Mrs. Tim of the Regiment

by D. E. Stevenson

  Annie has had no time nor opportunity to ‘make down’ bed this morning, but considers this a blot on her character, and is heard announcing audibly to Katie that she ‘does believe the old lady done it on purpose to show her up.’

  In the midst of all this turmoil Tim whispers to me that he has just seen the doctor’s car pass, and that he is sure to charge double in his bill after seeing the Rolls standing at the gate. Murmur something soothing.

  We all go out and watch Aunt Ethel being hoisted into her car by her efficient chauffeur, and wave enthusiastically as she glides off down the road.

  ‘Thank God!’ says Tim devoutly.

  Betty enquires in an interested voice why Daddy is thanking God, to which Tim replies with admirable presence of mind that it is because the wind has gone down and Aunt Ethel will have a calm passage.

  Third January

  Decide to take the children to church. Bryan, slightly aggrieved, says he ‘thought it was the holidays’. Best to pretend I have not heard this remark, but must remember to speak seriously to him at a more leisure and opportune moment. Betty fidgets during the sermon, and asks in a piercing whisper when it will be over.

  Grace McDougall comes in to tea. She is our regimental bride, and really beautiful, with that matt white skin which makes everyone else look like a dairymaid. We are all having tea in the dining room, as Miss Hardcastle is away. Children become very wild. They are encouraged by Grace, who rags with Bryan until he behaves like a lunatic. (Query – Why do people with no children of their own seem to think the shocking behaviour of other people’s offspring a fit subject for mirth?)

  Bryan is sent to his room by his father.

  Grace has the decency to apologise, and asks Tim not to be hard on Bryan, as it is all her fault. Grace being irresistible to the male sex, Tim agrees to let the young villain off this time, and accompanies Grace to the front door, where he stands talking to her for fifteen minutes.

  I put the children to bed.

  Fourth January

  Grace appears shortly after breakfast to to ask if I can possibly lend her some meat plates, coffee cups, and finger bowls for her dinner party, as Fairlawn is deficient in crockery and glass. We adjourn hopefully to the pantry, where we discover eight meat plates to match, and five finger bowls – but coffee cups are odd patterns.

  Grace says it does not matter whether they match or not – she will just take them. She has brought a large basket (being of an optimistic temperament), into which we pack the loot. I advise her to go to Nora Watt for more finger bowls, as I know Nora has some, having dined there on Boxing Night. (Unless, of course, they were borrowed.) Grace thanks me, and asks anxiously whether I think eight will be a squash in her dining room. Reassure her as convincingly as I can, although I am practically certain the eight will be a squash (who should know better than I, considering we had Fairlawn ourselves for nine months before we moved into Rokesby).

  Grace then says, have I heard about the Carters? They are moving again. Their landlord is returning to Biddington in March. We agree that it is rotten luck, especially as Mamie Carter is going to add to her family in the near future.

  ‘I am so sorry for Mamie,’ says Grace with a sigh.

  Personally I am much more sorry for Herbert. (Mamie Carter is a person who sits still and smiles wistfully while everybody in the vicinity rushes around, wildly, doing her job.) Perhaps I am a trifle bitter about this, having assisted in the Carters’ last move. Grace – who is new to army life – says eagerly that of course everyone will help, and the first thing is to find a house, and that directly she has got this dinner off her chest she is going around to all the house agents in Biddington.

  Feel that Grace is really rather a dear in spite of her enthusiasms.

  Sixth January

  Wet Day. Decide to write a lot of letters and clear off the remains of Christmas presents ‘thanks’, which have got disgracefully hung up owing to holidays.

  Tim comes in, just as I am starting, to ask if I have seen his pipe anywhere. We all join in the search. Betty and Bryan show great enthusiasm, as the winner of the treasure hunt has been promised a penny. Pipe is discovered in my workbasket. Have no idea how it got there, and say so several times, adding that it is curious how a thing always turns up in the last place you think of looking for it. Bryan – who has won the penny –immediately replies that the reason is because you stop looking for it when you have found it.

  I return to my letters.

  Annie comes in to say there is a gentleman at the door who wants to see me ‘very partickler’, and he will not keep me long. She asked was there a message, but he said he must see Mrs. Christie herself, and it was very important, and his name is Mr. John.

  Am seized with a sudden and absolutely unfounded conviction that it is the great Augustus himself who has come to beseech me to sit for him having seen me dashing about Biddington on my bicycle and taken an unaccountable fancy to the shape of my face. Or perhaps he wishes to paint Betty, whose colouring has been admired by various artistic friends.

  Ask Annie rather shortly why she has not shown Mr. John into the drawing room. She replies that he ‘does not look that kind of gentleman’, but adds that she will if I like. (Query – Is this Annie’s reaction to the artistic note in sartorial fashion?)

  Rush wildly to the front door, where I spend half an hour persuading Mr. John that I do not want a vacuum cleaner, and that I do not want a demonstration of a vacuum cleaner on my own stair carpet, even although – as he points out – I should thereby get them ‘beautifully cleaned for nothing’.

  I return to my letters.

  Annie comes in to say will I telephone to the fishmonger, as they have sent bloaters instead of whiting for tonight’s dinner, and Katie supposes it is a mistake? And will I do it now, as it is the half day?

  I do it now.

  Go upstairs to see what the children are doing, as they are ominously quiet. Find that they have taken my new bedcovers to make a tent, and that Bryan is wearing Tim’s one and only silk hat, which he found in a box on the top of the wardrobe. He has also found Tim’s sword and medals. Betty has contented herself with my Spanish shawl, and looks extraordinarily well in it. Remove Tim’s belongings as tactfully as possible, but leave bedcovers, as I have not the heart to ruin tent, which is really quite ingenious. Offer to look for some other garments for dressing up, by which time it is one o’clock.

  After lunch the children decide that they want to paint. Provide water and find paintboxes, hoping that I may get a few letters written during the afternoon.

  Am disturbed by frightful screams from the nursery. Rush upstairs and find Betty in tears, and Bryan gazing out of the window, with his hands in his pockets. Demand an instant explanation of the uproar, but find it impossible to get to the root of the trouble, or to discover the true culprit, Betty saying that Bryan hit her, and Bryan saying, ‘Yes, because she pinched my arm,’ and Betty replying hotly, ‘That was only because you upset my painting water,’ and Bryan retorting, ‘Well, you spluttered green water all over my book.’

  Suggest hastily that they should put on their waterproofs and go for a walk.

  Bryan says, ‘Yes, if Bollings can come and may we go down to the lake and feed the swans?’

  Agree to let Bollings go with them, thereby dooming my silver to languish as pewter for a whole week, this being his afternoon for cleaning the silver.

  Seventh January

  Leave the children playing happily with the admirable Bollings, and set forth to visit some of the married families. Inspect the new baby at the Frasers’, and discourse learnedly with Mrs. F. re the infant’s diet (Nature not having provided sustenance with her usual foresight). Meet Major McGillveray, the M.O., on the stairs, and am greeted with the remark that he supposes there is no need for him to visit the latest recruit, as nobody listens to a word he says if they can get advice from me. Laugh brightly and reply that I have recommended orange juice, and I hope he approves. ‘Small matter wheth
er I approve or not,’ he grumbles.

  Visit several other families, and am regaled with tea and gossip about the regiment and whispered comments on the dark doings of the bad boys belonging to other families. It is a queer little world that inhabits these quarters – speaking every known dialect of the British Isles – but they get on together marvellously well considering their propinquity, and there is a warm welcome at every door.

  ‘I put the kettle on when I heard you on the stair,’ says Mrs. Craven, the Scottish wife of a Lancashire corporal, and the proud mother of five naughty children. ‘Now, Miriam, leave yon cloth alone; are ye wanting a smack, ye wee hen? Erchie, come an’ let Mistress Christie see yer finger that ye hurt in the snib of the door. I’m feared of it festering, Mistress Christie – John’s getting on fine in D Company. He’s that set on Captain Christie he blethers on aboot him the hale time.’

  I have left Mrs. Banks to the last because we are old cronies, and the doings of Stanley and Doris and Jimmy make good hearing. We sit down by the fire for a real good talk, which ranges – from picture palaces to pigs these last being the colonel’s latest whim. They have been purchased with a view firstly to disposing of scraps culled from the married quarters, and secondly to providing bacon for the Mess. Needless to say, their advent has given rise to something approaching a mutiny in the regiment. Scraps have miraculously vanished to a minimum and objections as to smell and noise are exaggerated to colossal proportions. Mrs. Banks pours out the grievances of herself and neighbours into my too sympathetic ears – ‘Missis Benson she came in the other diy, and there was Stanley with ’is fice as black as sin. “Dear me, is this your son?” ses Missis Benson, ’aughty like. “Yus, it is, Mum,” I ses! “’E’s bin plying in the yard near them ’orrid hanimals,” I ses. She didn’t ’alf look sour.’ I try to look disapproving of this criticism of the colonel’s lady, but feel I am not making a good job of it.

  ‘Ye know, Mum,’ continues Mrs. Banks confidentially, ‘there’s one good thing ’as come of this ’ere National Gov’ment. Stanley useter fight somethin’ awful with that Ramsay Fraser. It reely was somethin’ awful. ’Ardly a diy passed but ’e’d come ’ome with ’is nose all bloody or a black eye. But now the two of them’s as thick as thieves. Sharin’ an orange, suck about, they was yest’diy.’

  Tenth January

  Meet Nora Watt on my way home from church. She has been lying in wait for me. We agree that the sermon was slightly dull, but that the singing has improved. I see Grace hovering about but there is no escape from Nora. After some preliminary conversation Nora says that she particularly wanted to see me today, because I am so clever, and she wonders if I can help her with a crossword for which the Sunday News is offering a thousand-pound prize. Reply hastily that what cleverness I may possess runs in other directions. Nora takes no notice of my modest disclaimer – ‘A word of nine letters meaning “Living in the abode of another”,’ she says firmly.

  Suggest ‘Officer’s wife’, but Nora says that is too many letters, and the third must be Q.

  Am completely stumped by this, and feel that I have failed Nora in her hour of need.

  Eleventh January

  Great excitement at breakfast over a War Office letter appointing Tim to be adjutant of a territorial battalion at Westburgh. Joy somewhat qualified by the fact that we have just taken our house at Biddington for another six months. Betty is delighted at the prospect of going to Scotland, and demands whether there will be wolves at night, and shall we have haggis to eat, and wear kilts? Am horrified at the ignorance of my offspring.

  Bryan, always practical, wants to know how he is to come home all the way from Nearhampton for the holidays; and will it take all day in the train? And if so can he have dinner in the dining car by himself instead of sandwiches?

  Feel dazed at the speed with which children’s minds seem to adjust themselves to new ideas.

  Tim in an excellent humour at the prospect of more pay.

  Self rather depressed at the prospect of hunting for servants in a strange town. (I have done this before, and know what it is.) Shall I or shall I not take Miss Hardcastle to Westburgh? No hope of taking Katie or Annie, as the former has a sick mother in Biddington, and the latter is ‘walking out’ with Tim’s batman. Reflect that I shall miss Bollings, who is always cheery and willing if a little heavy-handed with the crockery.

  Twelfth January

  Wake up with the conviction that something pleasant is going to happen today, and trace this to the fact that Miss Hardcastle is returning from her holiday this morning. Typical case of Absence making the Heart Grow Fonder, as I have never cared much for Miss H., and felt positively emancipated when she went away.

  Bryan and Betty go to the station to meet Miss Hardcastle, and return hanging on each arm. Miss H. seems glad to be back, and is very cheerful and communicative about her holiday. Decide that Miss H. is really exceedingly nice, and capable, and that I must certainly try to persuade her to accompany us to Westburgh. Broach the subject with great tact, only to find that the children told her all about it on the way up from the station, and that the whole thing is settled. (Query What would have happened if I had decided not to take Miss Hardcastle to Westburgh?)

  Spend the afternoon with Miss H. looking over Bryan’s school clothes, and compile a large list of what he requires, which will probably have to be ruthlessly revised on financial grounds. Present Miss H. with some outgrown shirts, shorts, and vests for her small brother, who is reported to be the same age as Bryan only (gratifyingly)not so big. (Query Why should one be inordinately pleased at evidence of immense size of offspring compared to other children?)

  Am so pleased to have Miss Hardcastle back again to put the children to bed that in the fullness of my heart I present her with a perfectly good overcoat – a generosity which I afterwards regret, as I shall now have to buy Bryan a new one, whereas the old one might have had hem and sleeves let down.

  Tim returns from barracks in high spirits because he has been asked by Major Morley to ride his horse Fireguard in a point-to-point. Tim explains that it is essential for him to go carefully over the course before the event, and for this reason he has been asked to go to Midshire the day before the race, and spend two nights with Major Morley’s family.

  Tim says that Neil Watt is as sick as a dog because he thought Morley would ask him, and Fireguard is a topping beast and will probably win the race.

  Betty comes in and asks what a ‘point-to-point’ is. Tim explains patiently, while Betty listens with one ear. Bryan then appears, and is informed by Betty that ‘Daddy is going to ride in a point race.’ He also is anxious for further information about the impending event, but Tim’s limited stock of patience has run out, and he retires behind the Daily Mail, while I try to answer Bryan’s questions in an intelligent manner.

  Betty informs us that she must go to bed, as it is half past six. Am amazed at this sudden attack of punctuality (it usually takes wild horses to drag Betty to bed), and ask with some anxiety if she feels quite well. Betty replies that she feels perfectly well, but Miss Hardcastle has brought back a large box of chocolates, which was given to her by her sweetheart when they spent the day at Brighton, and she promised to give one to Betty if she goes to bed without any fuss. Reflect that this method of dealing with Betty certainly saves trouble, but is exceedingly bad for morals and also for teeth. Decide regretfully that it must cease.

  Thirteenth January

  Miss Hardcastle being on duty, I decide to spend the morning writing to house agents at Westburgh.

  Am interrupted in this necessary task by Nora, who felt she Positively Must come and see me the Moment she heard of Tim’s appointment. Nora is a native of Westburgh, and according to her it is a paradise full of angels. Cheerfulness, friendliness, hospitality, and humour are a few of the virtues to be found in Westburgh in greater profusion than anywhere else in the world. There are good cheap shops, excellent theatres and cinemas, and the scenery of the surrounding country beggar
s description.

  Begin to wonder for the first time whether I shall really like Westburgh as much as I had thought.

  Interrupt Nora’s eulogies with tentative enquiries as to prospect of finding a mansion in Paradise to suit our modest requirements, and am told vaguely that ‘of course there are lots of houses’, and that my servant difficulties are over, as I shall find excellent cooks in abundance with kind hearts and light hands for pastry. Would be more impressed if I could extract any definite information as to how these desirable possessions could be acquired.

  ‘I only wish that Neil and I were in your shoes!’ Nora says, as she rises to go. ‘But of course dear Neil is so frightfully keen on the battalion – it would break his heart to leave it for three years.’ (Tim having told me yesterday that dear Neil sent his name up for the job, but is so darn lazy the C.O. wouldn’t recommend him, I reply with inarticulate noises of admiration for Neil’s devotion to duty.)

  ‘How I envy you,’ Nora continues, pulling on one glove and looking at it pensively. ‘When I think of the lovely time you are going to have. Dear Westburgh is so gay, so cheery, so friendly. Oh, dear, if only the battalion were stationed there what a wonderful time we would have! A Scottish regiment should be in Scotland – at least that’s what I think.’

  Ask again, more urgently, if she can advise me about houses or servants, but Nora obviously can’t. She says that she has been away from Westburgh for So Long – and of course before she was married she never troubled her head with such things. She was much – too busy enjoying herself men simply flocked round her, my dear, it was too awful sometimes. But if I like she will write to Doreen. Doreen is her sister. Doreen knows all there is to know about Westburgh. Doreen is married and lives just outside Westburgh at a place called Kiltwinkle. She has a perfectly wonderful house there, with six bathrooms; her chauffeur has a better house than Rokesby. So lucky for Doreen to be settled for life in a lovely place like that – isn’t it? They have a marvellous Rolls and their grass extends over acres, positively. Ask tactfully whether Doreen’s husband is of very old family, but am told that he is in business which is far better. (This sounds so like an epitaph on a tombstone that I am shaken with internal laughter.)