The Terra-Cotta Hat

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXI, Issue 3163, 18 May 1931, Page 7

The Terra-Cotta Hat

THE FEARS AND DREADS OF EUSTACE AND MIRANDA.

It is extraordinary how the merest trifle can affect one's whole life. It may be anything from a banana skin to a ballot ticket. In the case of Miranda Pink it was a hat. If it had been one of those tea-trays trimmed with window-boxes that one meets on the- river, or one of those erections of lace and tulle with which it used to be customary to equip oneself for a tea fight, the whole affair would have been much less extraordinary. But it was simply and solely a hat, and could by no manner of means have been mistaken for a confection or a creation. Had there been the least possibility of such a mistake, Miranda wouldn't have looked at it twice. As house-parlormaid in a refined family she knew her place. The hat lay on a stand between a supercilious nightmare in black veiling and an'accident in puce suede, and for Miranda it had an irresistible and personal attraction. This attraction was affixed to it with a steel skewer and consisted of a ticket bearing the words "keen value. Only 2/6." In front of the case which it shared with twenty-five others was a comforting placard which said: "These bargains can never be repeated." This placard was the only cheering thing' in the shop.

Some of the hats were large, some medium, and some small. There was an enormous variety. Again, some were atrocious, some abominable, and a few merely unpleasant. In the matter of cost, however, Miranda's was away in the front rank. Nor did it by a cunning and deceitful arrangement of farthings make any pretence at being less than its actual price. Two and sixpence it said, and two and sixpence it was.

So far everything was comfortable and satisfactory, and' since Miranda couldn't help knowing that anything short of a fez would become her as well as the inverted string bag which at the moment surmounted her mousecolored locks, it seemed hardly necessary to delay matters trying on. Nevertheless, the spirit of the eternal female caused her to dally deliriously with this prince of bargains before having it consigned to a.brown paper parcel. Accordingly she took off her white cotton gloves, hung her umbrella over a chair, divested herself of the string bag, and placed her purchase on her head. From that moment things began to happen. Now, as she put on her newly acquired concoction of terra-cotta and verdant roses, one of those essentially feminine impulses which seem to men so mysterious and inexplicable caused Miranda to glance in the mirror. She was rewarded by a vision of indescribable loveliness.

Yet she certainly wasn't beautiful

To be frank, she wa«i scarcely pretty. . To be positively crude but enough too, Miranda was not beautiful, but some wonderful dispensation of an allseeing Providence had led her straight to the one and only hat in the world. You wouldn't have glanced at her twice without that hat, and without her that hat was nothing, yet together they were irresistible, overwhelming. The situation was in every way unique, but there was more to follow. Just as Miranda, feeling a trifle dazed, was about to remove her treasure for purposes of packing, the beautiful and bored young damsel who was making out the bill said, "Sane, please," and a haughty and handsome young gentleman with tails approached languidly. Now it was this young gentleman's habit to murmur, "Thenk you, Modom" as he negligently appended his signature, and instantly to turn his back and stroll away as much as to say, "You no longer interest me." Such was the handsome and haughty young gentleman's invariable custom. On this occasion all would been as usual had not the young gentleman happened to look at Miranda. The result was electrifying. Instead of murmuring his customary graceful formula, which would have been an ample, indeed a fulsome acknowledgment of half-a-crown, he suddenly and a&toundingly discovered himself to be saying, "Thenk you very much indeed, Modom, and is there anything further we can do for you to-day?" e It was one of those interesting psychological examples of a subconsciously unanalysable and primitively uncontrollable force breaking through the barriers of a life-long habit. Poor young gentleman! Deeply and properly humbled by his lapse, he turned away and contrived to hide himself until Miranda had left the shop. He was the first, victim of the hat.

Miranda departed homewards in the bag, but she carried herself with a new dignity. She was an entirely different creature. She had tasted ad miration. She felt like a cross between Queen Victoria and Evelyn Laye. However, nobody paid her the slightest attention except two small boys, who sniggered when she fell on her nose through neglecting to observe the kerb. Happily the brown paper parcel escaped damage. Nothing else mattered. For the rest of the week Mirandn was divinely good tempered. She did not try on her purchase again, because she shared her bedroom with the kitchen maid, who was inquisitive. The kitchen-maid was also pretty and condescending. She had a young man and a feather boa and a lisp. Miranda lay low and planned darkly, and whenever she thought of the haughty young gentleman, she smirked, but she did it Inwardly, so that no one noticed.

Every Sunday the kitchen maid, whose name was Elsie, accompanied Miranda to Golders Green Tube Station, where Hhe, Elsie, met her young

man. She used also to wear her feather boa. When she met her young man she used to go off with him to a Sunday concert. He was an exceptional young man of refined tastes. Miranda went for bus rides by herself. Sunday was usually a trying day for Miranda. Not so this Sunday, however. When Elsie had arrayed herself in her feather boa and her new coat, she licked her fingers to assist in the adjustment of her gloves, and waited on the area steps. She waited for ten minutes, which was surprising. Usually Miranda waited for Elsie. When at length she arrived, however, it in stantly became obvious that her un punctuality was not the only surprising thing about Miranda. Far form it. It was destined to be a wonderful Sunday. ' When the exceptional young man of refined tastes saw Miranda in terracotta'and green roses, he mentioned to Elsie that to go to a Sunday concert on such a glorious afternoon seemed to him sheer waste of time. He suggested a bus ride instead. He was the second victim of the hat. He had it badly. Instead of Elsie saying good bye to Miranda, Miranda was obliged to say good-bye very firmly to Elsie's young man. Elsie didn't like it. Naturally. They parted. It was almost immediately after this that Eustace arrived on the scene. He arrived on the top of a bus. It was Miranda's bus. She mounted it. She sat in front of Eustace. Eustace was therefore behind her. For this reason he didn't see her face. He saw her back. He didn't know what she looked like in front, but from the behavior or the bus conductor he was able to draw conclusions.

The bus conductor was confidential to Miranda. He said that he was misunderstood by his mother, and, as a general rule, fancied an egg with his tea. He said also that he often went alone to the cinema,* and owing to a family peculiarity was unable to grow hair of his face. As a matter of fact the conductor was a man of great natural reticence. It was one of the biggest tributes paid to the hat, this impulsive outpouring of the bus conductor's soul. He was the third victim. Eustace was the fourth.

When the bus stopped outside Selfridge's Miranda got down. So did Eustace. As she descended she dropped ner ticket. The conductor picked it up and placed it next his heart. Such was the combined effect of Miranda and the hat.

Miranda now experienced for the first time in her life the delightful sensation of being followed. It was most invigorating. She could have walked for miles. Half-way down Oxford-street, however, the devil entered into her. She began to look at shops. Quite a lot of shops leave the windows exposed on Sunday. Eustace was a patient man, but he swore. He was forced to examine pink underclothing in one window while Miranda gazed rapturously at hats, next door. Once she kept him waiting for ten minutes with averted eyes before an indelicate panorama of corsets. But he was a man of stupendous determination, and fortune rewarded him.

Miranda dropped her handkerchief. It was an extraordinary coincidence, because this same handkerchief was never used at all, but kept in a blue silk bag with a large "M" in diamonds on the handle, and a clasp that pinched your fingers. Still Miranda dropped It. A quarter of an hour later she and Eustace were seated together in Hyde Park, sucking acid drops from the selfsame bag and exchanging life histories. An hour after that they walked homewards hand in hand beneath the lighted lamps. Thus did romance enter the life of Miranda.

A month passed. It flew past. So swift was the flight of this month that it was more like three weeks. For the first time in her life Miranda lived. She began to develop a dual personality. On most days, except for half-an-hour every afternoon during which it was her duty to superintend the constitutional perambulations of the dog, she was her ordinary harmless self, Miranda Jekyl, so to speak. But during those same half hours, hatted and transformed, she was Miranda Hyde, highly dangerous. But those marvellous half-hours: Those glorious half-hours of crowded life! They had a curious effect on policemen. There was one In particular, whose case was hopeless from the first. One day this policeman held up Ave omnibuses, seven taxicabs, and j motor-scooter, in order that Miranda might croßs the road. Her sensations on this occasion were those of unmixed rapture. Then there was the affair of the milkman. When this milkman encountered Miranda on one of her halfhourly outings, arrayed in the hat, he didn't recognise her as one of the damsels who opened the back door to him in the dyspeptic hour before breakfast. She perceived this, and was circumspect in her conversation. She had no desire to be recognised. After one or two of these afternoon encounters, however, the milkman asked her if she could remember having met him before. She maintained that she couldn't. This puzzled him. but he at length arrived at a solution. He happened to be one of those people who dream upon the slightest provoca tion. He became convinced that he had first met Miranda some time ago as the result of an indiscretion with a sausage roll. This idea pleased the milkman. He had a rather romantic nature.

Every Thursday and every second Sunday Miranda met Eustace. On these occasions they walked in Hyde Park, accompanied, of course, by the hat. In four weeks she had three proposals. One was from Elsie's young man. He proposed by parcel post and in assumed handwriting. Elsie never suspected. Ultimately Elsie married

that young man and a piano and a maiden aunt, gone deaf In self-defence, and lived happily at Brixton, and all the children doted on Sunday concerts. The second proposal, was from the bus conductor. He proposed on the top of the bus before two old ladles, a newspaper boy, and a gentleman in a top hat. He proposed all the way from Golders Green to St. John's Wood. He refused to be rejected. It was a poignant scene.

The third proposal was from Eustace. He proposed on a weighing machine at Chalk Farm. Miranda was also on the weighing machine. She was giggling. Miranda in terra-cotta and green giggles—no—Miranda giggling in terra-cotta and green roses, was altogether too much for Eustace. They became engaged. The match was entirely suitable. Eustace was a young gentleman in a green-grocer's emporium. Nevertheless, soon after this, Miranda began to entertain misgivings. She worried. She took to putting the hat away in tissue paper. She dreamt of fires. She neglected her kipper at tea. All this might be attributed to love.. But there was something more. Hitherto Eustace had never seen the wife of his choice indoors. He had fallen in love, not with Miranda alone, but with the intoxicating combination of Miranda and the hat. These were facts. Miranda faced them. She became slightly distrait during the hitherto blissful walks in Hyde Park. Eustace, however, didn't notice. He was becoming slightly distrait himself. He had his secret, too. The web was extremely tangled. At last Miranda confided in the cook. The cook was most emphatic. She said that "handsome was as handsome did, that beauty was only a skin complaint, and that no man worth matching was to be entangled by a hat." In her excitement she became motherly towards Miranda. She ordered her to face Eustace in the string bag. Miranda promised. Poor Eustace! Poor Miranda! Sunday dawned.

It had become Miranda's custom to meet her Eustace at Baker Street Statiori. He lived near Baker Street. They used to bus together at the Marbie Arch. This Sunday she was late. She sighted Eustace from her bus and waved. He didn't notice. This was natural. Eustace was looking for terra-cotta. He glanced at a child in a red tam-o'-shanter, and returned to his paper. It was his custom to read between the buses. Miranda dismounted and approached. She went right up to Eustace. She passed him. She went on walking. Dumb with horror, she crossed the road and took the first bus back to Golders Green. Eustace had shown no recognition! When she arrived home she wrote seven letters and read them to the cook. All these letters said the same thing in different ways. The cook approved of all the letters, but she preferred the second first, and the third last. The second first letter said, "Dearest Eust., you think you luv me but you don't. I can't tell you how I know this but I do. Do not meet me Thursday next becos I shan't be there. I saw you to-day but enough. Hoping this does not find you as it leaves me not at all in the pink your once Miranda."

The third last said, "All is U.P. dearest Eußt. I cannot eggsplain why it is, but it is. You will never see me again, but it is not your fault with regrettable remembrance, Miranda.' The other five letters were not very different. Miranda went to bed. You would naturally have expected her to dream of Eustace and green roses. She didn't She didn't dream at all. She didn't go to sleep. Real life often surpasses one's wildest expectations. Miranda didn't sleep a wink. Poor Miranda! All night she tossed and turned and kicked. Poor Elsie! In the morning Elsie was inquisitive and cross. She demanded to know if it were love or indigestion. Miranda confessed all. She broke down and told everything. Now, Elsie was a sensible girl. Just because she had a feather boa and a lisp it didn't mean that she was silly. She wasn't. She said: "Go on wearing the hat till after the wedding. Once you're married it doesn't matter what you look like bo long as you can cook." Yes, Elsie was a sensible girl and deserved all she got, even the piano. Miranda burnt the letters. Next time she met Eustace she explained that a slight cold had prevented her from keeping their last appointment. Eustace believed her. He suspected nothing. He was too much occupied with his own secret. He suffered acutely. But the more he suffered the more determined he became to marry Miranda as soon as possible. She agreed to this. They concealed their suspense. During their walks, however, as the date approached, they hardly spoke at all. In a way their mutual anguish was convenient. Neither noticed the other's silence. The wedding morning dawned. It was a lovely morning. Miranda arrayed herself in pink velvet and the hat. She was so nervous that her mother smacked her. The smacking braced her up. Meanwhile Eustace's nervousness was just as bad. He gave himself a drop of beer. He had no mother. The day wore on.

At one o'clock the ceremony took place. All brides are lovely. Miranda was still lovelier. Smacks and excitement made her sweetly pink. Poor Eustace, however, was a pathetic sight. Beer and excitement only lent him pallor. They were married. The best man kissed Miranda twice, they couldn't stop him. The curate squeezed her hand, they never knew. The bus conductor stood by the door and suffered, everyone noticed. The happy bride and groom drove away. Miranda and Eustace had long since decided to go to Blackpool for their honeymoon. They went. They had

also decided to be extravagant. They were. Ah, but who is not extravagant at Blackpool, that gay haunt of pleasure where the sea alone costs nothing. Eustace and Miranda had- saved five pounds for this occasion. Five glorious pounds to be spent at Blackpool! What bliss should have been theirs! But no —they spent many shillings and derived no pleasure, they saw everything and noticed nothing. They were miserable ! Eustace thought: "An hour or so and I shall be found out!" Miranda thought: "A few more hours and I shall be discovered!" Together and yet apart these two faced tragedy! , Now it happened that, in the pleasure gardens at Blackpool a travelling showman had erected his tents. Here were a myriad contrivances for gladdening the hearts of men, and amongst these contrivances was a switchback. There is nothing like a switchback for taking you out of yourself. Eustace and Miranda proved it. During the first glorious journey their fears dropped from them like magic. The relief was heavenly. It was impossible to worry when experiencing the exquisite agony of abandoned speed. But the crisis rapidly approached. On the ninth journey Miranda's hat blew off. Eustace didn't notice. He was holding on to his teeth. Violent motion caused them to woggle. These teeth were Eustace's secret. Secrets invariably come out. Eustace's came out at night. When the racer stopped, Miranda's heart followed suit. She felt it to be the most crucial moment in her life. But Eustace looked at her and never turned a hair. He said quite calmly: "Where's your hat?" He simply wondered where it had gone to. He wasn't really interested. With one hand he furtively caressed his bottom plate. It was indeed a marvellous moment for Miranda. To think that she had been dreading this moment for months only to find her dreads quite groundless. Eustace had noticed nothing.

From that moment onwards Miranda ceased to think about herself. Henceforward she did as every wife should do, she thought only of her husband's comfort. She said: "Why don't you take your teeth out, Eust., and put them in your pocket. Or, if you like, I'll put them in my bag.

To think that Eustace had been fearing this* moment for weeks, only to find his fears foundationless. It was almost, too glorious to be true. He pocketed his shame. With mutual joy and admiration these two surveyed each other. Marvellous Miranda! Ecstatic Eustace! Heavenly Honeymoon!