IT CAN HAPPEN HERE

New Zealand Listener, Volume 13, Issue 333, 9 November 1945, Page 10

IT CAN HAPPEN HERE

True Story With Moral

(Written for "The Listener’ by

ALONA

PRIESTLEY

STILL don’t believe it. Not here. Not in New Zealand. And yet I don’t know. It should be more likely here than anywhere. And all that, of course, will put you completely off the track. It wasn’t really exciting or wonderful. Just another of her swans, you'll think. Perhaps it was just because I was so tired. It’s no picnic having three children on the train all night. It wasn’t that they weren’t good, poor lambs; I could tell they were trying so hard to do all that was expected of them. Especially Ann. Slim little Ann with the grave eyes who is sometimes so wise and womanly that I want tocry. It was sweaty and sticky and dirty in the carriage and though they all tried so patiently to get to sleep, they couldn’t help wriggling and then being fretful and worrying each other. My patience got tauter and more self-conscious, and I went through all the stock tricks to avoid disaster. People watched and. were sorry or angry or sniggered. They all made me mad. When ‘the children were really off to sleep I relaxed, but then I couldn’t get comfortable myself and the hours dragged along like sulky dogs. At one station some kind soul got me a cup of coffee.: At another a man and woman got in. As they passed the woman said, "Children in the carriage. My God, we’re in for a night of it." Down at the other end of the carriage a baby started to wail, wakened by a light suddenly switched on. A young dishevelled mother bundled it up and went out into the porch. The baby cried on and on. It was almost dawn before she ventured back with it. The children turned and twisted and whimpered in their sleep and I half dozed like a watchful mother cat. So you can imagine how I feit about arriving from that journey with the children to stay at an. hotel. Elizabeth’s piercing voice, my angel baby Roger’s hideous escapades at table. the prickly times when Ann gets nervous and shows off-I sank lower and lower the more I tried not to think of it. * * * ‘THE taxi stopped and I gathered up my wilting party. Thank goodness they looked moderately clean, anyway. I tried to brace myself up, to get my mind ready to say all the expected things. Isn’t it amazing how soon you learn to apologise for children. "I do hope the children didn’t wake you this. morning." "Do tell me if they disturb

you with their games." You know what I mean. We’re all the same, and.if we’re not, we’re bringing the children up badly, letting them run wild. Perhaps one day there'll be a campaign for equality of ages. "Oh, Mrs. Bennett, did we disturb the children when we came in late last night?" "Darling, the little girl wants to speak to you. It’s rude to go on reading." Yes, you can just imagine it, can’t you? Anyway, there I was. I rang the bell and waited: Miserably. Saying desperately inside "Don’t be a fool. You’re morbid." The door opened. The girl was young, pretty, She stooped to Roger and swung him up with a practised hand. "You’re a darling," she said. "A bit younger than mine." Roger considered her with approval and patted her stickily. We all relaxed a little. One friend at least, I thought. We went upstairs. "Mrs, Allen thought you’d have more rest with a room to yourself,’ the girl said. "The children are right next door. And we've put in a cot for the baby. He’ll probably sleep better in a cot. You’re by yourselves at the end of this passage. The children won’t disturb anyone." I blinked. Mrs. Allen sounded an angel from heaven, but wait and see. * * REAKFAST next... A really grim ordeal. The children tired, too messed up to be hungry, strange surroundings, strange food-well, better get it oyer and let them know the worst. The table was set with water-proof mats, Elizabeth and Ann had small knives and forks, Roger had bakelite dishes. Evidently Mrs. Allen was one of Us. But for all that it was a terrible meal. Roger was at his most fiendish, Elizabeth licked her knife and sniffed the jam, Ann. turned sulky and kicked Elizabeth under the table. Finally Roger hurled his spoon across the table and burst into screams. I gathered him up and streaked for the room at the end of the passage where no one would be disturbed. It was going to. be worse than I’d thought. A’ fortnight of this and I’d be a wreck. I cleaned Roger up, got him rather doubtfully interested in some blocks and began to unpack. "I thought I’d just come up and see if you were comfortable," said a large placid voice. I looked up to see a woman to match the voice. Mrs. Allen. "What lovely dolls!" she said to Elizabeth and Ann, who immediately thawed and started talking both at once. I started off on the usual explanations. "You know what children are when they’re tired. I (continued from previous page)

(continued from previous page) do hope-" ‘She smiled. "Look," she said, "when the school holidays come, I ‘say to my grown-ups, ‘this fortnight’s for children. If you don’t like it that’s too bad, but this time is to give them and their mothers the kind of holiday they like to have.’ I know. You can’t tell me anything. I’ve got four boys. They’re all the same, children. If they feel they’re wanted they’ll be good. Don’t you worry, now. ; She scuffled Elizabeth’s fringe and picked up Roger. "Come down and see the kittens," she said. Off they scampered, chattering with the relief of strain relaxed. I sat on the bed. Surely I must be dreaming. This was the sort of place you do dream about, when you’re washing up at the end of the day, or when you’ve had a bad night with a teething baby. She knew children were good, but she knew about the strain, too. About being ashamed of yourself for snapping and knowing that if you could just get by yourself for half-an-hour, just half-an-hour, then you would be able to bear Elizabeth’s whistling again. Another face came round the door. This time jolly and frecked. "I’ve seen® the children," said the housemaid. "Any time you want to go out at night, Pil keep an eye on them, if you like." I fumbled hastily for a heartfelt tip. "Go on; I don’t want that. Keep it for your holiday. It won’t be any trouble. You just let me know." * * * HAT was one of the nicest days I’ve ever had. The children knew at once. At dinner Elizabeth said in her most

piercing soprano, "Mummy, isn’t this a kind place?" and for once I didn’t say, "Darling, don’t shout." After dinner I drowsed by the fire with a book, exchanged family gossip with a dear old lady, and wondered if this sort of thing would ever be taken for granted. Time to have fun with the children, enough time to be alone. I wondered if Ann might come to think of a holiday like this as I thought of a washing machine-definitely as a part of any well-equipped ‘home. Just then several smartly dressed girls came in with some servicemen. I recognised the waitress, and she introduced us to the housemaids, the cook, the girl in the office, and then to their husbands. There was no question of staff and guests. Their work was over; they had been pleased to serve us, now we were a good company together. The housemaid played the piano well, the cook’s husband had his violin. They played Strauss, Mendelssohn’s Spring Song, Lili Marlene, A White Christmas, bits from The Tales of Hoffmann. We sang if we liked or hummed or just listened. Then we had supper and heard the news. . * a s UPSTAIRS I tried to tell Bill about it in a letter. Written down it didn’t look much to make’a fuss over. Next day I tried to tell some friends. "Oh yes," they said, "but what’s the table like?" I suppose they were right. Just an ordinary place. Nothing to make this song about. No frills, and that business about the staff -! But I think you'll know what I mean.