Henrietta Sees It Through (3 page)

Then one day I did wear them. I always thought they would make their début at Bill's or the Linnet's wedding, or possibly the Peace Celebrations, but actually I wore them
on the day our boiler burst, because by seven thirty p.m., with no drink in the house, civilian morale was running distinctly low, and silk stockings seemed the only things that could possibly raise it. Oh, the lovely, smooth, silky sheen of those stockings! I don't care what anybody says, lisle thread never gave a woman leg-assurance yet. When Charles came home, he found me swooning in an ecstasy.

‘Look, Charles! Look at my lovely stockings!'

‘Very nice. Your legs are your only claim to beauty, Henrietta.'

‘But they're
real silk
, Charles!'

‘Take care you don't get a ladder,' said Charles, in a killjoy sort of way.

‘Don't be silly, Charles,' I said. ‘How could I get a ladder just sitting in a chair?'

In the middle of dinner I laid down my knife and fork and stared across the table.

‘What's the matter?' said Charles

‘What's the matter?' said Charles. ‘Have you got a pain?'

Something had gone ‘Ping!' at my knee and then run down my shin like the stroking of a gentle finger. But I had had my hour.

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

*
Evensong was one of Henrietta's two dailies. The other was called Matins.

 

 

 

March 25, 1942

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

We are in the middle of Warships Week. There have already been two processions, and I wouldn't like to say how many raffle tickets I have bought and lost, but, as the Conductor says: ‘Better to have bought and lost than never to have bought at all.'

Yesterday we had a Grand Variety Concert - in fact, two Grand Variety Concerts, because we had the same one twice, once in the afternoon and once in the evening. Lady B and I went in the afternoon, as she isn't allowed out at night because of her cough. As we settled ourselves into our plush tip-ups, we thought how nice it was to be sitting comfortably in the audience instead of working behind the scenes, as we generally do on these occasions. The hall was about half-f of our usual matinée audience, which enjoys itself in its own quiet way, and claps gently with its gloves on. Lady B and I, who have endured many such an audience from behind the footlights, took off our gloves and prepared to co-operate heart and soul with the performers but when Quartermaster Sergeant Black from the Camp came onto the stage and announced his intention of making us sing, I knew we were in for trouble.

‘ “The king was in his carnting-'ouse, Carnting aht his money,” ' sang Quartermaster Sergeant Black, with appropriate gestures and, I am sorry to say, to a hymn-tune.

‘Now just get on your feet and sing that,' said Quartermaster Sergeant Black genially.

There was a deathly silence and no one moved an inch.

‘Come ON!' said the Quartermaster Sergeant, and I thought I detected a note of panic in his voice as he gazed down on our grey and nodding heads.

Lady B and I stood up. So did the Admiral, who must have felt that the honour of his home town was at stake. Following his good example, a few more people got sheepishly to their feet, including Colonel Simpkins, who stood stiffly to attention.

‘Now, come ahn,' said the Quartermaster Sergeant, wisely ignoring the sitters. ‘All together, and
with
gestures.'

‘ “The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,” ' we sang in quavering voices, and clawed obediently in the air above our heads.

‘That's better. “When dahn came a blackbird,” ' said the Quartermaster Sergeant encouragingly.

‘ “When down came a blackbird.” ' We flapped our arms and bent our knees.

‘If they
knew
how silly they looked!' said Mrs Whinebite in a loud voice just behind me.

‘Dahn you go!' shouted the Quartermaster Sergeant. ‘Lower dahn! There's only one lady going dahn properly.'

There was indeed. It was Lady B. Serene, and completely unselfconscious, she was sitting on her heels in the gangway, then her rheumatic ankle gave way, and she sat on the floor.

The Quartermaster Sergeant's turn provoked loud applause. Everybody, except the singers, had enjoyed every minute of it, but the Quartermaster Sergeant's bow was for Lady B alone.

After that came our Star Turn, a real professional singer, imported by the Conductor. At the end of her last delightful song the Admiral stepped forward and, with a courtly bow, presented her with a large bouquet of red carnations. There was a gasp from the audience, for we don't give those sort of bouquets down here, and little Mrs Simpkins whispered that they had cost a shilling each. Everybody who was near enough to hear this startling piece of information
immediately began counting the blooms, and the singer, after a graceful little speech of thanks, offered her bouquet to be auctioned for the good of the cause.

For the second time that afternoon there was a deathly silence. I was just wondering whether I could possibly afford fifteen shillings out of the housekeeping when the singer said brightly: ‘I bid three guineas.'

We sat in stunned silence which seemed to last for hours, until it began to look as though our charming guest was going to have to pay for her own bouquet. Then the Conductor poked a white face out of the wings and croaked: ‘Three pounds ten.'

‘Three pounds fifteen,' said Lady B, who knew the Conductor couldn't afford it. I whispered that I would pay half and made a lightning decision to sell Aunt Eva's brooch.

‘Five pounds,' said the singer, with a dazzling smile.

‘Five guineas,' said Lady B faintly, and clutched my arm.

‘Going, going, gone!'

‘Going, going, gone!' shouted the Admiral hurriedly, and banged on Mr Savernack's hat as though it were an auctioneer's table.

The bouquet was handed to Lady B. Just for a moment we gazed upon its loveliness and sniffed its fragrance, and then she handed it back to the singer. Lady B does everything in style.

Lady B came back with me and we brewed ourselves some strong tea. After three cups each the milk gave out, but by
that time we were feeling a good deal better. All the same, we decided that the next time they get up a Grand Variety Concert we're going to be in it, even if it is only noises off or pulling the curtain up and down.

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

April 8, 1942

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

When I was taking Perry for his walk on the cliff path yesterday, I met Mrs Savernack hurrying down the hill, looking flushed and excited.

‘I believe he's a spy,' she said, in a low and mysterious voice.

‘Who?'

‘That old man over there,' said Mrs Savernack, rolling a round and excited eye in the direction of a seat on the edge of the cliff.

I looked and saw a benevolent old gentleman with a white moustache, gazing out to sea. He was wearing uniform. ‘He looks all right to me,' I said.

‘He probably would,' said Mrs Savernack, with withering scorn. ‘Anyone would look all right to you unless they were doing the goose-step. Now, we'll walk past slowly, and you must take a good look at him.'

We walked past slowly. ‘Well?' said Mrs Savernack.

‘Do people have wound-stripes on their arms nowadays?' I said doubtfully.

‘Of course they don't!' cried Mrs Savernack. ‘And they don't have rank-badges on their cuffs either,
or
breeches
and leggings. Now we'll go back again.'

We walked past again, even more slowly this time, and the old gentleman began to look rather uncomfortable.

‘His medal ribbons are in the wrong order!' hissed Mrs Savernack into my ear.

‘How clever of you to know!' I said, with deep admiration.

Mrs Savernack gave me a pitying look. Just then the old gentleman took out his handkerchief and blew his nose with a loud, trumpeting sound. ‘He's signalling to a submarine!' said Mrs Savernack, her voice shaking with excitement.

A benevolent old gentleman

‘Surely they'd never hear that under water,' I said.

‘My good fool!' said Mrs Savernack. ‘Now we'll go and sit down on the same seat, and draw him into conversation.'

‘I shall laugh!'

‘Don't be feeble, Henrietta.'

We approached the seat. The old gentleman, who had noticed our interest in him with increasing embarrassment, got up and went and sat on another seat, leaving his newspaper behind him. ‘He reads the
Daily Telegraph
, anyway,' I said, ‘and what could be more respectable than that?'

‘It's a blind,' said Mrs Savernack, and began walking firmly up the hill towards him.

The old gentleman, with a hunted expression on his face, got to his feet and hurried down a side turning which leads to the Street. ‘Run, Henrietta!' shouted Mrs Savernack.
‘Take a short cut through the Admiral's garden. I'll hold the fort this end.'

The Admiral was digging a trench for beans as I rushed down the path. ‘What on earth are you doing, Henrietta?' he said, leaning on his spade.

‘It's a spy!'

‘God bless my soul! Where?'

‘Going down Sea Lane to the Street.'

The Admiral dropped his spade and padded down the path behind me. At the bottom of the garden we leant over the wall and saw the spy approaching at a jog-trot. He was blowing a bit, and kept looking furtively behind him. ‘Give me a hand,' I whispered to the Admiral, and put one leg over the wall. The Admiral, with a groan for his lumbago, lowered me into the road, where I fell at the spy's feet and twisted my ankle. The spy gave a yell, and began rushing back to the cliff path, but there Mrs Savernack barred the way like an avenging angel. With great spirit he turned in his tracks, and before I had time to get to my feet, ran past me down the road again and into the High Street, where he disappeared round the corner.

‘The only thing to do now', said the Admiral, ‘is to organise a systematic search,' and we decided to begin with the hotel.

When we arrived we went straight to the bar, and there, sitting on a high stool with his back to the door, drinking whisky and talking to one of the Lady Visitors, was our spy. We gave each other triumphant looks and crept in on tip-toe, and took our places at the bar just behind him, where we could hear what he was saying.

‘And how is your granddaughter?' said the Lady Visitor.

‘Prudence? She's all right,' said the spy, ‘but she
will
use my clothing coupons.'

‘What a shame!' said the Lady Visitor.

‘And what she doesn't use her mother does,' said the spy. ‘I lost five good suits in the Blitz, and now I'm reduced to wearing the uniform I had in the last war.'