Oh, so’m I, never hit a ball in my life, except sometimes into the net.
After which encouraging preliminaries they settle down to a perfectly good game.
Just After a Sett.
A HOSTESS. Now let me see — who hasn’t played? Will you play, and you, and — let me see — you haven’t played at all yet, have you, Margery?
MARGERY (with two racquets, a bandeau, and all the appearance of being a tournament champion). Oh, I’m quite happy looking on. In fact, I really would rather. What about Mrs. Jones?
MRS. J. (quite obviously blue with cold from prolonged sitting still). Oh no, no, really not. I’m so dreadfully bad — do play instead of me. I’ll play later, if I may, when everyone else has had a turn.
GENERAL CHORUS. Oh, do play instead of me ... do let me look on for a little while ... yes, really, I’d so much rather.... (Until one longs to know why any of them have troubled to bring racquets or shoes at all, if the only thing they really want to do is to sit still and look on....)
THE HOSTESS (after seven or eight minutes of this contest in unselfishness). Then, Mrs. Brown, if you’ll play with Captain Jones, and Mrs. Jones with the Rector, I think that ought to be quite a good sett.
General Impression that she does not really think this, nor indeed does anybody else, but has merely selected, in despair, the four people whose resistance is most nearly worn down.
MRS. BROWN }
MRS. JONES } I’m afraid you’ll find me frightfully
CAPTAIN JONES } feeble, partner.
THE RECTOR }
Or words to that effect, as they hasten on to the court, which has been empty for the last twenty minutes or so.
A PLAYER WHO LIKES TO WIN. Send that girl as many back-handers as possible, partner — she simply hates them. And when you’re serving to the Rector, I should pitch them rather short, if I were you — he can’t get across the court very quickly.
At Tea.
THE MOTHER OF A DAUGHTER.... And as I said to her, it really is ridiculous to talk of not having enough to do down here, when there’s tennis in the summer, and the Girl Guides, and any number of garden fêtes and Jumble Sales and so on, going on practically the whole time, besides the dances and things at Christmas....
General Impression that We’d better go out on to the lawn again, perhaps, as they’ll have finished that sett now — a movement encouraged by the Hostess, who knows that a fresh supply of Plates and another Kettle are waiting to be rushed on for the second instalment of Tea.
*
Practically every Hostess in the Countryside: My dear, I can’t tell you what it’s like, trying to get up a tennis party ... there are simply NO MEN to be had.
GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A LADIES’ COMMITTEE MEETING
Regrettable, and not even original, simile relating to Parrot-house at the Zoo — but this painful General Impression immediately dispersed when the hour strikes and the chairwoman takes her seat, giving place to admiration for such perfect punctuality.
A MEMBER (rather defiantly, in an undertone). I suppose we can smoke? Men always do. (Lights up.)
General Impression that this is a perfectly logical attitude. The Smoking Member is supported by half a dozen others, and the atmosphere would be even more masculine than it is, if so many of those present did not produce little blue or pink or purple pocket-combs and make use of them, carefully placing their hats on the table — where they become inextricably entangled with Agendas and Memos and Things.
THE CHAIRWOMAN. I will call upon the Secretary for the Minutes of the last meeting.... Oh, I think I’d better read them myself, if nobody minds, because poor Miss Kay has such a cold. Will that be all right?
General Impression that it will.
A COUNTRY MEMBER (who has a little dog upon a chain concealed under the table — suddenly and sharply). Hush!
Tendency on the part of the whole Committee to look under the table and exchange indulgent smiles.
After some Discussion.
AN EMPHATIC MEMBER. You see, what I feel so strongly is, that if we do anything of that kind, we’re simply bringing discredit on the Whole Movement, and Ruining our own Cause. That’s really all I mean.
General Impression that she could hardly have been expected to mean much more.
A DIFFIDENT MEMBER. I must say that I do, in a way, see the point of what the last speaker has just said, although of course one knows so well that there’s more than one side to a question, so to speak. I mean to say, isn’t there?
THE CHAIR (not unreasonably). Are you speaking for the Resolution, or against it?
THE DIFFIDENT MEMBER. I really don’t feel we’ve fully thrashed it out yet, quite, in a way.
A MEMBER (who has an engagement elsewhere, suddenly and strongly). I move that the question be now put.
General Impression that this is worthy of the best masculine business traditions.
THE CHAIR. We want to consider our Leaflet, too, and especially that paragraph on page 2 about propaganda.
A MEMBER (who, judging by appearances, is almost certainly a University Woman). There are no less than two split infinitives in that leaflet, and the whole thing ought to be rewritten.
A universal rustle indicates that the Split Infinitives are being pursued by the other members of the Committee, — some of whom, alas, will fail to recognize them when they do find them.
After a Financial Statement.
THE TREASURER. ... so that our balance in the Bank amounts at present to one hundred and six pounds fourteen shillings and eightpence.
Subdued applause, quelled by the usual qualifying clause that invariably follows any announcement relating to any balance on the credit side.
... Out of which we actually have to pay office rent, fifty pounds, expenses of the Show, twenty-four pounds three shillings and tenpence, and to meet an account for wear and tear of office furniture in the past six months, amounting to four pounds two shillings and three halfpence.
General Impression that the more ingenious members of the Committee can work out quite an interesting problem from the question: How, exactly, is wear and tear to office furniture computed? And what, exactly, was the three-halfpenny worth of damage?
THE CHAIR. ... Then, if that meets your point, Mrs. Way, I think we can put it to the vote ——
A VOLUBLE MEMBER. Ah, but I think there, again, madam chairman ——
A gradual depression descends upon the Meeting as the Voluble Member goes on and on, and the hour of whatever meal is due draws nearer and nearer. Even the little dog of the Country Member begins to fidget, and is not, this time, requested to Hush!
THE VOLUBLE MEMBER (at the close of a most eloquent speech). And that, really, is why I ask you to vote for this resolution.
Resolution voted for with entire unanimity and much pushing back of chairs. General Impression prevails, however, that this mightn’t have been so, in spite of the Voluble Member’s eloquence, if the session hadn’t been quite such a long one, and hadn’t taken place on such very uncomfortable chairs.
GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A COUNTRY AUCTION-SALE
General Impression — founded on several printed Notices affixed in and out of doors — that the Sale will begin in Room No. 1 at 2.30 Sharp. Gradual waning of confidence as time passes and nothing at all happens. By 3.15 the entrance to Room No. 1 is securely blocked by people.
A RAUCOUS VOICE. The Auctioneer will now put up for sale the first Lots in Bedroom No. 8, up the stairs. Please don’t push. There isn’t any call to push, I assure you.
Call or no call, pushing prevails, and presently some hundred people more than it can reasonably accommodate are wedged into Bedroom No. 8.
The Auctioneer, wearing a tweed suit and a bowler hat, is standing like a rock on a very high stool, and two men in aprons, with arms bared to the elbow, are hovering solicitously near, as though to catch him if he should later on overbalance into the crowd.
THE A. Now, ladies and gentlemen, we want to get to business, a
nd I warn you that I’m not going to ‘Ang About. I’ve some very nice little lots here, and I don’t intend them to ‘Ang About. The articles will go to the highest bidder, and once more I warn you, there’ll be no ‘Anging About. Here we have lot No. 1, Solid Deal Chest of Drawers, in excellent condition. Just lift up Lot No. 1, will you, Albert?
Lot No. 1 is heaved into sight, minus its drawers, by Albert and his companion.
A NAÏVE VOICE. Why, wherever is the drawers?
THE A. Just lift up them drawers, will you, Albert, I want everything perfectly straightforward and above board. Pleasure, madam, I assure you.
General Impression that this amiable view is not shared by Albert and Co.
THE A. Now, who’ll give me a start for this Solid Deal Chest of Drawers? This is good, pre-war stuff, this is ——
A VOICE IN THE CROWD. ‘S matter of fac’, I was with Old Williams when he bought that chest, a matter of four and a half months since ——
THE A. Now then, gentlemen, please, now then, I shan’t ‘Ang About, what am I bid for this chest of drawers, I’ll start anywhere you like, what shall I say, shall I say a pound, a pound am I bid, we won’t ‘Ang About, start at ten shillings, if you like, shall I say ten shillings....
A TIMOROUS VOICE. Nine and sixpence.
THE A. Thank you, sir, nine and sixpence, nine and sixpence am I bid, shall I make it ten shillings, come, come, gentlemen....
The Chest of Drawers gradually climbs up the scale of value till it stops at three pounds two shillings and sixpence, and is knocked down at that figure.
THE A. Lot No. 2, Quantity of Books, one Enamel Slop-pail, Milking-stool, and Roll of Linoleum.
General Impression that it would be interesting to know on what system these particular objects have been inseparably grouped together — which becomes intensified later on when a further Lot appears, consisting of Zinc Hip-bath, Framed Engraving of the Late Prince Consort, Quantity of Felt Strips, and Mahogany Pedestal Cupboard in Good Condition.
Downstairs.
THE A. (now completely in the swing of it, and more determined than ever that there shall be no ‘Anging About). Circular-top Marble Table, as described in the catalogue — one pound am I bid one pound shall I call it a guinea thank you twenty-four and sixpence, thirty shillings, thirty-two and six, thirty-five shillings, it’s against you at the door madam, thirty-seven six, forty am I bid....
And so on, apparently deriving information as to bids from the wink of an eye or the turn of a head, until a General Impression gets about that it isn’t safe to stir a finger in his direction.
AN OLD HAND. No use hoping to get anything really good here, I don’t expect, as the Dealers have been poking about. They’ll come anywhere on the chance of picking up some really old stuff — anywhere.
A FACETIOUS SPIRIT. Tell ’em to go for the Wool Mattress in Lot 285, then. That’s old enough for anybody.
A GENTLEMAN WHO HAS BEEN OUTBIDDEN. That fellow must have been a dealer, you know. That’s what they do — they make a Ring, you know — simply a Ring — no one else has a chance.
General Impression that he doesn’t really know what he means by this mysterious accusation, but that anyway the Dealers are an unpopular feature of the Sale, and They oughtn’t really to be Allowed.
A LADY WHO HAS RATHER LOST HER HEAD. O Charles, that sweet little stool! I really must have that. Couldn’t I bid for it, Charles?
THE A. (fixing her with a compelling eye). Oak Jacobean carved antique stool, now this is probably a collector’s piece, shall I start at a pound, one pound, going at one pound, twenty-five shillings, thirty, thirty-two and sixpence — you’ll lose it, madam, shall I make it two guineas — thank you — going at two guineas ——
And so on, until the Lady has been hypnotized into acquiring the Stool at something approaching five times its actual value, without so much as noticing that it is, as usual, inexplicably coupled with One Aluminium Frying-pan, two Waste-Paper Baskets, and one Child’s Wicker Armchair, with two castors missing.
Scene closes in, as Albert and his mate hold up to admiration an American Parlour Harmonium and two China Mugs, leaving everybody in a state of heat and exhaustion, except the indefatigable Auctioneer, still repeating in a voice of cast-iron:
“Gentlemen, I’m not going to ‘Ang About over this little lot, what shall we say for a start?” — and so on until we do say something.
GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A BANK
First, perhaps rather unfortunate, General Impression distinctly reminiscent of the Zoo, with a number of bored-looking animals strongly confined behind a high grill. Second General Impression, also reminiscent of the Zoo, that those behind the grill are completely indifferent to the requirements of those on the other side.
Effect of colossal and business-like ink-wells, and handsome supply of penholders laid along the counter.
A CLIENT (needless to say, female). Oh — would you mind cashing this crossed cheque for me, please — fourteen shillings and sixpence three-farthings? It seems an odd sum, in a way, but it just gets my balance even. I’m funny in that way, I’m afraid; I do like my balance to be an even sum.
General Impression — (perhaps derived from the expression on the Head Cashier’s face as he meticulously counts out this remarkable sum?) — that this is not the only way in which the client is “funny”.
In the Manager’s Office.
AN EARNEST YOUNG GENTLEMAN (who has asked for an interview, but does not appear to know how to get on with it). Perfectly marvellous weather, isn’t it?
THE MANAGER. Yes, indeed, Mr. Bates. Quite wonderful.
MR. B. (unhappily). That’s what I think. Wonderful.
THE M. (encouragingly). I often think the British Climate is very much maligned.
MR. B. Rather! Oh yes — rather.
General Impression that if he isn’t helped, he will go on like this all day.
THE M. Anything I can have the pleasure of doing for you, Mr. Bates?
MR. B. (starting in false astonishment). Oh yes — by Jove, I’m glad you reminded me — there was a little matter — I — I think I had a letter from you, about my overdraft or something ——
THE M. (disregarding Something as a mere puerility — which indeed it is). Would you like me to ascertain for you Exactly How Things Stand, Mr. Bates?
General Impression that they both of them know to a fraction Exactly How Things Stand — or, more probably, do not Stand — but that amenities had better be preserved.
Later in the Day.
A CONSCIENTIOUS YOUNG CLIENT. I just called because I wanted to explain about my account. You see, I’m afraid you’ll think I’m overdrawn, and of course I am in a way — at least if the Gramophone Record People pay in my cheque at once, I am. But I thought I’d better tell you that it’ll be all right, because it happens to be my birthday next week, and I always get a cheque for five pounds from my father, and if I send it to you immediately, that’ll put me straight again. But till then, I’m afraid I’m about one pound six shillings and a few pence, I don’t know how many, overdrawn. If the Manager says anything, will you explain to him, please?
THE CASHIER. Certainly, madam.
General Impression that the Manager will, at all costs, be reassured on this subject before there is any serious danger of the Bank closing down. The Conscientious Young Client withdraws with effusive thanks, and an air of relief.
In the Manager’s Office once more, Mr. Bates having departed in great disorder, and an Elderly Gentleman with a Bald Head having succeeded him.
THE E. G. So you see it’s a mere temporary accommodation — simply a matter of convenience.
THE M. Quite, quite. Now in regard to security, Sir William....
General Impression that the crux of the matter has here been reached.
THE E. G. (airily). Ah, yes. Well, there, to be perfectly candid with you, I find myself in a slightly anomalous position. As a matter of absolute fact — actually — it’s hardly convenient, at the
moment, for me to do very much, as to securities.
THE M. (with unabated suavity). I quite follow you, Sir William. Quite. Now — if I may ask — exactly how far are you prepared to go?
General Impression that he knows, and Sir William knows, that the latter is prepared to go exactly no distance at all, and that the consequent negotiations are likely to be fraught with difficulties for all parties concerned. As, indeed, is too often the case in these post-war days in which we live....
GENERAL IMPRESSION OF THE JANUARY SALES
First General Impression — which subsequently, one regrets to say, has to be modified — that the usual jokes as to the resemblance between a Sale and a Football Scrum are now completely démodés; an almost sinister politeness prevailing amongst those present. (There are, as usual, about a hundred customers to one sales-lady.)
1ST PERFECT STRANGER. Excuse me — I’m afraid this is your piece of net?
2ND P. S. Oh, it doesn’t matter at all. I was really only looking at it.
General Impression that she must — judging from the condition of the piece of net — have been looking at it with both hands, and a strong set of teeth.
AN EXPERIENCED SALES-GOER. I’ll take the navy coat and skirt in the window marked three guineas, and the red evening cloak in the same window, and half a dozen of these towels and three of the shop-soiled Hose Bargains in the Ladies’ Wovens on the second floor, please. Would you kindly get down the Wovens at once, please, while I look after these other things?
(The result of this masterly firmness is that she is at once attended to, and moreover places her purchases upon the only chair visible anywhere in the vicinity, and sits down upon them.)
An Inexperienced Sales-goer, on the other hand, is left repeating timidly at intervals: I wonder if I might trouble you to let me look at a hat in one of the windows, please? — without receiving the slightest notice from anybody at all.
In the Millinery Department. Briskness, almost amounting to violence, prevails.
A MATRON. But these are all so drab. What’s the scarlet one, over there? Or that little gold turban?
Collected Works of E M Delafield Page 595