Henrietta Sees It Through (5 page)

At their yearly concert all is forgiven and forgotten, of course, and the Conductor, beaming with good nature, always waves the Ork to its feet to share in the applause. Afterwards they present him with a little speech of thanks and a fountain pen, which he loses before the next concert. This saves them the trouble of thinking up some other idea. At the last concert, fountain pens being off the market, they gave him six new-laid eggs. One of the second violins told me that when he thanked them there were tears in his eyes.

When I arrived at the hall, the orchestra was already assembled, making all the peculiar noises an orchestra does make when preparing to play.

‘Late, Triangle!' said the Conductor, looking up from the score he was studying.

‘I'm
not
late,' I said indignantly, for I had run all the way from our house in order to avoid this contingency. ‘It's half a minute to eleven.

‘Your seat is at the back,' said the Conductor more kindly, ‘next to the Double Bass. You don't come in at all in the first movement.'

Good. That would give me a whole movement, untrammelled by Pings, in which to study the Ork at work. I threaded my way with difficulty between the musicstands, and took my seat.

‘Now,' said the Conductor, standing up, ‘this is a lovely little work. It starts
presto forte-fortissimo
, and if it isn't played with gusto it isn't worth playing at all, so go to it for all you're worth. I shall count two in the bar. One, two—'

There was a crash of sound. The Ork had gone to it. Bow-arms were moving up and down like piston-rods, eyes were shining and hats askew. Could this really be
sight-reading? The Ork was a marvel! The Double Bass beside me zoomed like thunder, and swaying to and fro, poked me in the cheek with its bow.

‘Ow!' I said.

‘I'm terribly sorry, Henrietta,' said the Double Bass.

The Conductor tapped his stand. ‘What is all this disturbance at the back?' he said.

Poked me in the cheek

The Double Bass explained. ‘Is it bleeding?' said the Conductor coldly.

‘No.'

‘Then don't make a fuss.'

‘It might have been my eye,' I said reproachfully, and moved my chair, knocking over two cello cases as I did so.

The Conductor gave me a look and raised his hands. Off they went again
presto forte-fortissimo
, and then suddenly the music changed, and the first and second violins began a sad little tune in the minor key.

The Conductor tapped his stand. ‘It has changed to the minor,' he said, looking at little Mrs Simpkins reproachfully.

‘Yes, I do,' said little Mrs Simpkins, whose deafness has become a good deal worse lately. ‘Very pretty indeed,' and she nodded and smiled.

The Conductor looked at her and sighed, and then they started again. Little Mrs Simpkins still played in the major
key, and the Conductor stopped the Ork and went and shouted in her ear.

‘Minor?' said little Mrs Simpkins. ‘Just fancy!'

‘We will now go back to letter L,' said the Conductor in a shaking voice, and they started. But whatever dear little Mrs Simpkins was playing - and she played with concentration and determination - it wasn't letter L.

‘L!' shrieked the Conductor in a high voice. ‘L!'

‘I heard you,' said little Mrs Simpkins with dignity. ‘M - M for Mummy.'

Her neighbour pointed out the place with her bow, and they started again. This time they got through to the end, and except for one little disturbance when the piece of velvet ribbon which Mrs Whinebite fastens round her neck with a press-stud came unpopped, and she knocked over three music stands retrieving it, all went smoothly.

At the end, the Conductor mopped his face with his handkerchief. He looked rather white. ‘We will now try the second movement,' he said, and I raised my triangle on high in readiness.

In triangle playing, if you have only three Pings in a whole movement, and each Ping is separated from the next by at least eighty bars, and you aren't very good at reading music anyway, it is extremely difficult to Come In at the Right Time. The Conductor was sitting with his head in his hands, apparently weeping, by the time we had gone through the movement twice. After that I threw my music on the floor and trusted to Womanly Intuition and Memory. After the Double Bass had played three loud zooming notes I Pinged once; when one of the cellos turned round and gave me a Look, I Pinged a second time; and at the bit where little Mrs Simpkins began playing in
flats instead of sharps, I Pinged for the third and last time. This was correct.

The Conductor said ‘Good, Triangle!' and was I proud?

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

July 15, 1942

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

When the war started I decided that anything in the way of relaxation and fun would be wrong, and I spent all my spare time weeding. The result of all this well-doing was that the war became a little wheel which went round and round in my head, and Lady B complained that I had got into the habit of frowning.

‘What do you think about when you weed?' she said to me one day, as she sat and watched me busy among the onions.

‘Well, all down that row I worried about the Linnet, and all down this one I'm worrying about Bill, and for the first three rows I worried about Libya, and for the next two our shipping losses, and——'

‘Stop!' said Lady B. ‘I am an old woman,' she went on, ‘and nobody expects me to do more than knit, but I'd never take a knitting needle in my hand again if I couldn't read at the same time and thus occupy my thoughts.'

‘I wonder if one could read and weed?' I said.

‘Of course you couldn't,' said Lady B. ‘But it's time you snapped out of all this gloom, Henrietta. I think you'd better enter for the Bowling Tournament.'

‘But I haven't played bowls since the war began.'

‘That doesn't matter. I shall enter, too,' said Lady B recklessly. ‘It will be unfortunate for our partners, but good for their self-control.'

Lady B and I entered for the Bowling Tournament. She drew the Admiral as her partner, and I drew Colonel Simpkins. Neither Colonel Simpkins nor the Admiral was pleased, but they generously decided to make the best of it. Lady B and I were, of course, delighted when we found we had drawn each other in the first round as opponents.

‘It's a pity we have to play with four woods instead of two,' said Lady B, ‘but we can soon trundle them down, and then have a nice chat.'

We trundled them down, and the people on the rinks on either side brought them back. The Admiral and Colonel Simpkins became rather red in the face, but said nothing.

‘Now they've got the whole rink to themselves,' said Lady B, settling herself comfortably on a seat. ‘I like your shirt, Henrietta. Where did you get it?'

‘I made it out of some of Charles's old pyjamas. I used the legs for the sleeves.'

‘My dear, how brilliant of you! I often wonder why men wear out the seats of their pyjamas the way they do. The collar's good.'

‘I lined it.'

‘Just pull up your jersey and let me see the back. Yes, it's definitely a success. And the colour is delightful. Charles must have looked sweet in it.'

‘He did rather.'

A shadow fell across our knees, and we looked up to see the Admiral standing before us. ‘Would it be too much to ask you ladies to pay a little attention to the game?' he said in a shaking voice.

‘Well, Admiral darling,' said Lady B, ‘our shots were so terribly bad they didn't really seem worth taking an interest in, if you know what I mean.'

‘And your partners' play is a matter of indifference to you?'

‘Of
course
not,' said Lady B, looking a little guilty. ‘But we feel we can leave it all to you and Colonel Simpkins.'

The Admiral, who admires the Clinging Woman, was slightly mollified by this remark, as Lady B intended he should be. ‘I suppose you wouldn't care to tell us from time to time which shot lies nearest the jack?' he said.

‘But of course,' said Lady B, and she turned her attention, for the first time, to the rink, where eight woods were clustered neatly round the little white jack. ‘It is your shot, Admiral dear, which is lying.'

‘On the contrary, it is Colonel Simpkins's,' said the Admiral gloomily as he walked back to his place.

‘I'm going to try very, very hard this time,' said Lady B to me in a low voice as she prepared for her next shot. Then she took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and sent her wood rolling down the green. It trundled gently along, curved round, and came to rest an inch from the jack. Lady B turned pale and clutched my arm. ‘Henrietta! Look what I've done!' she said.

‘Good shot!' yelled the Admiral.

‘Oh, False Friend,' I said bitterly, and sent down one of my usual ones.

‘Twenty-five yards short,' called Colonel Simpkins sadly.

Lady B, uplifted and inspired, made another brilliant shot which hit the jack and her wood was marked with a cross in white chalk.

Sent her wood rolling down the green

‘I don't think I ever felt so proud in my life,' said Lady B, who had had triumphs in many European embassies.

‘Look at all the people watching,' I said.

‘Don't talk, please, Henrietta,' said Lady B in a remote way. ‘I want to concentrate.'

Lady B and the Admiral won the Bowling Tournament. I went up to see them play their finals. A large crowd had assembled to watch. Lady B demanded perfect silence before she played each shot, and even asked a croquet player on a distant lawn not to make a clicking noise with the balls. Halfway through the game she had a brandy and soda brought out to her from the bar. Just before the end, inspiration left her and she began playing in her old and, to me, more attractive style. But by that time she and the Admiral were so far ahead they couldn't lose.

‘I'm glad I've lost the Touch,' she said comfortably, coming to sit beside me. ‘Being good at games takes all the fun out of them. My dear,
do
look at Mrs Whinebite's hat.'

Always your affectionate Childhood's Friend,

H
ENRIETTA

 

 

 

July 29, 1942

M
Y
D
EAR
R
OBERT

Mrs Savernack gave a party last week. We all brought our own food, and at the end there was a collection for the Canteen; but still, it was a party, and caused more excitement and gave more pleasure than anything that has happened here for a long time.

Mrs Savernack had her cousin, who is a real Cabinet Minister, staying with her, and she asked us all to come in our very best clothes, because of the Cabinet Minister's wife, who, Mrs Savernack said, is considered the Best Dressed Woman in London. You can imagine what a stir that caused but, of course, everybody was simply delighted to have the chance of wearing their very best, because there is a strong feeling down here that, unless particularly requested to do so by one's hostess, any form of Full Fig is unpatriotic.

Everybody rushed to get furs and feather boas out of moth-proof bags, and best frocks, which had been hanging between sheets for at least two years, were taken down and tenderly ironed.

Two days before the party I found Lady B in the Street, breathing wistfully on the glass window of Mathilde, our dress shop. ‘You see that little black hat, Henrietta,' she said. ‘Well, I want it for the party.'

‘Are you sure?' I said, because Lady B always used to get her hats in Paris, and has vowed more than once that nothing less distinguished shall rest upon her head until every German has been driven from the sacred soil of France.

‘Perfectly sure,' said Lady B firmly. ‘I've only made a mistake over a hat once in my life, and that was when I was seventeen. It was made of pale-blue chiffon and had a pink
rose under the brim. It was a terrible hat, but the first time I wore it Henry proposed to me. How odd it is that all the nicest men prefer a bad hat to a good one.'