Mrs. Tim of the Regiment Read online

  Mrs. Tim of the Regiment

  A Novel

  D.E. Stevenson

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Author’s Foreword

  January

  February

  March

  April

  May

  June

  A Note on the Author

  Imprint

  Author’s Foreword

  to the Story of the Christie Family

  by D.E. STEVENSON

  The four books about Mrs. Tim and her family were republished during 1973 and early 1974, and the author was asked to write a foreword.

  The books consist of:

  1. Mrs. Tim of the Regiment

  2. Mrs. Tim Carries On

  3. Mrs. Tim Gets a Job

  4. Mrs. Tim Flies Home

  The first ‘Mrs. Tim’ was written many years ago (in 1934). It was written at the request of the wife of a professor of English history in a well-known university who was a personal friend. Their daughter was engaged to be married to an officer in a Highland Regiment. Naturally enough they wanted to know what it would be like and what she would be expected to do.

  There was nothing secret in my diary so I gave it to Mrs. Ford to read. When she handed it back, Mrs. Ford was smiling. She said, ‘I read it aloud to Rupert and we laughed till we cried. You could make this into a very amusing book and call it Leaves from the Diary of an Officer’s Wife. It just needs to be expanded, and you could pep it up a little, couldn’t you?’

  At first I was doubtful (it was not my idea of a book), but she was so persuasive that I decided to have a try. The result was Mrs. Tim of the Regiment. By this time I had got into the swing of the story and had become so interested in Hester that I gave her a holiday in the Scottish Highlands with her friend Mrs. Loudon and called it Golden Days.

  The two books were accepted by a publisher and published in an omnibus volume. It was surprisingly successful. It was well reviewed and the sales were eminently satisfactory; the fan-mail was astonishing. People wrote from near and far saying that Mrs. Tim was a real live person; they had enjoyed her adventures immensely and they wanted more.

  But it was not until the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939 that I felt the urge to write another book about Hester Christie.

  Mrs. Tim Carries On was easily written, for it is just a day-to-day account of what happened and what we did and said and felt. The book was a comfort to me in those dark days; it helped me to carry on, and a sort of pattern emerged from the chaos.

  Like its predecessor, the book was written from my own personal diary but this time there was no need to expand the story nor to ‘pep it up’ for there was enough pep already in my diary for half a dozen books.

  It is all true. It is true that a German plane came down on the moor in the middle of a shooting party and the two airmen were captured. It is true that German planes came down to low level in Norfolk, and elsewhere, and used machine guns to kill pedestrians on the roads. Sometimes they circled over the harvest fields and killed a few farm labourers and horses. Why they did so is a mystery. There could not have been any military objective in these manoeuvres. People soon got used to it and were not even seriously alarmed but just took cover in a convenient ditch like dear old Uncle Joe. Perhaps the German airmen did it for fun? Perhaps it amused them to see old gentlemen rolling into ditches?

  An American friend wrote to me as follows: ‘Your Mrs. Tim has made us think. We have been trying to imagine what it would be like to have a man-eating tiger prowling around in our back-yard.’ She had hit the nail on the head for, alas, the strip of water which had kept Britain safe from her enemies for hundreds of years had become too narrow: The tiger was in our back-yard.

  To me this book brings back the past so vividly that even now – thirty years later – I cannot read it without laughter and tears. Laughter? Yes, for in spite of the sadness and badness of Total War, the miseries we suffered, and the awful anxieties we endured, cheerfulness broke through at unexpected moments and we laughed.

  When they were first published, these four books about Mrs. Tim were all very popular. Everybody loved Mrs. Tim (everybody except the good citizens of Westburgh who disliked her intensely). Everybody wanted to know more about her and her friends. But the books have been out of print and unobtainable for years. I was pleased to hear that they were to be republished and that they would all be available again. I was particularly glad because together they contain the whole history of the Christie family and its friends. Taken in their proper sequence, readers will be able to appreciate the gradual development of Hester’s character and the more rapid development of Tim’s. As the years pass by there is a difference in the children; Annie and Fred Bollings become more adult; Jack and Grace McDougall, having weathered serious trouble, settle down peacefully together. The Christies’ friends are very varied but all are interesting and unusual. We are introduced to the dignified Mrs. Loudon; we meet Pinkie, an attractive young lady whose secret trouble is that (although seventeen years old) she does not feel ‘properly grown up, inside.’ But, in spite of this, Pinkie makes friends wherever she goes. Her circle of friends includes all the young officers who are quartered at the depot and is enlarged by the arrival of Polish officers who have escaped from their war-shattered country and are billeted in Donford while they reorganise their forces and learn the language. There is a mysterious lady, swathed in Egyptian scarves, who is convinced that in a previous existence she helped to build the Great Pyramid. There is Erica Clutterbuck whose rude manners conceal a heart of gold, and two elegant American ladies who endeavour to persuade Mrs. Tim to go home with them to America so that they may exhibit her to their friends as ‘The Spirit of English Womanhood’.

  Several picnics take place. Some are enjoyable, others not, according to the weather conditions and the feelings of the assembled company.

  But the chief interest is to be found in the curious character of Tony Morley and his relationship with the Christie family. At first he seems to Tim and Hester a somewhat alarming personage. (To Tim, because he is a senior officer and fabulously wealthy: he drives a large and powerful car, owns a string of racehorses, and hunts several days a week. To Hester, because he talks irresponsibly and displays an impish sense of humour so that she never knows whether or not he means what he says.) Soon, however, they discover that beneath the surface he is a true friend and can be relied upon whenever the services of a friend are urgently needed. We find out how he uses his tact and diplomacy to smooth the feathers of a disgruntled cook and show her how to measure out the ingredients for a cake with insufficient weights. We learn how he helps Hester to save a naval officer from making a disastrous marriage and how he consoles and advises a young husband whose wife has deserted him. We are told of Colonel Morley’s success with a battalion of raw recruits, how he wins their devotion, licks them into shape, and welds them into a satisfactory fighting machine by imbuing them with the necessary esprit de corps. We see him salute smartly and march off at the head of his battalion en route for the Middle East. Knowing his reputation for reckless courage, Hester wonders sadly if she will ever see him again. But apparently Tony is indestructible. He has survived countless dangers and seems none the worse. He pops in, out of the blue, at Rome (where Hester, on her way home from Africa, is seriously embarrassed by her ignorance of the language). Tony Morley arrives in his usual sudden and unexpected manner. By this time he has become a full-blown general and, having learnt to speak Italian from an obliging enemy, is able to deal adequately with the situation. He also deals adequately with a little misunderstanding at the War Office where he sees a friend and pulls a string or two for Tim.

  Meanw
hile the Christie children, Bryan and Betty, are growing up rapidly. In fact they are ‘almost grown up’, and, although they are still amusing and full of high spirits, it is obvious that they will soon become useful members of the post-war world.

  We meet them at Old Quinings where their mother has managed to find a small house for the summer holidays. Here, also, we meet Annie and Fred Bollings, Grace McDougall and her boys, an old-fashioned squire with a pretty daughter, a school teacher whose unconventional views about free love are somewhat alarming, and a very good-looking young man who is studying medicine but is not too busy to open gates for a fair equestrienne. We meet the amiable Mrs. Daulkes and the far from amiable Miss Crease whose sharp eyes and caustic tongue cause a good deal of trouble to her neighbours. Another unpleasant visitor is Hester Christie’s landlady, the wily Miss Stroude, who tries to bounce Hester and almost succeeds, but once again Tony comes to the rescue in the nick of time to defeat Miss Stroude and send her away ‘with her tail between her legs’.

  Betty says, joyfully, ‘This is the best holidays, ever’ but Hester’s pleasure is not complete until the arrival of Colonel Tim Christie from Africa. Now, at last, she is happy with all her beloved family under one roof.

  I cannot finish this foreword without voicing the grateful thanks of Mrs. Tim to her many kind friends in America, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand who sent her parcels to augment her war-rations. The parcels contained tins of fat, packets of tea and sugar and dried fruit, bars of chocolate, and boxes of candy for the children. These generous presents were shared with friends and were worth their weight in gold.

  January

  First January

  Tim wakes up very peevish after last night’s celebrations in Mess (how strange the after effects of enjoyment on the human frame!). He reminds me that his Aunt Ethel is coming to dinner and to spend the night on her way to Dover and the Riviera. Reminder quite unnecessary, as Aunt Ethel’s visit has been a cloud on my horizon ever since it was arranged in November.

  Tim enjoins me to ‘give the old girl a decent dinner’, but is not helpful as regards details. When pressed he suggests lamb, which, I point out, is unprocurable at present, except in frozen form.

  Tim replies that ‘all that’ is my job, and that he can’t think of food in any form this morning, as his head is like a boiler-room, and what on earth are the children doing – there might be half a dozen of them from the noise.

  Rush downstairs and try to keep the children quiet at breakfast, which is difficult owing to a fall of snow, and the thrilling prospect of a snowman in the Square Gardens. Betty says it is going to be as big as a real man, and Bryan with his mouth full of bacon tries to say ‘Bigger’ with disastrous consequences.

  Miss Hardcastle has gone away for a fortnight’s holiday, which adds to the hilarity. Reflect on the annoying habit of governesses in general, and Miss H. in particular, insisting on holidays at inopportune moments.

  Pack the children off as soon as possible, shod with Wellington boots and armed with a broom and a large coal shovel.

  Tim as yet unshaven and clad in a dressing gown, but somewhat soothed with strong coffee is embarking on toast and marmalade when Mrs. Benson is seen approaching the hall door. He mutters maledictions on colonels’ wives and disappears upstairs (looking like the Hatter, with a piece of toast in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other).

  After an hour of Mrs. Benson I feel inclined to agree with Tim, that colonels should be celibate. The more so as I find I have consented to take charge of the Women’s and Children’s Christmas Tree and Tea Party, which is to take place on the fourteenth, Mrs. Benson being obliged to go to a matinée in town on that day with her father-in-law, recently returned from Australia.

  Accompany Mrs. Benson to the door and find that Bryan and Betty have brought in four friends who have been helping to make the snowman, and they are all eating Golden Sovereign Oranges (at threepence each), which I had intended for dessert tonight. Smile and say that I hope they are nice, while making a mental note to speak tactfully to the children about it after the visitors have gone. Difficult subject, as it clashes somewhat with tenets of hospitality, generosity, and unselfishness which I have endeavoured to inculcate.

  Aunt Ethel arrives at teatime in Rolls Royce and is conducted to the spare room, which really looks exceedingly cosy with curtains drawn and a bright fire. Feel that my efforts for her comfort deserve a word of recognition, but none is forthcoming. Remark brightly that Richard is dining with us tonight, ‘so we shall be a nice little family party.’ Aunt Ethel replies that she remembers seeing my brother at the wedding, in a tone that leaves me in some doubt as to whether her recollections of him are entirely pleasant.

  Bryan and Betty appear and kiss Aunt Ethel dutifully, and accept a popgun and a jigsaw puzzle (belated Christmas presents) with ill-concealed disappointment; Tim having raised their hopes (in my opinion unwisely) of more acceptable gifts. Can sympathise with their feelings when I am presented with a pink silk pincushion very hard – which I cannot help considering an unfair return for a flat black morocco handbag with zipper fastening. Remind myself that it is impossible to live for ever, even if you spend every winter upon the Riviera, and am able to thank Aunt Ethel for her gift with appropriate enthusiasm.

  Dinner is a somewhat trying meal. Annie loses her head, and hands the potatoes to Aunt Ethel minus a spoon. She realises her mistake, rushes to the sideboard, and returns with the necessary utensil which she presses into Aunt Ethel’s nerveless hand muttering, ‘ ’Ere it is.’

  Talk feverishly about the weather, which wireless has prophesied will ‘continue unsettled and stormy’, quite forgetting in my excitement that Aunt Ethel is crossing the Channel on Monday. Meanwhile, Annie, who is completely demoralised by her mistake, proceeds to denude the table of cruets and mats before she has served the plum pudding.

  Can see Tim looking at me in an imploring manner, but feel it best to take no notice of Annie’s unusual procedure.

  Richard, on whom I was depending for dash and sparkle, is in his gloomiest mood, his best story having been completely spoiled by Aunt Ethel’s inability to see its point.

  We retire to the drawing room, and find the fire in the last stages of dissolution. A rubber of bridge passes a difficult hour, but it is not an unqualified success in the way of entertainment, as Aunt Ethel can never remember what is trumps and Richard revokes twice from sheer boredom.

  Richard now produces a flat box, which he gives me, saying it is my Christmas present, and he is sorry it is a week late. I open it, and find a large diary bound in red leather with a lock and key. Am overjoyed at the prospect of being able to record my secret thoughts without fear of detection. Joy somewhat dampened by Richard remarking that in his opinion we ought all to keep a record of our doings, however unimportant they may be. Aunt Ethel tries to soften this remark by saying she is sure that dear Hester does her best, and, after all, we can’t all be indispensable, and at any rate she would be much missed by the dear children if anything were to happen to her. Damned with faint praise I remove myself and my diary to the privacy of my bedroom, where I proceed to write up the first day of the New Year.

  Second January

  Aunt Ethel breakfasts in bed a fortunate dispensation of providence, as the children are very full of life this morning. Remind myself that high spirits is a sign of health which enables me to bear with them, in spite of a slight headache, doubtless due to a large helping of plum pudding last night.

  Visit Aunt Ethel to see if she has all she requires, and find that she has brought her own eiderdown, pillow, and sandbags for door and window. Also that the mysterious sounds heard by Tim and self during the night, and at first attributed to burglars, and afterwards (doubtfully) to the next-door cat, must have been Aunt Ethel moving her bed into a less draughty corner. Express much sorrow and solicitude for lack of amenities in the spare bedroom. Aunt Ethel replies that it is high time that Timothy and I had a comfortable home of our own. Agr
ee fervently and hopefully, but nothing more is said on the subject.

  Aunt Ethel then Rises and Descends (only capital letters can adequately describe her movements), and announces her intention of departing southwards directly after luncheon, instead of at twelve o’clock, as previously arranged. Rush frantically to the kitchen to counterorder hash and milk pudding, and to substitute cutlets and mashed potatoes, tinned peas and banana fritters for our midday meal. Katie, decidedly annoyed at the alteration in menu, says that the butcher has been, and I shall have to telephone if I want cutlets.

  Children come in with wet stockings, which they declare are perfectly dry. Both exceedingly naughty when I insist on stockings being changed. No time to bring them to a better frame of mind, as Aunt Ethel is sitting alone in the drawing room.

  Shortly after this Aunt Ethel goes upstairs to pack, and rings her bell three times for Annie to come and strap her boxes. Am told on enquiry, that Annie is ‘washing her face’, so the only thing to be done is to go upstairs and strap boxes myself. Whilst I am engaged on this Herculean task, Aunt Ethel regales me with details of the ménage of a certain Mrs. Hunter, who lives near her at Greenvale and runs her house perfectly with one maid.

  It is all a matter of organisation, Aunt Ethel says. Mrs. Hunter arranges every detail herself and plans every moment of the day. Mrs. Hunter never glosses over mistakes, she expects things to be perfect, and they are perfect. (Feel convinced that if I expected anything of the kind it would merely lead to disappointment.) Discover that Mrs. Hunter is – as I thought – a childless widow with unlimited means.

  Rolls Royce drives up to the door after lunch and waits for half an hour while we all hunt for Aunt Ethel’s bag, which is unaccountably missing. Aunt quite frantic, as her passport and money are contained therein. She pins Tim in a corner and asks in a penetrating whisper how long we have had the servants, and whether he is quite certain they are honest. At last she says in despair, ‘I can’t go until the bag is found.’ Everyone immediately redoubles efforts to locate bag. It is eventually run to earth beneath Aunt Ethel’s pillow, where she now remembers she put it last night for safety.