A COMEDY OF A CHRISTMAS DINNER

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4032, 5 January 1932, Page 2

A COMEDY OF A CHRISTMAS DINNER

[By Beatrice Lillie (Lady Peel), the “ star ” iu 4 Chariot's Masquerade,' at the New Cambridge Theatre, Loudon.] (From General Press Ltd.) [All Rights Reserved ]

When I admit that this is a story connected with the servant problem, perhaps all your illusions about the stage will disappear, if you had any. Assuming you had cherished any ideas about the glamour of the profession, you might be surprised to know that wo have our domestic problems. But remember, even actors and actresses go home sometimes. Very well, then, this is a Christmas tale about some friends of mine who ha 1 one. They had always had one; but the particular incident to which I am referring had the merit of wiping out all the others. In the course of ton years’ married life they had given board and lodging, use of telephone, piano, bath —and eventually wireless—to a series of alleged servants, who included members of every cult ending in “ ism ” or “ ist.” kleptomaniacs, nicotine fiends, and young ladies upon whom they must have had extremely elevating influence, since the longer thyv remained, the more aristocratic they—the young ladies aforesaid—became.

When the last of the captains and the queens departed—saying that she was going to take a rest cure with her sister who “ kep’ three maids ” —they bade her a cheerful farewell, and advised her not to forget to tip the fifth footman when she had completed her cure. After that Queeuie settled down to clean out baking tins, discard decrepit dripping, and generally reconstruct her home. She wasn't sorry to have this to do, for at the moment she had nothing better to occupy her mind except the hope of a sonbrette’s part in a forthcoming musical comedy. Ronald, the lord of the menage, also had hopes of something in the same show. Just about here I could take another turning, were 1 a fiction writer, *and tell you how they hung on day after day waiting for their hoped-for jobs; but fiction is not my profession, and the fact is that no sooner had Queenie got down to burnishing baking tins and deciding that life wasn’t at all bad when there was no servant to live up to, than tl. ’ Great Man whom they had mentioned in their prayers twice nightly sent for her and Ronald and gave them their jobs. After the joy of the engagement subsided, Queenie said: ‘‘That means another of ’em!” And Ronald said, with truly masculine detachment: “I suppose so. ’/hat about lunch and a bonfire?” Queenie said she wouldn’t insist upon the bonfire if she could have grilled sole,. asparagus, and a rum omelette.

While they were having lunch Queenie remarked: “If only she doesn’t smoke in bed I shan’t mind.”

“Who? What?” replied Ronald. “ Oh, you mean our new thing-a-me-jigl Well, if she doesn't smoke in bed she'll probably be addicted to hot water bottles that burst, or morphia, or something. I don’t see that it matters much anv wav.”

Queenie did, however, and hurried home and drew up an optimistic: advertisement, “ Mewed ” a taxi to get it in the paper in time, and settled down to await results.

The results arrived the next day, with newspapers clutched in their hands, and expressions which blended pity with defiance on their faces. There were ten of them, to be exact. With railway, bus, and tram fares and vague promises Queenie quickly disposed of nine optimistic inefficients. This left one. She was seated on what she eventually insisted upon calling the “ ’all cheer,” balancing a neat little toque or. her head, the said toque being surmounted by the plumage of what once must have been a verv fine bird.

“ Oh!” said Queenie, “ you’re left I

The plumes became animated. “ Yus,” said their owner, “I’m left!” What happened then 1 don’t know, because Queenie protests that she herself never knew. She only remembers that after five minutes’ conversation she had engaged, or been adopted by, Mrs Nightingale.

It was extremely kind and friendly of Mrs Nightingale, for she said to Queenie; “ Gall me ‘ Gale.' It's shorter and more sensible, some’owl” (Queenie trusted it was not more appropriate, but didn't sav so at the time.)

It would be a very ordinary ending if i told you that “ Gale ” did justify her adopted appellation; but we are by no means at the end yet. Far from being tempestuous she was docile to a degree, and she brought tears to Queenie’s eyes twice a day at least by saying that “ at last, thank ’eaven,” she had got “ a uonie." This sounds very delightful; hut, alas! in the course of Mrs Nightingale’s achieving “ a nome,” Queenie and Ronald had lost one, for the exponent of the toque was a monument of inefficiency. She didn't smoke in bed, but site burnt the bacon. She was no alien to any sort of cult that she didn't even believe in hygiene. The unlimited use of the bath was no privilege to her, for it is doubtful if she realised its purpose since the flat was equipped with a coal bin.

As Christmas approached Ronald's mind inevitable turned towards food.

The bacon that morning was in the nature of a ceremonial, being a “ burnt offering.” As he swallowed hard lie said: “ How did you get her?”

Queenie replied: ‘‘l ! ve told a thousand times. 1 didn't get her. She got me. She says this is ‘ a nome.’ ” “ Well, it won’t be hers for long,” commented Ronald heartlessly.

“ Oh. Ronald," said Queenie, “ how can wet With Christmas coming and all that! And she came just when our luck had turned, you remember. That makes me superstitious.” “If die stays here much longer,” said Ronald, pushing a plate of cinders aside, “ we shan’t live to enjoy our luck, so you can please yourself.” Suddenly he sat up and thought. “My hat f” he added. “ Can you imagine a Christmas dinner cooked by her? Turkey a la char! That’s good! Oh, 1 know all about the Christmas spirit and so on, but hasn’t the old thing got somewhere to go? Hasn’t she any friends or relations or something? Look at her Sunday hat! Her niece must have made that. You don’t buy them!”

“ All right,” said Queenie, “ I’ll sound her and see if she’s got anybody belonging to her, and let that settle it.”

The “ sounding ” process elicited the information that Airs Nightingale had a sister who was a “ reg’lar worrit,” but who constantly yearned for her company—company which the “ worriting ” one was well able to afford, since she was the relict of a “ hundertaker wot did pore funerals cash down and no bother about collecting it after.” This information strengthened Queenie in her decision that Airs Nightingale would be better off where plumes were de rigueur, and she said as much to Ronald.

“ I've thought it all out,” she explained. “We can’t hurt her feelings, poor old dear, because she’s/so attached to us; so let’s say we’ve got to go away—away ’ ’ “ Where?”

“Let’s say we’re going to America,” suggested Queenie, brightly. “All successful theatrical people go there, according to the papers. And in any case she never knows much about that sort of thing.”

“All right, then,” said Ronald, “fix it your own wav!”

Queenie proceeded to “fix” it, fix being an appropriate word, for Mrs Nightingale, upon receipt of the joyous news, remarked that nobody could be more glad than she was; that they were dear young people, and that “their ’ouse ’ad bin a nome”; and that they deserved all they got. (This last remark might have savoured of ambiguity coming from one less definitely well meaning.) She added that she hoped they had got a “ contract,” because you never knew with Americans ; and she supposed they were going to let the fiat, in which case she wouldn’t mind “taking on” the other people, although they wouldn’t be “ so ’omely,” she feared. Queenie explained that she was going to let the flat to a very peculiar couple of friends who were so peculiar that they preferred to do their own work. Anybody hearing Queenie’s dark hints, and listening to a rough summary of the mythical couple, might have gathered that they spent their days minting false coin, and their nights in opium orgies. Anyhow, it had the desired effect upon Mrs Nightingale, for she sniffed and expressed a hope that at least “ they wouldn’t do no damidge to the furuitchnre.” Queenie rapidly explained—anticipating an offer from Mrs Nightingale to “pop in” occasionally and look at the “ furnitchure ” —that, in spite of all their faults (and they were many) the incoming tenants were exceedingly careful about furniture; ridiculously careful.

Mrs Nightingale was convinced. She said that even the worst of us had our good points; that the world was a small place; and that plenty of men who drank didn’t starve their children. She added that she had nothing left to do but help them pack, see them off, and go to her sister until they came back and wanted her again. “Oh. Gale dear,” said Queenie, “ yon must go to your sister now. I’m an awful messy packer, and the place will be like a jumble sale when I’ve finished!”

“ You bet it will,” said Mrs Nightingale, “ and that’s why I’m going to stop and see you all tidied up. Wotever them as is coming is, they oughter ’ave a clean start, 1 says!” Queenie communicated the lay of the land to Ronald, who, with a masculine grasp of feminine tenacity, said: “That settles it. We must pack!” “ But packing’s not all,” wailed Queenie: “she’s going to see us off! And she will. People with toques always sec others off and send their love to Alice.” “Then we must be seen off!” said

Ronald. “If we’re seen off, we shall have to go—somewhere,” protested Queenie. “ We’H have to go to Southampton,” said Ronald; “but I’d go there and back three times for decently-cooked bacon and a clean bath!” Suddenly he had an idea. “Let’s fix our departure for Christmas Day,” he said. “She’ll never bother to see us off then. We’ll just get into a taxi and ride round the park.”

Bui they had reckoned without their Mrs Nightingale. Christmas Day though it was, she escorted them to the station. She called them “my dears,” and asked them to drop her a “p.c.” As the train drew out of the station, Mrs Nightingale and her plumes waved violently.

Having arranged the tiling so thoroughly. they had selected a non-stop to- Southampton. It you've had a Christmas dinner in Southampton when you wanted to he at home, there isn't much tor me to tell you about that aspect of the situation. Next day they went back to the shack and entered by slow motion. All was well. Queenie sat down at her writing desk, and Ronald said: “What are yon doing? Advertising for another of 'em? Chuck that for to-day, anyhow. Let's get Christmas over in peace !'' “Cood lord!" said Queenie. “I'd quite forgotten about another. No: I was writing a ‘ p.c.’ for a girl I know in New York to post. It’> to our nightingale. I've said they like us so much that we’ve got a ten year's ‘eontrack ' !"