Thursday Tea-time
‘Trefaldwyn’, Shrewsbury
Dearest,
Your letter arrived with an avalanche of correspondence on my bed this morning. At least to my half-asleep brain it seemed that everyone under the sun had written to me, but actually it was only five.
I’m glad to hear you have found the definite cause of your morning sickness. Now it’s absolutely up to you yourself and I’m going to tell you off according to a wife’s rights if you don’t cut down that smoking!
Being Thursday I can’t take hours over this letter, so I’d better get down to business. About this weekend. After due thought I have decided to come on Saturday and return Sunday night. Michael has definitely been in a most lively mood this week and has just discovered a new form of torture. He seems to be trying to “pull Mummy’s leg” or something – anyway, he’s playing hell with my legs. As it is I’m doing far too many trains and buses every day, and I really don’t think it would be wise to do two sixty-mile journeys on Sunday with all sorts of emotional strain sandwiched in between. Don’t you agree? I’m not getting squeamish about myself – it’s the kid I’m thinking of, and he’s not giving me a chance to forget him this week!
My best train on Saturday seems to be one leaving at 2.15. I change at Rock Ferry and arrive Liverpool Central at 4.8pm. Can you meet this? Drop me a line to reach me by Sat morning. If you definitely know that you can’t be at Central at this time, I could have some tea in town and you could meet me somewhere after that. You see, I think it’s going to be of inestimable value if we can arrive at Limedale together. It will impress on the family that WE are a family, whereas if I arrive alone and you follow later it will give them the impression that it’s just me and the baby, with you quite out of the picture. I’m sure you’ll see the sense in this. You mustn’t blame Mother for trying to make plans and give orders. When you’ve looked after a person for 21 years and have had a hand in every move in that person’s life, it must be hard to realise that the said person has got a husband to take care of her. THAT is why I think it is essential we should make our first appearance en masse – father, mother, and (I hope) invisible child. (Sounds like some new form of the holy trinity, doesn’t it?)
If you should discover on Saturday that you can’t possibly be at the station then, leave a message at the club. Then if you are not at Central by, say, 4.30, I’ll ring the club. I’m determined not to go home without you because it will make such a bad impression.
Your letter sounds just a little afraid that I’m going to allow myself to be talked over by other people. Oh sweet, don’t you know me better than that? Don’t be afraid, darling – it’s “us” now and no one is going to arrange our lives for us.
News from home is a mingling of good and bad. Chris is just as I thought she would be. No word from her but Mother describes her as being “sullenly wild” about the situation, and warns me not to expect a hearty welcome from that quarter. (We must get a reserve – there’s one of my knitting team gone!) I can quite see her point of view. It’s not just this affair – it’s a matter of years. Although she and I have never had one quarrel there has always been a terrific undercurrent of bitterness and jealousy against me. It must be damned hard, when you’ve had a more or less humdrum existence and been a blameless daughter, to see all the affection suddenly going out to the black sheep. Mother has stated definitely that she is with me, and if anyone in the house is against me, they must also be against her.
In the morning’s letter she seems to be getting over the first shock and says she is going to spread the report that we were married secretly last May. Aunty Amy is the only relative who has been told the truth. As she is also aunt to the Gregson family who do this sort of thing so monotonously, she should be used to it.
Margaret has also reacted according to my prophecy. (Margaret is my brother’s wife, in case you think she’s my cousin.) She sends her love to “the three of us” and says we can rely upon her to do her utmost to help in any way possible (what a pity she’s a lousy knitter!) She also remarks cheerfully that the pangs of childbirth will be nothing to the mental agony I must have already undergone! I’m inclined to agree with her, too. I asked that she should tell me the truth about Mother as I had a feeling everyone was trying to spare me. Mother is all right now, apparently, but collapsed completely physically and mentally on Tuesday morning. I certainly can’t complain that Margaret has spared me anything. She fairly goes into details! Mother was evidently a raving lunatic for a few hours, shrieking that she knew I would die. There was more than that but I’ll spare you. Margaret finishes up on quite a cheerful note and says Mother is fine now. So altogether it was a bittersweet sort of letter. Margaret as an ally is good though, and I’m jolly glad of the way she has taken it.
Thank Arthur Jones for his message and his marvellous compliment! I’m looking forward to hearing from him, and I’ll also be deeply interested to hear about the interview with Norman.
We are developing our forces aren’t we!
Yes, I have told Mac, and I’m really glad I did. As I told you, one can trust him. He’s full of admiration for my acting ability. He has advised me about the Sloane side of the question, and helps me in all sorts of odd little ways during the day. I’ll tell you all he said when I see you, and don’t let me forget to include the interlude in the conversation where Sloane put his head in the office and made some wonderfully appropriate remarks.
By the way, I’ve just discovered that Mac was born and educated an R.C. but chucked it up a few years ago! Consequently he is in a particularly good position to see every side of my question. If you do manage a day or two here, before I hie me to your bed I would like you and Mac to have a drink together. He is really a great help.
Well, dear one, I must get back now. We’ve all had a stiff week. One chap is on holiday and the tonsil person is still nursing himself and says he won’t be back for another three weeks. He’s had three already. I do wish it were possible for someone to put that lad in the family way!
By the way, the R.C. priest when I called about a wedding, made a flat refusal to see me yesterday! Previously he was most matey. What do you make of that?
I MUST go now. Do try and meet that train. Till Saturday, my darling, and your son (who is juggling with my kidneys at the moment) sends his filial affection.
Bye, my own,
Stella
Sep 171936