DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 31, 29 April 1927, Page 4

DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE

Apparently “my dears” and “My dear Mrs. Smith” did understand that when “one has babies” . . . for they let the young woman depart with a positive halo of maternal grace shining round her little vagabond hat . . . and as she went she took care to look very sweet and young and engaging . . . just like one of those Christmas-time mothers whom we meet on calendars, who seem to perpetually dandle their offspring on their knees . . . the while the offspring grins like a Cheshire cat, and the maternal ones look more maternal than ever. The fact that I had just heard the enthusiastic organiser of the bazaar press into her service a couple of very hard-working office girls . . . one of whom I knew was swatting for an accountancy exam., and ought to have been allowed to get on with it . . . one over-worked widow who has more than she can really manage in looking after her own household, and a number of other kind-hearted, albeit horribly busy, people who were too goodnatured to refuse, didn’t make me feel very sympahetic toward the pretty little “baby-lady.” I happened to remember, too, that she had two perfectly competent nurses to look after her two children, and it did seem a bit thick to make such an excuse. The afternoon of the bazaar, by the merest chance, I ran into the “babyone” out motoring about fifty miles' from town . . . and the babes were very conspicuous by their absence! Quite ; a nice little party, wasn’t it, “my dear Mrs. Jones,” but how could you tear yourself from those kiddies . . . even if one half of the party did have “the bluest, blue eyes?” The little episode didn’t make any difference, really, for I had decided that she was just a poseur ages before that. She’s discovered as so many other women have done, that maternity’s a sweetly pretty pose, besides having the added charm of novelty. Of course, everyone’s heard the story of the modern mother who sent for two of her children to take them with her for a walk, and said to the nurse when they arrived: “Oh, no, Smith, not those two . . . they don’t go with my frock at all. I’ll have the fair ones, please!” Well, my little Mrs. Jones is just like that . . . and so, I’ve decided, are a thousand other modern women. Perhaps among all the foolish ideas that have persisted through generation after generation, the most stupid is the idea that all women are born mothers. Possibly five women out of ten have the maternal instinct . . . though I greatly doubt whether the percentage is so high. Some of the five may think the feeling is there . . . that it’s a nice, proper womanly thing to be maternal, and so they persuade themselves that they are . . . and . . . with the aid of popular prejudice and belief . . . they become so. As for the other five . . . well, three of them may realise that motherhood is a sweetly pretty pose—and so they have “toy babies” . . . heaven help the poor little things! The other two just daren’t face the responsibility of bringing children into the world . . . p’raps it’s selfishness . . . perhaps their decision is actuated by economic reasons . . . they may feel that they haven’t the means of offering the child a fair start in life, and feeling that it is unfair to willynilly usher a child into existence for.it to'become but an infinitesimal cog in the great machinery of modern business, with nothing but the prospect of toiling through most of his or her hours of life for the mere means of subsistence . . . they refuse to accept the responsibility of parenthood. Whatever their reasons may be, short-sighted preachers talk to them about the sin of having empty cradles! Personally I would rather see thousands of empty cradles than one filled with a toy baby . . . the product of an empty heart and an empty head! As for the other empty cradles . . . those occasioned by economic reasons . . . well . . . p’raps we shan’t discuss such a contentious subject this afternoon! But toy babies! Don’t they deserve all our sympathy? The poor little Jones boy doesn’t know yet that he's only a decorative adjunct ... to be brought in for five minutes at parties . . . to fit in with the general decoration scheme supplied by his mother ... to be used as an excuse for everything she doesn’t want to do ... to nestle to her in a pretty attitude when anyone . . . preferably of the male species . . . is looking on . . . Yes, it’s a decidedly sad thing to be a toy baby . . . but maybe it’s a worse thing to be a toy mother. Babies, after all, will grow . . . but cramped little butterfly hearts must forever remain the same. H. M.