SKIRT DIPLOMACY

Radio Record, 18 March 1938, Page 14

SKIRT DIPLOMACY

Our Butcher Boys and Mother In a Complesc Game Of Stale Meat Special te the "Record"

by

ANNE

HOPE

"I ain not in favour of petticoat diplomacy mvyself,"-Dr. Hugh Dalton, M.P., in a-recent interview in New Zealand. « UCH a remark from a man of Dr. Dalton’s reputation for sound thought, could very easily be taken as an insult by an ardent feminist like myself, and Dr. Dalton might find himseli abruptly laid low by an umbrella handle. But I am taking up no umbrellas. For it haoccurred fo me that Dr. Dalton in youth may have been embittered as I was from some such feats of petticout diplomacy as took place regularly in our household when mother changed her tradesmen. It was.her theory that if you gave your custom to ove man for years, it. simply encouraged him to work off all his musty or decayed stock upon you. Periodic complaints and withdrawal of custom. kept. the shops up to scratch, said mother, Maybe her idea would have proved itself, too, if only she had not made the.mistake of marrying my father, But she took the role of doctor's wife seriously, and always

PECLeLIEU tO VUY Der LMOuUSeNOIG goods from a tradesman who was also doing the decent thing by patronising father’s surgery. This dual notive-of constant change to eusure good service and of dogged loyalty to hold patients-drove my mother willy-nilly into diplomacy. SHALL never forget the first time we changed our buteher. Later on, as our custom moved steadily round and round the neighbourhood, I became’ hardened — to the diplomatic obligations which the changes involved, But at the | time of the first change I was only seven years old and not prepared. ‘Dixon’s meat has not been. goo] lately," said my mother oiinously one lunch-time, sawing at her chop, "They say Pringle sells excellent meat," said my mother thoughtfully. A week later, she declured that she had gone to the safe for a pound of Dixon’s prime, and 7: regiment of portly maggots had. flashed red eyes ut ler," then"

humped the meat on their shoulders and borne it off triumphantly in front of her startled gaze. "I think Pll try Pringle," she decided. "Dixon's vetting very slack," "Hum," said father, which, as he intended, meant nothing at all. "But Dixon is one of your patients, isn’t he?" Hur sued mother. "When he’s ill;’ "Then I don’t think I ought to tell him straightout { don’t like his meat. We'll have to wean him off gradually, aud perhaps he’ll improve," suggested mother brightly, N the end, she divided her orders so that Dixon should still supply us with sausages and cats’ meat, for his sausages were very juicy, and Pringle Should bring the relaainder of our rations,. Lest Dixon should get suspicious about the smaller orders, My mother put up an elaborate camouflage to hoodwink him.

' Virst of all, she paid her bill, at the same time casually mentioning that her husband had become a vegetarian in order to experiment on the effect of meatless diet upon the system, She also said, "Mr, Dixon, how nice your shop is looking. So clean ° and fresh with this new sawdust," « and smiled with ingenuous charm,: ° She ended by. asking him Whether he would mind calling at It) o'clock in future instead of 10, because the girl could then pay him ‘cash.’ "She’s upstairs making the beds about 10, and might not hear ‘the bell," explained mother, reflect-ing-how cleverly she had cleared the path for the arrival of Pringle’s boy at 9,45. When she got home, she gathered all us children and the’ cook, May, together into the breakfast: room and said sternly, "Now, none’ of you must ever tell Dixon’s*: boy that I’m getting some of my meat from Pringle. And if he asks" you, you’re to say we're not eating: much meat lately." — oe — (Continued on’ page 37.)

Petticoat Diplomacy (Continued from page 14).

Apart from the fact that this command rendered the whole family hot with embarrassment and apprehension whenever they caught sight of Dixon or his boy, my mother’s diplomacy seemed to be successful at first. T was not long, however, before trouble started. Dixon had the naive theory that "women fall easier if you grease the step," and to that end used to include enormous hunks of cats’ meat with his sausages as unsolicited discount. One night May cooked the cats’ portion in error, and we ate it with great enjoyment, under the impression that it was Pringle’s rump steak. Ag the cat was sick that night after the rump, my mother began to wonder whether, after all, she was’ quite wise in leaving Dixon. "But I can’t give up Pringle so soon," she pointed out in one of her argumentative monologues on the subject, "because he is obliging, and I certainly like his fry. Maybe I should have given Jamieson a trial." Sooner or later it was bound to end. And it did, one bright Friday morning. Dixon’s boy arrived early with his sausages, and May, who was no diplomat, lost her head. She snatched at the sausages and tried to get rid of him before Pringle’s roast came. Dixon’s boy got suspicious and decided to hang on. "Why aren’t you buying ought but sausages from us?" he asked. "Master’s ‘vyegetarian," muttered May, squinting as she always did when embarrassed. "You’re not trying to chuck us, are

you?’ he asked shrewdly, just as my mother came into the kitchen. May glanced cross-eyed at mother, who did not recognise Dixon’s boy and jumped to the conclusion from the angle of May’s eyes that he was a "follower." These were expressly forbidden to call during the morning. . "Lunch will be at noon, May," said mother coldly, just to bring the girl to her senses. "Yes’m," said May, glad to escape from Dixon’s boy, who was still waiting. But before she could move, up came Pringle’s boy, whistling and bouncing the roast. "Butcher!" yelled Pringle’s. boy, and stopped dead at the sight of the other’s white apron. There was a pause that lasted over endless seconds, while our three cats rubbed themselves familiarly against the butcher boys’ trouser legs. It was just at that moment that my brother Robin came in. "Hey, ma," he said, "Mr. Jamieson says what meat.today?" Dixon’s boy and Pringle’s boy turned their slow eyes on mother and no one spoke. Only father burst into the kitchen on the way to his surgery. "Good-bye, my dear,’’ he shouted cheerily. ‘"Here’s your butcher off to work again," ; "May burst into hysterical giggling, and mother left the room abruptly to speak to Mr. Jamieson. Next day Mr. Dixon fell ill of a gallstone and called my father in to operate. "Haven’t you noticed how his meat has improved since we had that change to Pringle," said mother with deep satisfaction.