Henrietta Sees It Through (19 page)

Picked up a corner of her apron

‘He was a dear little boy.'

‘They both were. It's hard on their father, losing both his splendid sons.'

Then there was a silence. I turned the fish over and there was a great spluttering. ‘Hake does spit so,' said Mrs Admiral. Then she said, ‘We're not telling anybody, because of the croquet this afternoon.'

‘But surely you'll scratch?'

‘No, dear. Mrs Whinebite is so very keen, I really couldn't let her down. Besides, I'd like to be occupied. But if people knew about - about Teddy it might make them feel uncomfortable.'

The Lawn Tennis, Croquet and Bowling Club was looking very lovely that afternoon in the August sunshine, and there was quite a little crowd watching Mrs Admiral and Mrs Whinebite playing together in the finals of the Croquet Doubles. I arrived just in time to see Mrs Whinebite make a smashing hit across the whole length of the lawn, and then proceed to go through a lot of hoops.

‘Ah - Triple Peel,' I said, as I sat down beside Lady B. I always say ‘Triple Peel' when I find myself near a croquet lawn, rather like people who go to Meets on foot and say, ‘Not much scent today, Master.'

After performing wonders with four croquet balls and fastening several coloured clips to her behind, Mrs Whinebite came and sat beside Lady B and me in a special chair marked PLAYER. ‘I'm playing the game of my life,' she said in a low voice, ‘and it's just as well, because poor Mrs Admiral can't do a thing.'

Some Visitors from the hotel wandered into the club and paused on the far side of the croquet lawn. Every woman, except Mrs Whinebite's opponent, who had just missed the Stick, immediately lost interest in the game and feasted her eyes hungrily on the Lady Visitor's duck-egg linen suit. ‘My dear,
croquet
!' said the Lady Visitor to her companion. Then she gave a little scream. ‘Oh! And bowls, too! How sweet! Of course, these people simply don't know there's a war on!'

The Admiral dropped his pipe on the grass. As he stooped to pick it up he laid his hand for a moment on Mrs Admiral's knee.

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

*
A few weeks previously Henrietta had won her battle with the Billeting Officer and been issued with a cheerful family of three.

 

 

 

October 4, 1944

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

Perry is getting very old. His little muzzle is quite grey, and his eyes have a film over them. Charles and I try not to think about him being fourteen, for we love him, although he hardly ever shows us any kindness and becomes more overbearing and masterful every day.

Now that he is old, you'd think that the Walkie question might have become easier; but not at all, dear. Although Perry can no longer go for long walks, his idea is that he should go for a great many short ones instead, and at regular intervals during the day he scrapes the calves of my legs with his sharp little claws as I pass, and looks at me,
something near to pleading in his protruding and arrogant brown eyes.

His favourite walk is along the Parade to the barbed wire at the River Mouth, behind which are the notices saying DANGER. He and I were proceeding in this direction, at a slow pace and with many pauses after tea today, when we met Mrs Savernack. ‘That dog's getting old, Henrietta,' she said.

‘Only fourteen, Mrs Savernack.'

‘That's ninety-eight,' said Mrs Savernack. ‘Look at his eyes. You ought to have him put down.'

Perry gave her a look of cold dislike.

‘He's perfectly healthy,' I said.

‘ “Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware of giving your heart to a dog to tear,” ' said Mrs Savernack, with more sympathy than usual.

‘I didn't know you read poetry,' I said.

‘I don't,' said Mrs Savernack. ‘That's the only poem I know, and I don't know all of it, and I don't know who wrote it, but it's got more sense than most.'

Saddened by this conversation, we walked on until Perry met a puppy. The puppy was mongrel, female and would obviously, when grown-up, be no better than she should be. In the meantime she practised her wiles on the old gentleman in black and tan. Perry, like most old gentlemen, was flattered by these attentions; his tail began wagging so fast that it became a blur, and he even attempted a little mild frisking.

I was just wishing Mrs Savernack could see him, when the puppy darted roguishly through the barbed wire. Perry followed her, and there they were on the land marked DANGER, surrounded by landmines. ‘Perry!' I shouted. ‘Come back at once!'

Perry, not for the first time, ignored my command. The puppy licked his nose and ran round him three times. Perry, a victim to mental and physical giddiness, stood rocking on his feet.

‘Come here, you Silly Old Man!' I cried angrily, and began weighing Perry's life and mine in the family balance. The puppy rocketed away still deeper into the danger zone, and Perry followed her, gallantly ignoring his rheumatism. I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. When I opened them Dick Sand-Eye was standing beside me. Dick Sand-Eye is an elderly soldier who has permanent and obscure duties in our village, and has endeared himself to the inhabitants by his cheerful demeanour and his rendering of ‘Paper Doll' as he goes in and out of a hut which has been built for him just outside the DANGER area at the River Mouth. He is called Dick Sand-Eye because he once got some sand in his eye, and had to go about for several weeks with a pink shade over it.

Perry, not for the first time, ignored my command

‘If anything happens to me,' I said, clutching Dick Sand-Eye's arm, ‘I want you to give my husband my love, and say I have
always
realised that he is too good for me.'

‘Now, now, Lady,' said Dick Sand-Eye in a soothing way, ‘you mustn't create like that.'

‘I'm not creating.'

‘Yes, you are,' said Dick Sand-Eye, ‘you're leading-off a fair treat. I don't know what the trouble is between you and your husband, but if it's Another Woman, my advice to you is - ignore it.'

‘But——'

‘There's always a chance of a man coming back, provided his missus doesn't create and lead-off.'

‘But——'

‘Lots of elderly gentlemen likes a little fling before it's too late, so to speak.'

‘Yes, but——'

‘But nine times out of ten it doesn't amount to a row of pins.'

‘Look here, Dick Sand-Eye——' I said loudly.

‘Fancy you calling me that, Mrs Brown!' said Dick Sand-Eye, looking pleased.

‘My husband isn't having a love affair with anybody. At least, if he is I haven't noticed.'

‘Then why go and drown yourself?'

‘I——'

‘Drowning's a horrible death. All your past life comes before you, they say.'

‘But, look here——'

‘Quite apart from the disgrace, and not being buried in concentrated ground. That is, if they find the body.'

‘But I don't
want
to drown myself!'

‘Then why the Farewell Message?' said Dick Sand-Eye, looking disappointed.

‘I'm going in there to fetch my dog, and I may get blown up by a mine.'

‘There aren't any mines. We pooped them off a long time ago. Last February, to be exact. Didn't you hear them?'

‘Well, as a matter of fact, I thought they were bombs.'

‘So there's no cause for Sweet Adews, after all.'

‘Really,' I said crossly, ‘you might take down the notices. And, anyway, what's the point of filling the place up with mines and then pooping them off again?'

‘Search me,' said Dick Sand-Eye, shrugging his shoulders.

At that moment the puppy came scuttling back through the wire, followed, in a more dignified manner, by Perry. Dick Sand-Eye said he was on his way to our house to have tea with our Evacuees, so we all set off together. At the end of the Parade the puppy met a young and handsome corgi and disappeared up the cliff path.

Our Evacuees kindly invited me to tea, too, and we had a very pleasant time. In the middle of tea, Bob said: ‘I say, Mum, you've registered with Mrs Brown, haven't you? We're coming here for all the wars, aren't we, Mum?'

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

November 1, 1944

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

Last week posters appeared up and down the Street which said, ‘GIVE A GOOD BOOK IN AID OF THE RED CROSS'. I was pleased when I saw them, for I thought it must mean that books of a religious nature were needed, and as I haven't got any it absolved me from all responsibility.

To part with even one of the tattered and incongruous volumes which form what I am pleased to call my library is, for me, worse than losing a front tooth. Sometimes I wake in the night and writhe to think of the books I have lent to
people and never seen again. Once I groaned aloud and woke Charles. ‘What is the matter, Henrietta?' he said. ‘Have you got a pain?'

‘No, Charles, but I keep thinking of that copy of
Barchester Towers
which I lent somebody and never got back.'

‘For crying out loud!' said Charles, and went to sleep again.

So I was rather dismayed when I met Mrs Savernack, who was running the Good Book Drive, and she said, ‘Now Henrietta,' and pointed at one of the posters.

‘The only Good Book I have is
The Pilgrim's Progress
,' I said, ‘and it belonged to Charles's mother.'

Pointed at one of the posters

‘Don't be silly, Henrietta,' said Mrs Savernack, who prefixes nearly all her remarks to me with these words. ‘Any sort of book will do. Goodness knows there's enough literary rubbish in your house!'

Saddened by this conversation, I went home to look at my books, and ran my fingers lovingly along their well-worn backs. No, I'd be damned if I'd give away any of my old friends. They might as well ask me to give Perry away to the Red Cross, or even Charles. Then Conscience raised its ugly head. ‘No Doodle-Bugs,' it whispered, ‘and you can't even spare a book.' I sighed, and went back to the shelves and took one down.
The Princess and Curdie
, only a kids' book, after all, and Bill and the Linnet grown up. But what about
grandchildren? ‘Not on your life!' I said loudly, and put it back and took down another.
Elegant Woman
- not the sort of book one read, but ah! the delicious illustrations! I put it back.
Brush Up Your French
; that had been on the shelf a good many years, and had I brushed up my French? No. But one never knew. Any moment it might become imperative that my French be brushed up - after the war -
après la guerre
- or was it
le guerre
? I put it back.

But next morning I did manage to wrest a few volumes from the shelves and took them down to the Good Book depot. As I handed them in I felt like a mother delivering her children to an orphanage.

‘Is that all?' said Mrs Savernack, in a grudging way.

Books were stacked all over the floor and on the counter. On a shelf in the corner I saw a complete edition of Fielding. I took one down; it was bound in calf, and as I held it in my hand little shivers went up and down my spine. ‘What's going to happen to these books?' I asked.

‘Pulp,' said Mrs Savernack.

‘But it's monstrous! It's frightful! It's a crime!' I cried, getting red in the face. ‘Here we are stuck down here: no theatre, no music; the only thing which stops us from becoming screaming savages is books, and now——'

‘Pulp, all pulp,' said Mrs Savernack, who dislikes books as some people dislike cats.

‘Do go away, Henrietta,' said Mrs Admiral. ‘You really are terribly in the way.'