Hello there,
It's Mandy here.
Welcome back to Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.
M.
Dallefield.
Now,
Rather sadly,
We have come to the very last episode of the book.
I've really enjoyed reading this to you.
I've read it myself before but there's something different in reading it aloud and I hope you've enjoyed it too.
If you'd like some more provincial lady,
Do let me know because she has got several other books.
Anyway,
The main thing is I'd like to thank you for being on the journey with me,
Especially if you've listened all the way through,
As I know many of you have.
Sadly,
Delafield's son,
Lionel,
Died in late 1940,
And this was a tragedy from which she never really recovered.
Her own health suffered.
Three years later,
In 1943,
Delafield died.
She was buried under her favourite yew tree in the Kentish Bear churchyard,
Near her son.
Her mother survived her,
And her daughter,
Who we've heard from in these excerpts,
Emigrated to Canada.
Anyway,
We've reached chapter 34 and before I go ahead,
Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable settling down into your chair or your bed.
Relaxing your hands,
Softening your shoulders.
And releasing the tension in your jaw.
That's great.
So if you're ready,
Then I shall begin.
Chapter 34.
October the 13th.
Continued cold and cough keep me in house and make me unpopular with Robert,
Cook and Gladys,
The latter of whom both catch my complaint.
Mademoiselle keeps Vicki away but is sympathetic and brings Vicki to gesticulate dramatically at me from outside the drawing room window as though I had the plague.
Gradually this state of affairs subsides.
My daily quota of pocket handkerchiefs returns to normal and Vapex,
Cinnamon,
Camphorated oil and jar of cold cream all go back to medicine cupboard in bathroom once more.
Unknown Benefactor sends me copy of New Literary Review,
Which seems to be full of personal remarks from well-known writers about other well-known writers.
This perhaps more amusing to themselves than to average reader.
Moreover,
Competition's most alarmingly literary,
And I return with immense relief to old friend,
Time and Tide.
October the 17th.
Surprising invitation to evening party dancing 9 30 at lady bee's cannot possibly refuse,
As Robert has been told to make himself useful there in various ways.
Moreover,
Entire neighbourhood is evidently being polished off and see no object in raising question as to whether we have or have not received invitation.
Decide to get new dress but must have it made locally owing to rather sharply worded inquiry from London shop which has the privilege of serving me as to whether I have not overlooked overdue portion of account far from overlooking it,
Have actually been kept awake by it at night.
Proceed to Plymouth and get very attractive black taffeta with little pink and blue poses scattered over it.
Mademoiselle removes and washes Honiton lace from old purple velvet every night tea gown and assures me that it will be lovely on the new taffeta.
Also buy a new pair of black evening shoes but she'll wear them every evening for at least an hour in order to ensure reasonable comfort at party.
I'm able to congratulate myself that Great Aunt's diamond ring,
For once,
Is at home when needed.
Robert,
Rather shatteringly,
Remarks that he believes that dancing is only for the young people.
And I heatedly inquire how the line of demarcation is to be laid down.
Should certainly not dream of accepting ruling from Lady B on any such delicate question.
Robert merely repeats that only the young will be expected to dance,
And we drop the subject,
And I inquire into nature of refreshments to be expected at party,
As half-past nine seems to me a singularly inhospitable hour,
Involving no regular meal whatever.
Robert begs that I will order dinner at home exactly as usual,
And make it as substantial as possible,
So as to give him every chance of keeping awake at the party,
And I agree this would indeed appear desirable.
October the 19th.
Rumour that Lady B's party is to be in fancy dress throws entire neighbourhood into consternation.
Our vicar's wife comes down on gardener's wife's bicycle,
Borrowed she says for greater speed and urgency,
And explains that in her position she does not think that fancy dress would do at all,
Unless perhaps poudre,
Which she asserts is different but takes ages to brush out,
She asks what I'm going to do,
But I'm quite unable to enlighten her as black taffeta already completed.
Mademoiselle,
At this,
Intervenes and declares that black taffeta can be transformed by a touch into Dresden china shepherdess.
I'm obliged to beg her not to be ridiculous,
Nor attempt to make me so.
And she then insanely suggests turning black taffeta into costume for A,
Mary Queen of Scots,
B,
Madame de Pompadour,
C.
Cleopatra I desire her to take Vicki for a walk.
But Mademoiselle is wounded,
And much time is spent in restoring her to calm.
Our vicar's wife,
Who has meantime been walking up and down the drawing room in a state of stress and agitation,
Says,
What about asking somebody else?
What about the Kellways?
Why not ring them up?
We immediately do so,
And are light-heartedly told by Mary Kelway that it is fancy dress,
And she is going to wear her Russian peasant costume,
Absolutely genuine,
Brought by a sailor cousin from Moscow,
Long years ago.
But if in difficulties,
Can she lend me anything?
Reply incoherently to this kind offer,
As our vicar's wife,
Now in uncontrollable agitation,
Makes it impossible for me to collect my thoughts.
Chaos prevails when Robert enters,
Is frenziedly appealed to by our vicar's wife,
And says,
Oh,
Didn't he say so?
One or two people have had fancy dress put on invitation cards,
As Lady B's own house party intends to dress up,
But no such suggestion has been made to majority of guests.
Our vicar's wife and I agree at some length that really nobody in this world but Lady B would behave like this and we have very good minds not to go near her party.
Robert and I then arrange to take our vicar and his wife with us in car to party.
She is grateful and goes.
October the 23rd.
Party takes place.
Black taffeta and Honiton lace look charming and I'm not dissatisfied with general appearance after extracting two quite unmistakable grey hairs.
Vicki goes so far as to say that I look lovely but inquires shortly afterwards why old people so often wear black which discourages me.
Received by Lady B in magnificent eastern costume with pearls dripping all over her and surrounded by bevy of equally bejeweled friends.
She smiles graciously and shakes hands without looking at any of us and a strange fancy crosses my mind that it would be agreeable to bestow on her sudden sharp shaking and thus compel her to recognize existence of at least one of the guests invited to her house.
I'm obliged,
However,
To curb this unhallowed impulse and proceed quietly into vast drawing room,
At one end of which band is performing briskly on platform.
Our vicar's wife,
Violet Net and Garnet,
Recognizes friends and takes our vicar away to speak to them.
Robert is imperatively summoned by lady b is she going to order him to take charge of cloak room or what and i am greeted by an unpleasant looking hamlet who suddenly turns out to be miss pankerton Why,
She asked accusingly,
Am I not in fancy dress?
It would do me all the good in the world to give myself over to the carnival spirit.
It is what I need.
I make inquiry for Jasper,
Should never be surprised to hear that he has come as Ophelia,
But Miss P.
Replies that Jasper is in Bloomsbury again.
Bloomsbury can do nothing without Jasper.
I say,
No,
I suppose not,
In order to avoid hearing any more about either Jasper or Bloomsbury,
And talk to Mary Kelway,
Who looks nice in Russian peasant costume,
And eventually dance with her husband.
We see many of our neighbours,
Most of them not in fancy dress,
And I'm astounded at the unexpected sight of Blenkinsop's cousin Maud,
Bounding around the room with a short stout partner,
Identified by Mary's husband as a great hunting man.
Lady B's house party,
All in expensive disguises and looking highly superior,
Dance languidly with one another,
And no introductions take place.
It later becomes part of Robert's duty to tell everyone that supper is ready and we all flock to the buffet in the dining room and are given excellent sandwiches and unidentified form of cup.
Lady B's expensive looking house party are nowhere to be seen and Robert tells me in gloomy aside that he thinks they're in the library having champagne.
I express charitable and improbable hope that it may poison them,
To which Robert merely replies,
Hush,
Not so loud,
But should not be surprised to know that he agrees with me.
The final and most unexpected incident of the evening is when I come upon old Mrs Blenkinsop,
All over,
Black jet,
And wearing martyred expression,
Sitting in large armchair underneath platform,
And exactly below energetic saxophone.
She evidently has not the least idea how to account for her presence there,
And saxophone prevents conversation,
But can distinguish something about Maud and not getting between young things and their pleasure,
And reference to old Mrs B not having very much longer to spend amongst us.
I smile and nod my head,
Then feel that this may look unsympathetic,
So frown.
And shake it,
And I'm invited to dance by Mael Frobisher,
Who talks about old furniture and birds.
House party reappear,
Carrying balloons which they distribute like buns at a school feast,
And party proceeds until midnight.
Band then bursts into Auld Lang Syne and Lady B screams,
Come along,
Come along,
And all are directed to form a circle.
Singular melee ensues and I see old Mrs Blankensop swept from armchair and clutching our vicar with one hand and unknown young gentleman with the other.
Our vicar's wife is holding hands with Miss Pankerton,
Whom she cannot endure,
And looks distraught,
And Robert is seized upon by a massive stranger in Scarlet and Cousin Maud.
I'm horrified to realise that I am myself on one side clasping hand a particularly offensive young male specimen of house party,
And on the other that of Lady B.
We all shuffle round to well-known strains and sing for Auld Lang Syne,
For Auld Lang Syne,
Over and over again,
Since no one appears to know any other words,
And relief is general when this exercise is brought to a close.
Lady B,
Evidently fearing that we shall none of us know when she has had enough of us,
Then directs the band to play the national anthem,
Which is done,
And she receives our thanks and farewell.
Go home.
And on looking at myself in the glass I'm much struck with undeniable fact that at the end of a party I do not look nearly as nice as I did at the beginning.
Should like to think that this applies to every woman,
But I'm not sure.
And anyway,
This thought,
I'm generous,
Like so many others.
Robert says,
Why don't I get into bed?
I say,
Because I am writing my diary.
Robert replies,
Kindly but quite definitely,
That in his opinion that is a waste of time.
I get into bed and I'm confronted by query.
Can Robert be right?
Can only leave reply to posterity.
The end.
