All Done by Kindness

New Zealand Listener, Volume 34, Issue 870, 6 April 1956, Page 8

All Done by Kindness

by

DENNIS

McELDOWNEY

HE new people haven't moved in yet, and the house is standing empty. There are no curtains in the windows, the grass has grown long, and spacemen stalk.one another through it. Mrs. O’Leary, who lives on the left, stands on her lawn, and Mrs. Wallace, who lives on the right, stands on hers; and they look across the vacant section and nod to each other. A nod of satisfaction. The neighbourhoed’s well rid of that lot, the nods say. Well rid, the old hypocrites, the nods add, before they turn their attention to their youngest children. "If you go out that gate I'll take the stick to you!" The house stands impassive, unmoved by the judgment the nods have passed on its late owners. Yet the odd thing is that if Mrs, O’Leary and Mrs, Wallace had been asked only three months ago what kind of neighbours they had, they would have united in praising the Robertsons, who lived between. The kindliest couple, they would have agreed in describing them; they were so lucky to have such neighbours, the Robertsons were goodness itself, the kind of people who never had a harsh word to say of anyone. And now it seemed they’d been saying the most outrageous things about everyone, Hypocrisy was the only word. Unless you knew the true story. These Robertsons were a young-middle-aged couple. He was a little chan who worked for a draper in town, and when he. came home set with the paper and a pipe in the living room and at the weekends dug the garden. She was short, too, and fading, with fuzzy reddish hair. Usually she could be seen shaking a duster out of one or other of the windows, flapping it gently. All her movements were gentle. So were his. They were a gentle couple, After twenty years of gentle married life without children they’d grown into the state that twins often start out in. One could begin a sentence and the other finish it without anyone noticing the transition: and after somenne had been talking to them he’d have difficulty in

remembering which of the Robertsons had said which thing, When they bought this ‘house the neighbours felt some concern at having a childless couple next door. They were afraid the noise of the children would lead to complaints and unpleasantness. But as Mrs. O’Leary was soon telling Mrs. Wallace, and Mrs. Wallace repeating to Mrs. O'Leary, they needn't have wortied. They couldn’t . have wanted more considerate people. The children soon had the run of the place-when they wanted to. The Robertsons didn’t fuss them, but when little May O’Leary took it into her head to visit Mrs. Robertson she always had something out of the biseuit tin before she was taken home to Mum, Once or twice the kids ‘went a bit over the edge. There was the time Michael Wallace ttampled several new and precious delphinium plants when he was looking for a ball he’d hit over the fence; and there was the time his young brother Peter climbed the young plum tree and cracked a branch, the only branch that had fruited that year On these occasions the Robertsons were horribly distressed: it was agony to them to give even the mildest rebuke; they had to screw themselves up: to do it. The Robertsons were like that. Mild and humble, they felt it a breach of good manners to oppose their opinions to anyone. Bill O’Leary was a trueblue conservative when he got on to politics. The trouble with the country, he’d say, was too much democracy; things were better ordered in the old days. He was rather young to have got himself into this condition you’d have thought. His wife wapleined it by saying Bill always did have to be different. But if he got on to politics with the Robertsons when he'd gone oyer to borrow the he?ge-clippers, he found he had a sympathetic ear from both of them. "There was a lot to be said for aristocracy," Bill would say, standing there in his shirt-sleeves; and Mr. Robertson would say, yes, indeed, there was a

lot to be said for aristocracy. "After ally’ Bill) went on with his familiar argument, "when a person’s born to power he doesn’t think anything of it and he doesn’t abuse it. It’s only people who’ve risen from the mob who make power their one aim and become a menace." Mrs. Robertson was passing from the shed to the kitchen with the vegetables for dinner. "I'd never have been able to put it as well as that," she said, "but it’s just what I’ve often thought myself." "We're on the wrong track altogether," Bill said, | "And the sooner we get on the right one," Mr, Robertson said. "The better,’ Mrs. Robertson said. Bill was looking poped at Mrs. Robertson’s handful of vegetables, "Artichokes!" he said "I can’t stand artichokes, Just can’t stand them."

Mrs. Robertson looked at them. Her hand twitched. You could see she wished it weren't too late to put them behind her back. She felt convicted of an indiscretion. "We're not that keen on them ourselves," said Mr. Robertson, whose mouth was watering for the taste of them, "Not really," Mrs. Robertson said, "but you have to use what’s in. the garden." "Cost of living,’ Mr, Robertson explained. "All the fault," Bill O’Leary said, "of the équalitarian pretence that everyone can have everything," and he left. But when Jim Wallace got on to politics, when he came over to borrow the spray-pump, it was surprising how much the Robertsons found in _ his opinions to agree with, for Jim Wallacé’s views were the exact opposite of Bill O’Leary’s, and they often had heated arguments in the bus coming home. The Robertsons were sometimes appalled at what they’d committed themselves to when they’d been talking to Bill or Jim. one or the other, "Bnt after all," they’d assure themselves, "it isn’t important. Not as important, anyway, as keeping on good terms with the neighbours." And they did that all right. Mrs. O’Leary and Mrs. Wallace often dranped in of an afternoon for a chat. Sometimes they came together, and sat site-hy-side on the sofa, Mrs. O’Leary large and fair, Mrs. Wallace large and dark: and they told Mrs, Robertson the news of the neighhourhood which somehow they had a greater knack of picking up than she had. Between them they gave her a halanced view. "She’s a terrific snob," Mrs. O’Leary would say of the woman three doors along, whom she couldn’t stand. "You ean tell it by the way she talks. And walks." "TI don’t really agree with you about that," Mrs. Wallace would say, "Anyway, I wish I had such delightful childtren myself." "Oh, she keeps them under, ‘all right," Mrs, O'Leary said.

Tt was natural enough that when Mrs. Wallace came in by herself the conversation should come round to Mrs. O'Leary. "Of course, I’m very fond of Mavis," Mrs. Wallace said to Mrs. Robertson one day, and to Mr. Robertson, because he was home from work for some reason. "Very fond of her. I-mean, we're the best of friends. But that doesn’t keep me from seeing she has faults." "We all have our faults," Mrs. Rabertson agreed, snapping a piece of embroidery cotton with her teeth. "Our faults, undoubtedly,’ Mr. Robertson added, laying his glasses down on the gardening book he’d been reading. "But I should think she has fewer than most people," Mrs. Robertson said gently. "Far fewer, I should think," Mr. Robertson said. "T admit that,’ Mrs, Wallace said. "She’s a fine person through and through -really. And yet at times, you know, she’s quite unpredictable." } "Ts that so?" Mrs. Robertson said. "So?" Mr. Robertson said. "There are times,’ Mrs. Wallace told them, "when she’s falling all over me and comes into the house every day; and then suddenly when I go to her place she almost shuts the door in my face, because she’s come over all friendly with Mrs, Todd across the road. There’s more money in the Todd house than in al] the rest of the road combined, you know." "So I’ve thought," Mrs, Robertson said. *Two cars," Mr. Robertson said, "Not that I mind Mavis being friéndly with Mrs. Todd, don’t think that," Mrs: Wallece said, "but she should have more contro] over her feelings," "Perhaps that’s a matter of upbringing?" Mrs, Robertson suggested. "That's often the case," said her husband. "Not always the fault of the person herself,"" Mrs. Robertson said. "I expect you’re right," Mrs, Wallace said. "Mavis’s peonle are very nice, but they are rather rough," "However nice the people, basically," Mr. Robertson said, "a lack of breeding will show,’ ap $ "And vet considering the original illhreeding.". Mrs, Robertson said, ' erty "It’s remarkable what winning wavs Mrs, O’leary has with her,’ Mr. Robertsan said; "Oh, IT quite aeree,’ Mrs. Wallace sail "-it’s just that sometimes .. ." "It’s just that sometimes," Mrs. O’Leary said about Mrs. Wallace wheh she visited Mrs. Robertson alone one afternoon, "well, I don’t quite know how to put it, but there’s somethirg you can’t quite fet at about Sophie," "A certain reserve, perhaps?" Mrs. Rohertson suggested. : "I sunpose you micht call it reserve," Mrs. O'Leary said, "but. well, Is don’t know, sometimes it’s more like downright standoffishness." "There ‘mav he something of that in her." Mrs. Robertson admitted, "if it isn’t just shyness, but very often such a trait is a matter of upbringing, don't you think?" as "You mean it isn’t always the person’s fault?" ‘ ""hat’s what I mean." f _ "Bpt you'd think if Sophie had ‘wanted to, if you see what I mean, she’d had done something about it by now," he _ "I quite see your point; re’s no need her to be as\ and aloof as she sometimes appears to be; but you (continued on next page) ie as

(continued from previous page) must admit the same upbringing has given her a most charming and gracious personality." "T never said I didn’t like Sophie," Mrs. O’Leary said. She and Mrs. Wallace exchanged edited versions of these conversations. "The Robertsons think you have a winning way with you,’ Mrs. Wallace told Mrs. O’Leary. "The Robertsons think you have a charming and gracious personality," Mrs. O'Leary told Mrs. Wallace. Which is how things stood until the day Mrs. O’Leary and Mrs. Wallace fell out over who was to play which part in the local Drama Circle’s production of The Dear Departed, and told each other some home truths. That evening when Mr. Robertson answered a knock at the back door he found Mrs. O’Leary standing there, looking very hot and bothered. "I would never have thought it of you," she said; "I’d never have thought you'd tell someone I was ill-mannered and ill-bred."’

"Mrs. O'Leary!" Mr. Robertson said faintly, wilting before the attack. "Can you deny it?" she demanced; and he was _ just going to when his conscience popped up and reminded him he could not deny it. He stuttered. "I’m surprised at you," Mrs, O'Leary told him. "I really am." Mrs. Robertson was about to join

them to see what was happening when there was a ring at the front door. She answered it and found Mrs. Wallace on the porch, very calm and icy. "I just want to know the truth," she said, "did you or did you not tell Mrs. O’Leary I was cold and aloof?" "I3m sure I never said," Mrs. Robertson began to say, when she was horrified to remember she had said it. "I’m sure I never meant it like that,’ she said. "So you admit you did say it," Mrs. Wallace said. "That’s all I wanted to know." She walked off. She met Mrs. O’Leary at the gate; they linked arms and went to.Mrs. O’Leary’s for a cup of tea. , "Of all the humbugs!" they agreed. That is why the Robertson’s house is_ empty now. The Wallaces and the O’Learys refused to speak to them. The Robertsons couldn’t bear to live in such an unfriendly atmosphere: they sold their house and moved to another suburb. where they are known as the most likeable and considerate neighbours one

could ever hope to have; and where they are trying to forget, and = shuddering when they remember, the bewildering, inexnlicable end to their hapvy years in the old home. And that is why Mrs. Wallace and Mrs. O'Leary nod to each other with so much. satisfaction over the empty section. Yet, if only they’d realised, it was all done by kindness.