled at her presents.

  ‘I can’t see a girl is likely to be better because she has thirteen copies of “The Imitation of Christ” and seven of “Thoughts before Holy Communion”.’

  It was Grandfather who really drove Victoria almost to frenzy. He had taken rooms for himself, Granny and Aunt Sophie on the sea front and, true to his belief in laying your troubles publicly before God, he suggested that a little prayer meeting should be held in church before luncheon (the confirmation was at three), which should be attended by Victoria, her godparents and all relations.

  ‘Oh no!’ said the children’s mother when she heard what was planned. ‘Say no. Vicky will hate it.’

  The children’s father could not believe his father could have a bad idea.

  ‘I don’t quite think I can say no since my dear father has suggested it.’

  ‘Then for goodness sake keep it as quiet as possible. Vicky is very strung up as it is. If your father must say prayers let him say them in the study.’

  Although to Victoria the study was better than the church nothing was bearable on that embarrassing day. From the time she woke she thought she heard a special voice being used. It was not entirely true; Isobel and Louise spoke normally and so did the servants, but to Victoria everybody was offending.

  ‘Don’t talk to me in that tip-toe way,’ she shouted at Miss Herbert in the middle of breakfast.

  Miss Herbert refused to be cross; instead she put on a brave, bright smile.

  ‘I did not mean to, dear, but this is a very, very special day, isn’t it?’

  It had been planned that Victoria should go to morning school with her sisters and that they should all come home to lunch, but Grandfather’s prayer meeting made that impossible for her. Instead it was decided that she should do a few lessons with Miss Herbert in Isobel’s painting room.

  ‘Nothing to worry you, darling,’ her father said, ‘just something to keep you occupied, for Mummy, Annie and Hester will be busy over luncheon, as the Bishop is coming.’

  Miss Herbert had chosen Victoria’s lessons with care. She would read some poems to her suitable for the day, and she had found an edifying little book on the last days of Lady Jane Grey, which she thought was just right. If they had more time she would tell the story of her favourite saint – Dorothea. Victoria, grinding her teeth, bore with the poems and with Lady Jane Grey, but St Dorothea, told in Miss Herbert’s special confirmation day voice, was more than she could take.

  ‘St Dorothea was exceptional even amongst saints …’

  Miss Herbert got no further for Victoria picked up the ink pot and threw it at her. The pot hit her on the forehead but fortunately not hard enough to do real damage, except that ink cascaded down her face and on to her high-necked blouse. At that exact moment the door opened and in came Grandfather followed by Aunt Sophie.

  ‘Forgive me disturbing you, Miss Herbert,’ said Grandfather. ‘I wanted to give my granddaughter …’ He had been going to say ‘a confirmation kiss’. But by then he had seen Miss Herbert.

  It was extraordinary what grown-ups could do about pretending something had not happened when their minds were set on it. Not a word was said. Miss Herbert was led away by Aunt Sophie and when next seen was quite clean if rather red in the face from scrubbing, and Grandfather quietly disappeared.

  ‘I thought,’ Victoria confided afterwards to Isobel, ‘that I’d have the most terrible punishment I ever had and, of course, that the Bishop wouldn’t confirm me. But he can’t have been told, for all he said when he saw me was: “Hullo, Vicky. I hope I confirm you nicely”.’

  Somehow – the girls never knew how – the incident was smoothed over and unbelievably reduced to mischief, and the ink-throwing was never mentioned again.

  Granny, who with the aid of her chair and Aunt Sophie’s arm, had been able to attend Victoria’s confirmation, with the same aids came afterwards to the vicarage to tea, and from the sofa on which she was lying turned her attention to Isobel.

  ‘You will be sixteen this summer, won’t you? When are you bringing her out, Sylvia?’
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  Granny never asked that sort of question without a reason. Isobel was a pretty girl and, though of course too young yet, must not be allowed to spend her life in a studio – something Granny was certain could only too easily happen.

  The children’s mother hated Granny’s question. Eastbourne, in its own way, was quite a fashionable place. Most of the girls were taken to London to be presented at court. Afterwards they made their debut in local society, either at a dance given for them or at the Hunt Ball, for which a party would first be entertained to dinner. But whatever form the entertainment took, on the first and future occasions the girl’s mother was always present to chaperone her daughter, and had to remain to the bitter end to drive home with her.

  The thought of sitting up half the night wearing evening dress filled the children’s mother with loathing. She was not a good sleeper and needed eight hours in bed to have the strength for the daily round. How was she to endure next year and all the future years as the girls grew up if she was expected to be out of bed until two or three in the morning, knowing she would be called as usual at seven? Other mothers could lie in bed half the morning to get over late nights, but they did not live in a vicarage where, whether you were late up or not, you were expected to be down to morning prayers at 7.45.

  ‘We haven’t made any plans yet. We’ve still a year to make them.’

  Granny had expected that kind of answer and was determined to put up a fight. She was not wordly-minded but a girl should marry and Isobel would have no chance of doing that sitting alone at her easel.

  ‘I imagine there will be young people’s dances next Christmas to which John can escort you, Isobel. Do you still take dancing lessons?’

  That was another awkward question. In the last parish they had attended a weekly dancing class in a private house. There they had learnt national dances, Greek dancing and those who had what was called accordion pleated frocks had learnt skirt dancing. They were also taught ballroom dancing. But at Eastborne there had been no dancing classes for the school dancing class was on Saturday afternoons and was for the boarders only, and the children’s mother, thankful to save the money, had decided that the girls knew how to dance and need learn no more. Isobel, conscious that there was purpose behind Granny’s question, spoke even more quickly than usual.