IT'S ALWAYS LIKE THAT

Evening Star, Issue 25068, 8 January 1944, Page 3

IT'S ALWAYS LIKE THAT

[Written by Mary -Scott, for the ' Evening Star.'] - " Now we'll have a peaceful weekend." said the daughters of the house, as thev waved farewell to their men folk on the evening of Christmas Day. " Onlv women for two whole days—, how restful! " thev chanted and a note of warning sounded iir the mother's heart. She distrusted the sort of restfulness which her daughters enjoyed.. " Life without men would be unendurable," the adventurous daughter summed it up, " but forty-eight hours on our own will be really peaceful." Then the mcthcr kuew that she must expect the worst. Jt took the form of dressmaking, liarly on Boxing Day the breeze stirred which was later to break over the mother's head as a major storm. "As we've simply nothing to do," remarked the eldest daughter casually, " I might lust as well make a start on those two beach frocks. Jt's just as easy as sit—tins; idle." "Well, if you're going tn ' sew." flashed the adventurous daughter with her customary spirit, " I'll have a go at that house coat. Otherwise I'll only liave to do odd jobs for vou —and one can sow and talk, at the same time." (The occupation is vet to be found which will cramp the adventurous daughter's conversation.) The youngest daughter added her quota. '" There's that little piece of print." she said artlessly, "that someone gave me for, Christmas. Perhaps 1 could run that up. It's better to he independent of dressmakers these days." So that was to be the order of the day. The mother knew all ahout these peaceful days of sewing—with the machine going, three daughters talking at the same time, and the wireless shouting full blast. She had also had considerable experience of her daughters' independence, which means entire dependence on their mother, not only for advice. but for practical ' demonstration. .Being not without guile, she said quickly: "What a pity I lost my scissors when I was .putting up Christmas parcels! 1 only hope I didn't enclose them in some package and that I won't get an enthusiastic letiter of thanks. I'm lost without my scissors—otherwise I could have cut out for you." The promptness with which three pairs of scissors were thrust into her hand and three vorces said, " Now wasn't it lucky I happened to put mine in?" convinced her bevoud doubt that the assault was premeditated. V 'Hut it was when the materials were produced that the real nightmare began, for, with much laughter, the eldest and youngest daughters discovered that their prints were identical, while , the adventurous daughter's housecoat differed from her sister's merely in design- and colouring. " Lucky we Hve in different parts ,af the country," they said, "but one of us is sure to end up with the other's sleeves, so we must be careful to keep the patterns and materials apart." The mother had a depressing preview of a day in which materials would be mingled before her dazzled eyes in one horrid kaleidoscope, when -she would probably lose her head and put a gore from the mauve print into the green s>kirt, or the collar of the blue housecoat on to the neck of the scarlet frock.

She took up her scissors and began grimly to cut nut.. a.midst a ba.bel of talk and laughter that would have made the Christmas racecourse -almost a place of peace. There were women, she reflected sadly, who insisted that no one must talk to them while they dealt with intricate patterns, just as there were cooks who demanded their kitchen to themselves while they turned out a dinner. Neither privilege had over been hers, and she had, to a certain extent, accustomed herself to working amidst a battery of talk. a ban-age of noise, and a bombardment of questions. In this helpful atmosphere she proceeded to cut out three frocks and one housecoat in rapid but dazed succession. Even that would have been bearable if the adventurous daughter, running true to form, had not insisted on combining the front of one pattern with the bade of another, the sleeve of a third and the collar of a fourth. " Don't do any hard work, darling," they told her; " just cut. them out and hand us the pieces and we'll stitch them all up; then you can keep all three patterns going at ( the same time without anv bother."

Be it recorded to the family credit that this ambitious programme was fulfilled «-ith only minor casualties. True, one gore of the eldest daughter's frock vanished into thin air (to reappear a jveek later in the form of a fetching dust cap in the possession of the adventurous one) ; but she only remarked philosophically that that was the best of being thiu and mother could easily recut it. There was a breathless second when the youngest daughter did really find herself with one mauve and one blue sleeve, but some manipulation. arr<l the mother's advocacy of " really short sleeves in summer frocks," put that right. 'Hie house coat had a chequered career, during which the sempstress machined like an express train, made mistakes, unpicked, wept with rage, quarrelled with her sisters, roared with laughter, and never for one moment stopped talking. It received its final touches at 11 o'clock on the last night when, the mother having sunk thankfully into a bath, aware with mixed feelings "*of her daughters' departure in the early morning", saw the bathroom door opening a crack and heard a voice asking blandly: "If I were to stick my arm round the door, could you just hop out and pin this cuff into place?" Indignantly the mother hopped.

Their train left at 7, and the station was' So miles away. After the usual departing scenes of extreme violence, they drove through the peace of early morning to a chorus of mutual congratulations. '.' Well, I do think we did well—three frodks and a house coat, and no bother at all." The mother drove on in grim silence. As usual, they just beat the train to the station; as usual, the adventurous daughter—after a. mad scramble in which she knocked off her mother's hat and very nearly departed with her mother's purse—said triumphantly as she climbed into her carriage. " Now, that's the right way to catch a train—no waiting and no fuss." Unfortunately, holiday traffic being unusual, it did not happen to be the right train, and the mother's last "act was to rescue three excited and laughing daughters from three different parts of a long and overcrowded train. "Which simply proves," said the adventurous one, " that mistakes happen if you get there too early." "Thanks so much for the lovely peaceful week-end," they said-as they kissed her farewell. The mother drove slowly home, picked half a packet of pins from the floor, rescued a large darning needle—unfortunate welcome home —from her husband's chair, and reflected that here was peace at last. But peace can be just a little dull.