Agahta Christie - An autobiography Part 11

'Oh, surely you can do better than that?' he pleads.

You look at your programme, and consider. Cutting dances is not a nice act. It is disapproved of, not only by hostesses and mothers, but also by young men themselves. They sometimes take revenge by cutting dances themselves in return. Perhaps in looking down your programme you see the name of some young man who has behaved badly to you, who has come up late, who has talked more to another girl at supper than to you. If so, you sacrifice him properly. Just occasionally, in desperation, you sacrifice a young man because he dances so abominably that it is really agony for your feet. But that I hardly ever liked to do, because I was tender-hearted, and it seemed unkind to treat so badly a poor young man who was almost certain to be treated badly by everyone else. The whole thing was really as intricate as the steps of a dance. In some ways it was great fun, but in others rather nerve-racking. At any rate one's manners did improve with practice.

Going to Egypt was a great help to me. I don't think anything else would have removed my natural gaucherie gaucherie so soon. It was certainly a wonderful three months for a girl. I got to know at least twenty or thirty young men reasonably well. I went to, I suppose, between fifty and sixty dances; but I was too young and enjoying myself far too much to fall in love with anybody, which was lucky. I did cast languishing eyes on a handful of bronzed middle-aged colonels, but most of these were already attached to attractive married womenthe wives of other menand had no interest in young and insipid girls. I was somewhat plagued by a young Austrian count of excessive solemnity, who paid me serious attention. Avoid him as much as I could, he always sought me out and engaged me for a waltz. The waltz, as I have said, is the one dance I dislike, and the count's waltzing was of the most superior kindthat is, it consisted very largely of reversing at top speed, which rendered me so giddy that I was always afraid I would fall down. Reversing had been considered by Miss Hickey's dancing-cla.s.s as not quite nice, so I had not had sufficient practice in it. so soon. It was certainly a wonderful three months for a girl. I got to know at least twenty or thirty young men reasonably well. I went to, I suppose, between fifty and sixty dances; but I was too young and enjoying myself far too much to fall in love with anybody, which was lucky. I did cast languishing eyes on a handful of bronzed middle-aged colonels, but most of these were already attached to attractive married womenthe wives of other menand had no interest in young and insipid girls. I was somewhat plagued by a young Austrian count of excessive solemnity, who paid me serious attention. Avoid him as much as I could, he always sought me out and engaged me for a waltz. The waltz, as I have said, is the one dance I dislike, and the count's waltzing was of the most superior kindthat is, it consisted very largely of reversing at top speed, which rendered me so giddy that I was always afraid I would fall down. Reversing had been considered by Miss Hickey's dancing-cla.s.s as not quite nice, so I had not had sufficient practice in it.

The count would then say that he would like the pleasure of a little conversation with my mother. This was, I suppose, his way of showing that his attentions were honourable. Of course, I had to take him to my mother, who was sitting against the wall, enduring the penance of the eveningfor to her it certainly was a penance. The count sat down beside her and entertained her very solemnly for, I should think, at least twenty minutes. Afterwards, when we got home, my mother said to me crossly. 'What on earth induced you to bring over that little Austrian to talk to me? I couldn't get rid of him.' I a.s.sured her that I couldn't help it, that he had insisted. 'Oh well, you must try and do better, Agatha,' said my mother. 'I can't have young men being brought up to talk to me. They only do it to be polite, and to make a good impression.' I said he was a dreadful man. 'He is nice-looking, well-bred, and a good dancer,' said my mother, 'but I must say that I found him a complete bore.'

Most of my friends were young subalterns, and our friendships were absorbing but non-serious. I watched them playing polo, goaded them if they had not done well or applauded if they had, and they showed off before me to the best of their ability. I found it rather more difficult to talk to the slightly older men. A great many names are forgotten by this time, but there was a Captain Hibberd who used to dance with me fairly often. It was quite a surprise to me when my mother said nonchalantly on the boat when we were sailing back from Cairo to Venice: 'You know Captain Hibberd wanted to marry you, I suppose?'

'What?' I said, startled. 'He never proposed to me or said anything.' anything.' 'No, he said it to me,' answered mother. 'No, he said it to me,' answered mother.

'To you?' I said in astonishment.

'Yes. He said he was very much in love with you, and did I think you were too young? Perhaps he ought not to speak of it to you, he said.' 'And what did you say?' I demanded.

'I told him I was quite sure you were not in love with him, and that it was no good his going on with the idea,' she said.

'Oh mother!' I exclaimed indignantly. 'You didn't!'

Mother looked at me in great surprise. 'Do you mean to say you did like him?' she demanded. 'Would you have considered marrying him?'

'No, of course not,' I said. 'I don't want to marry him at all, at all, and I'm not in love with him, but I really do think, mother, that you might let me have my own proposals.' and I'm not in love with him, but I really do think, mother, that you might let me have my own proposals.'

Mother looked rather startled; then she admitted handsomely that she had been wrong. 'It's quite a long time, you see, since I was a girl myself,' she said. 'But I do see your point of view. Yes, one does like to have one's own proposals.'

I was annoyed about it for some time. I wanted to know what it felt like to be proposed to. Captain Hibberd was good-looking, not boring, danced well, was well offit was a pity that I could not consider marrying him. I suppose, as is so often the case, that if you are not attracted to a young man, but he is attracted to you, he is at once put out of court by the fact that men, when they are in love, invariably manage to look like a somewhat sick sheep. If a girl is attracted to such a man she feels flattered by this appearance, and does not hold it against him; if she has no interest she dismisses him from her mind. This is one of the great injustices of life. Women, when they fall in love, look ten times as good-looking as normally: their eyes sparkle, their cheeks are bright, their hair takes a special glow; their conversation becomes much wittier and more brilliant. Other men, who have never noticed them before, then start to take a second look.

That was my first, highly unsatisfactory proposal of marriage. My second came from a young man six foot five high. I had liked him very much, and we had been good friends. He did not think of approaching me through my mother, I am glad to say. He had more sense than that. He managed to get home on the same boat as I did, sailing from Alexandria to Venice. I felt sorry that I was not fonder of him. We continued to write letters to one another for a short time; but then he was posted to India, I think. If I had met him when I was a little older I might perhaps have cared for him.

While I am on the subject of proposals, I wonder if men were specially given to proposing in my young days. I cannot help feeling that some of the proposals I and my friends had were entirely unrealistic. I have a suspicion that if I had accepted the offers they would have been dismayed. I once tackled a young naval lieutenant on this point. We had been walking home from a party in Torquay when he suddenly blurted out his proposal of marriage. I thanked him and said no, and added, 'And I don't believe you really want to, either.'

'Oh I do, I do.'

'I don't believe it,' I said. 'We have only known each other about ten days, and I don't see why you want to get married so young in any case. You know it would be very bad for your career.'

'Yes, well, of course, that's true in a way.'

'So it's really an awfully silly thing to go and propose to a girl like that. You must admit that yourself. What made you do it?'

'It just came over me,' said the young man. 'I looked at you and it just came over me.'

'Well,' I said, 'I don't think you had better do it again to anyone. You must be more careful.'

We parted on kindly prosaic terms.

II

In describing my life I am struck by the way it sounds as though I and everybody else were extremely rich. Nowadays you certainly would have to be rich to do the same things, but in point of fact nearly all my friends came from homes of moderate income. Most of their parents did not have a carriage or horses, they certainly had not yet acquired the new automobile or motorcar. For that you did did have to be rich. have to be rich.

Girls had usually not more than three evening dresses, and they had to last you for some years. Your hats you painted with a shilling bottle of hat paint every season. We walked to parties, tennis parties and garden parties, though for evening dances in the country we would of course hire a cab. In Torquay there were not many private dances except at Christmas or Easter. People tended to invite guests to stay and make up a party to go to the Regatta Ball in August, and usually some other local dance in one of the bigger houses. I went to a few dances in London during June and Julynot many because we did not know many people in London. But one would go occasionally to subscription dances, as they were called, making up a party of six. None of this called for much expenditure.

Then there were the country house parties. I went, nervously the first time, to some friends in Warwickshire. They were great hunting people. Constance Ralston Patrick, the wife, did not hunt herself: she drove a pony carriage to all the meets and I drove with her. My mother had forbidden me strictly to accept a mount or ride. 'You really don't know very much about riding,' she pointed out. 'It would be fatal if you went and injured somebody's valuable horse.' However, n.o.body offered me a mountperhaps it was as well.

My riding and hunting had been confined to Devonshire, which meant scrabbling over high banks rather like Irish hunting, in my case mounted on a horse from a livery stable which was used to fairly unskilful riders on its back. The horse certainly knew more than I did, and I was quite content to leave it to Crowdy, my usual mount, a rather dispirited strawberry roan, who managed to get himself successfully over the banks of Devon. Naturally, I rode sidesaddlehardly any woman rode astride at that time. You feel wonderfully safe on a side-saddle, your legs clasped round pommels. The first time I ever tried to ride astride I felt more unsafe than I could have believed possible.

The Ralston Patricks were very kind to me. They called me 'The Pinkling' for some reasonI suppose because I so often had pink evening dresses. Robin used to tease The Pinkling a lot, and Constance used to give me matronly advice with a slight twinkle in her eye. They had a delightful small daughter, about three or four years old when I first went there, and I used to spend a good deal of time playing with her. Constance was a born match-maker, and I realise now that she produced during the course of my visits several nice and eligible men. I sometimes got a little unofficial riding too. I remember one day I had had a gallop round the fields with a couple of Robin's friends. Since this had happened at a moment's notice, and I had not even got into a riding-habit but was in an ordinary print frock, my hair was not up to the strain. I still wore, as all girls did, the postiche postiche attachment. Riding back down the village street, my hair collapsed completely, and curls dropped off at intervals all the way. I had to go back on foot to pick them up. Unexpectedly this produced a rather pleasing reaction in my favour. Robin told me afterwards that one of the leading lights of the Warwickshire Hunt had said to him approvingly, 'Nice girl you've got staying with you. I like the way she behaved when all that false hair fell off; didn't mind a bit. Went back and picked it all up and roared with laughter. Good sport, she was!' The things that made a good impression on people are really very odd. attachment. Riding back down the village street, my hair collapsed completely, and curls dropped off at intervals all the way. I had to go back on foot to pick them up. Unexpectedly this produced a rather pleasing reaction in my favour. Robin told me afterwards that one of the leading lights of the Warwickshire Hunt had said to him approvingly, 'Nice girl you've got staying with you. I like the way she behaved when all that false hair fell off; didn't mind a bit. Went back and picked it all up and roared with laughter. Good sport, she was!' The things that made a good impression on people are really very odd.

Another of the delights of staying with the Ralston Patricks was that they had a motor car. I cannot tell you the excitement that this produced in 1909. It was Robin's pet delight and treasure, and the fact that it was temperamental and broke down constantly made his pa.s.sion for it all the greater. I remember one day we made an excursion to Banbury. Starting out was rather like equipping an expedition to the North Pole. We took large furry rugs, extra scarves to wrap round the head, baskets of provisions, and so on. Constance's brother Bill, Robin and I made the expedition. We said a tender farewell to Constance; she kissed us all, urged us to be careful, and said she would have plenty of hot soup and home comforts waiting for us if if we returned. Banbury, I may say, was about twenty-five miles from where they lived, but it was treated as though it was Land's End. we returned. Banbury, I may say, was about twenty-five miles from where they lived, but it was treated as though it was Land's End.

We proceeded seven miles quite happily, cautiously at about twenty-five miles an hour, but free from trouble. However, that was only the beginning. We did eventually get to Banbury, after changing a wheel and trying to find a garage somewhere, but garages were few and far between in those days. At last we got home, about seven o'clock in the evening, exhausted, frozen to the marrow, and frantically hungry, having finished all the provisions long before. I still think of it as one of the most adventurous days of my life! I had spent a great deal of it sitting on a bank by the roadside, in an icy wind, urging on Robin and Bill as, with the manual of instruction open beside them, they struggled with tyres, spare wheel, jacks, and various other pieces of mechanism of which they had had, up till then, no personal knowledge.

One day my mother and I went down to Suss.e.x and lunched with the Barttelots. Lady Barttelot's brother, Mr Ankatell, was also lunching, and he had an enormous and powerful automobile of the kind which in my memory seems to be about 100 feet long and hung with enormous tubes all over the outside. He was a keen motorist, and offered to drive us back to London. 'No need to go by trainbeastly things, trains. I'll drive you back.' I was in the seventh heaven. Lady Barttelot lent me one of the new motoring capsa sort of flat thing halfway between a yachting cap and that worn by a German Officer of the Imperial staff,which was tied down with motoring veils. We got into the monster, extra rugs were piled round us, and off we went like the wind. All cars were open at that time. To enjoy them one had to be pretty hardy. But then, of course, one was was hardy in those dayspractising the piano in rooms with no fires in the middle of winter inured you against icy winds. hardy in those dayspractising the piano in rooms with no fires in the middle of winter inured you against icy winds.

Mr Ankatell did not contain himself to the twenty miles an hour that was the usual 'safe' speedI believe we went forty or fifty m.p.h. through the roads of Suss.e.x. At one moment he started up in the driving seat exclaiming: 'Look back! Look back! Look back behind that hedge! Do you see that fellow hiding there? Ah, the wretch! The villain! It's a police trap. Yes, the villains, that's what they do: hide behind a hedge and then come out and measure the time.' From fifty we dropped to a crawl of ten miles an hour. Enormous chuckles from Mr Ankatell. 'That dished him!'

I found Mr Ankatell a somewhat alarming man, but I loved his automobile. It was bright reda frightening, exciting monster.

Later I went to stay with the Barttelots for Goodwood Races. I think that was the only country house visit that I did not enjoy. It was entirely a racing crowd staying there, and racing language and terms were incomprehensible to me. To me racing meant standing about for hours wearing an unmanageable flowery hat, pulling on six hat-pins with every gust of wind, wearing tight patent-leather shoes with high heels, in which my feet and ankles swelled horribly in the heat of the day. At intervals I had to pretend enormous enthusiasm as everyone shouted 'They're off!' and stood on tiptoe to look at quadrupeds already out of sight.

One of the men asked me kindly if he should put something on for me. I looked terrified. Mr Ankatell's sister, who was acting as hostess, at once ticked him off. 'Don't be silly,' she said, 'the girl is not not to bet.' Then she said kindly to me, 'I tell you what. You shall have five shillings on whatever to bet.' Then she said kindly to me, 'I tell you what. You shall have five shillings on whatever I I back. Pay no attention to these others.' When I discovered that they were betting 20 or 25 each time my hair practically stood on end! But hostesses were always kind to girls in money matters. They knew that few girls had any money to throw about. Even the rich ones, or the ones who came from rich homes, had only moderate dress allowances50 or 100 a year. So hostesses looked after the girls carefully. They were sometimes encouraged to play bridge, but if so someone always 'carried them', and was responsible for their debts if they lost. This kept them from feeling out of it, and at the same time ensured that they didn't lose sums of money which they could not afford to lose. back. Pay no attention to these others.' When I discovered that they were betting 20 or 25 each time my hair practically stood on end! But hostesses were always kind to girls in money matters. They knew that few girls had any money to throw about. Even the rich ones, or the ones who came from rich homes, had only moderate dress allowances50 or 100 a year. So hostesses looked after the girls carefully. They were sometimes encouraged to play bridge, but if so someone always 'carried them', and was responsible for their debts if they lost. This kept them from feeling out of it, and at the same time ensured that they didn't lose sums of money which they could not afford to lose.

My first acquaintance with racing did not enthral me. When I got home to mother I said that I hoped I would never hear the words 'They're off!' again. When a year had pa.s.sed, however, I had become quite a keen racing fan, and knew something about the runners. I stayed later with Constance Ralston Patrick's family in Scotland, where her father kept a small racing stable, and there I was initiated more fully into the sport and was taken to several small race meetings, which I soon found to be fun.

Goodwood, of course, had been more like a garden partya garden party going on for far too long. Moreover there was a lot of ragging going on; a kind of ragging I had not been used to. People broke up each other's rooms, threw things out of the windows, and shouted with laughter. There were no other girls there; they were mostly young married women in the racing set. One old Colonel of about sixty came barging into my room and crying, 'Now then, let's have a bit of fun with Baby!' took out one of my evening dresses from the cupboardit was was rather a babyish one, pink with ribbonsand threw it out of the window saying, 'Catch, catch, here is a trophy from the youngest member of the party!' I was terribly upset. Evening dresses were great items in my life; carefully tended and preserved, cleaned, mendedand here it was being thrown about like a football. Mr Ankatell's sister, and one of the other women, came to the rescue, and told him that he was not to tease the poor child. I was really thankful to leave this party. Still, it no doubt did me good. rather a babyish one, pink with ribbonsand threw it out of the window saying, 'Catch, catch, here is a trophy from the youngest member of the party!' I was terribly upset. Evening dresses were great items in my life; carefully tended and preserved, cleaned, mendedand here it was being thrown about like a football. Mr Ankatell's sister, and one of the other women, came to the rescue, and told him that he was not to tease the poor child. I was really thankful to leave this party. Still, it no doubt did me good.

Amongst other House Parties I remember an enormous one at a country house rented by Mr and Mrs Park-LyleMr Park-Lyle used to be referred to as 'The Sugar King'. We had met Mrs Park-Lyle out in Cairo. She was, I suppose, fifty or sixty at the time, but from a short distance she looked like a handsome young woman of twenty-five. I had never seen much make-up in private life before. Mrs Park-Lyle certainly put up a good show with her dark, beautifully-arranged hair, exquisitely enamelled face (almost comparable with that of Queen Alexandra), and the pink and pale blue pastel shades which she woreher whole appearance a triumph of art over nature. She was a woman of great kindliness, who enjoyed having lots of young people in her house.

I was rather attracted to one of the young men therelater killed in the 1914-18 war. Though he took only moderate notice of me, I had hopes of becoming better acquainted. In this I was foiled, however, by another soldier, a gunner, who seemed continually to be at my elbow, insisting on being my partner at tennis and croquet, and all the rest of it. Day by day my mounting exasperation grew. I was sometimes extremely rude to him; he didn't seem to notice. He kept asking me if I had read this book or that, offering to send them to me. Would I be in London? Would I care to go and see some polo? My negative replies had no effect upon him. When the day came for my departure I had to catch a fairly early train because I had to go to London first and then take another train on to Devon. Mrs Park-Lyle said to me after breakfast 'Mr S.'I can't remember his name now'is going to drive you to the station.'

Fortunately that was not very far. I would have much preferred to have gone in one of the Park-Lyle carsnaturally the Park-Lyles had a fleet of carsbut I presume Mr S. had suggested driving me to our hostess, who had probably thought I I would like it. How little she knew! However, we arrived at the station, the train came in, an express to London, and Mr. S. ensconced me in the corner seat of an empty second-cla.s.s carriage. would like it. How little she knew! However, we arrived at the station, the train came in, an express to London, and Mr. S. ensconced me in the corner seat of an empty second-cla.s.s carriage.

I said goodbye to him, in friendly tones, relieved to be seeing the last of him. Then just as the train started he suddenly caught at the handle, opened the door, and leapt in, closing it behind him. 'I'm coming to London, too,' he said. I stared at him with my mouth open.

'You haven't got any luggage with you.'

'I know, I knowit doesn't matter.' He sat down opposite me, leant forward, his hands on his knees, and gazed at me with a kind of ferocious glare. 'I meant to put it off till I met you again in London. I can't wait. I have to tell you now. I am madly in love with you. You must marry me. From the first moment I saw you, coming down to dinner, I knew that you were the one woman in the world for me.'

It was some time before I could interrupt the flow of words, and say with icy coldness: 'It is very kind of you, Mr S., I am sure, and I deeply appreciate it, but I am afraid the answer is no.'

He protested for about five minutes, finally urging that we should at least leave it, so that we could be friends and meet again. I said that I thought it was much better that we shouldn't meet again, and that I would not change my mind. I said it with such finality that he was forced to accept it. He leant back in his seat and gave himself up to gloom. Can you imagine a worse time to propose to a girl? There we were, shut up in an empty carriageno corridors thengoing to London, two hours at least, and having arrived at such an impa.s.se in the conversation that there was nothing for us to say. Neither of us had anything to read. I still dislike Mr S. when I remember him, and have no proper feeling of grat.i.tude such as one was always taught should be felt for a good man's love (Grannie's maxim). I am sure he was a good manperhaps that was what made him so dull.

Another country house visit I paid was also a racing one, to stay with some old friends of my G.o.dmother's in Yorkshire, the Matthews. Mrs Matthews was a non-stop talker, and rather alarming. The invitation was to a party for the St. Leger. By the time I went there I had got more used to racing, and in fact was beginning to enjoy it. Moreovera silly thing to remember, but the sort of thing one doesI had a new coat-and-skirt bought for this particular occasion. I was vastly pleased with myself in it. It was of a greenish brown tweed of good quality. It came from a good tailoring house. It was the sort of thing my mother said was worth spending money on, because a good coat and skirt would do you for years. This one certainly did: I wore it for six years at least. The coat was long and had a velvet collar. With it I wore a smart little toque in greenish brown shades of velvet and a bird's wing. I have no photographs of myself in this get-up; if I had I should no doubt think I looked highly ridiculous now, but my memories of myself are as looking smart, sporting, and well-dressed!

The height of my joy was reached when at the station where I had to change (I must, I think, have been coming from Cheshire, where I had been with my sister). There was a cold wind blowing, and the station-master approached me and asked if I would like to wait in his office. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'your maid would like to bring along your jewel-case or anything valuable.' I had of course never travelled with a maid in my life, and never shouldnor was I the owner of a jewel casebut I was gratified by this treatment, putting it down to the smartness of my velvet toque. I said my maid was not with me this timeI could not avoid saying 'this time' in case I should go down in his eyesbut I gratefully accepted his offer, and sat in front of a good fire exchanging pleasant plat.i.tudes about the weather. Presently the next train came in and I was seen into it with much ceremony. I am convinced I owed this preferential treatment to my coat-and-skirt and hat. Since I was travelling second cla.s.s and not first, I could hardly be suspected of great wealth or influence.

The Matthews lived at a house called Thorpe Arch Hall. Mr Matthews was much older than his wifehe must have been about seventyand he was a dear, with a thatch of white hair, a great love of racing, and, in his time, hunting. Though extremely fond of his wife he was inclined to be greatly fl.u.s.tered by her. Indeed, my princ.i.p.al memory of him was saying irritably, 'Damme, dear, don't hustle me. Damme, don't hustle me, don't hustle me, Addie!'

Mrs Matthews was a born hustler and fusser. She talked and fussed from morning to night. She was kind, but at times I found her almost unbearable. She hustled poor old Tommy so much that he finally invited a friend of his to live permanently with thema Colonel Wallensteinalways said by the surrounding County to 'be Mrs Matthews' second husband'. I am quite convinced that this was no case of 'the other man' or the wife's lover. Colonel Wallenstein was devoted to Addie MatthewsI think it had been a lifetime pa.s.sion of hisbut she had always kept him where she wanted him, as a convenient, platonic friend with a romantic devotion. Anyway, Addie Matthews lived a very happy life with her two devoted men. They indulged her, flattered her, and always arranged that she should have everything she wanted.

It was while staying there that I met Evelyn Cochran, Charles Cochran's wife. She was a lovely little creature, just like a Dresden shepherdess, with big blue eyes, and fair hair. She had with her dainty but highly unsuitable shoes for the country, which Addie never let her forget, reproaching her for them every hour of the day: 'Really, Evelyn dear, why you don't bring proper shoes with you! Look at those thingspasteboard soles, only fit for London.' Evelyn looked sadly at her with large blue eyes, Her life was mostly spent in London, and was entirely wrapped up in the theatrical profession. She had, so I learnt from her, climbed out of a window to run away with Charles Cochran, who was heavily disapproved of by her family. She adored him with the kind of adoration that one seldom meets. She wrote to him every single day if she was away from home. I think, too, that, in spite of many other adventures, he always loved her. She suffered a good deal during her life with him, for with such a love as hers jealousy must have been hard to bear. But I think she found it worth it. To have such a pa.s.sion for one person that lasts all your life is a privilege, no matter what it costs you in endurance.

Colonel Wallenstein was her uncle. She disliked him very much. She also disliked Addie Matthews, but was rather fond of old Tom Matthews. 'I have never liked my uncle,' she said, 'he is a most tiresome man. And as for Addie, she is the most aggravating and silly female I have ever met. She can't leave anyone alone; she is always scolding them or managing them, or doing something somethingshe can't keep quiet.'

III

After our stay at Thorpe Arch, Evelyn Cochran asked me to come to see them in London. I did, feeling shy, and was thrilled by hearing so much theatrical gossip. Also, for the first time, I began to appreciate that there might be something in pictures. Charles Cochran had a great love of painting. When I first saw his Degas picture of ballet girls it stirred something in me that I had not known existed. The habit of marching girls to picture galleries w.i.l.l.y-nilly, at too young an age, is much to be deprecated. It does not produce the wanted result, unless they are naturally artistic. Moreover, to the untutored eye or the unartistic one, the resemblance of great masters to one another is most depressing. They have a sort of shiny mustard gloom. Art was forced on me, first by being made to learn to draw and paint when I didn't enjoy it, and then by having a kind of moral obligation to appreciate art laid on me.

An American friend of ours, herself a great devotee of pictures, music, and all kinds of culture, used to come over to London on periodical visitsshe was a niece of my G.o.dmother, Mrs Sullivan, and also of Pierpont Morgan. May was a dear person with a terrible afflictionshe had a most unsightly goitre. In the days when she had been a young girlshe must have been a woman of about forty when I first knew herthere was no remedy for goitre: surgery was supposed to be too dangerous. One day when May arrived in London, she told my mother that she was going to a clinic in Switzerland to be operated on.

She had already made arrangements. A famous surgeon, who made this his speciality, had said to her, 'Mademoiselle, I would not advise this operation to any man: it must be done with a local anaesthetic only, because during the course of it the subject has to talk the whole time. Men's nerves are not strong eough to endure this, but women can achieve the fort.i.tude necessary. It is an operation that will take some timeperhaps an hour or moreand during that time you will have to talk. Have you the fort.i.tude?'

May says she looked at him, thought a minute or two, and then said firmly, yes, she had had the fort.i.tude. the fort.i.tude.

'I think you are right to try, May,' my mother said. 'It will be a great ordeal for you, but if it succeeds it will make such a difference to your life that it will be worth anything you suffer.'

In due course word came from May in Switzerland: the operation had been successful. She had now left the clinic and was in Italy, in a pension pension at Fiesole, near Florence. She was to remain there for about a month, and after go back to Switzerland to have a further examination. She asked whether my mother would allow me to go out and stay with her there, and see Florence and its art and architecture. Mother agreed, and arrangements were made for me to go. I was very excited, of course; I must have been about sixteen. at Fiesole, near Florence. She was to remain there for about a month, and after go back to Switzerland to have a further examination. She asked whether my mother would allow me to go out and stay with her there, and see Florence and its art and architecture. Mother agreed, and arrangements were made for me to go. I was very excited, of course; I must have been about sixteen.

A mother and daughter were found who were travelling out by the train that I was taking. I was delivered over to them, introduced by Cook's agent at Victoria, and started off. I was lucky in one thing: both mother and daughter felt ill in trains if they were not facing the engine. As I did not care, I had the whole of the other side of the carriage on which to lie down flat. None of us had appreciated the fact of the hour's difference in time, so when the moment came in the early hours of the morning for me to change at the frontier I was still asleep. I was bundled out by the conductor on to the platform, and mother and daughter shouted farewell. a.s.sembling my belongings, I went to the other train, and immediately journeyed on through the mountains into Italy.

Stengel, May's maid, met me in Florence, and we went up together in the tram to Fiesole. It was inexpressibly beautiful on that day. All the early almond and peach blossom was out, delicate white and pink on the bare branches of the trees. May was in a villa there, and came out to meet me with a beaming face. I have never seen such a happy looking woman. It was strange to see her without that terrible bag of flesh jutting out under her chin. She had had to have a great deal of courage, as the doctor had warned her. For an hour and twenty minutes, she told me, she had lain there in a chair, her feet held up in a wrench above her head, while the surgeons carved at her throat and she talked to them, answering questions, speaking, grimacing if told. Afterwards the doctor had congratulated her: he told her she was one of the bravest women he had ever known.

'But I must tell you, Monsieur le docteur,' she said, 'just before the end I was feeling I had to scream, have hysterics, cry out and say I could not bear any more.'

'Ah,' said Doctor Roux, 'but you did not not do so. You are a brave woman. I tell you.' do so. You are a brave woman. I tell you.'

So May was unbelievably happy, and she did everything she could to make my stay in Italy agreeable. I went sightseeing into Florence every day. Sometimes Stengel went with me, but more often a young Italian woman engaged by May came up to Fiesole and escorted me into the town. Young girls had to be even more carefully chaperoned in Italy than in France, and indeed I suffered all the discomforts of being pinched in trams by ardent young menmost painful. It was then that I had been subjected to so large a dose of picture galleries and museums. Greedy as ever, what I I looked forward to was the delicious meal in a looked forward to was the delicious meal in a patisserie patisserie before catching the tram back to Fiesole. before catching the tram back to Fiesole.

On several occasions in the later days May came in also, to accompany me on my artistic pilgrimage, and I remember well on the last day, when I was to return to England, she was adamant that I should see a wonderful St. Catherine of Siena, which had just been cleaned. I don't know if it was in the Uffizi or what gallery now, but May and I galloped through every room looking in vain for it. I couldn't have cared less about St. Catherine. I was fed up with St. Catherines, revolted by those innumerable St. Sebastians struck all over with arrowsheartily tired of saints one and all, and their emblems and their unpleasant methods of death. I was fed up, too, with self-satisfied Madonnas, particularly with those of Raphael. I really am ashamed, writing now, to think what a savage I was in this respect, but there it is: Old Masters are an acquired taste. As we raced about looking for St. Catherine, my anxiety was mounting. Would we have time to go to the patisserie patisserie and have a final delicious meal of chocolate and whipped cream, and sumptuous and have a final delicious meal of chocolate and whipped cream, and sumptuous gateaux? gateaux? I kept saying: ' I kept saying: 'I don't mind, May, really I don't mind. Don't bother any more. I've seen so many pictures of St. Catherine.' don't mind, May, really I don't mind. Don't bother any more. I've seen so many pictures of St. Catherine.'

'Ah, but this one, Agatha dear, it's so wonderfulyou'll realise when you see it how sad it would be if you'd missed it.'

I knew I shouldn't realise, but I was ashamed to tell May so! However, fate was on my sideit transpired that this particular picture of St. Catherine would be absent from the gallery for some weeks longer. There was just time to stuff me with chocolate and cakes before catching our trainMay expatiating at length upon all the glorious pictures, and I agreeing with her fervently as I pushed in mouthfuls of cream and coffee icing. I ought to have looked like a pig by now, with bulging flesh and tiny eyes; instead of which I had a most ethereal appearance, fragile and thin, with large dreamy eyes. Seeing me, you would have prophesied an early death in a state of spiritual ecstasy, like children in Victorian story-books. At any rate I did have the grace to feel ashamed at not appreciating May's artistic education. I had had enjoyed Fiesolebut mostly the almond blossomand I had got a lot of fun out of Doodoo, a tiny Pomeranian dog which accompanied May and Stengel everywhere. Doodoo was small and very clever. May often brought him to visit England. On those occasions he got inside a large m.u.f.f of hers and always remained unsuspected by Customs officers. enjoyed Fiesolebut mostly the almond blossomand I had got a lot of fun out of Doodoo, a tiny Pomeranian dog which accompanied May and Stengel everywhere. Doodoo was small and very clever. May often brought him to visit England. On those occasions he got inside a large m.u.f.f of hers and always remained unsuspected by Customs officers.

May came to London on her way back to New York, and displayed her elegant new neck. Mother and Grannie both wept and kissed her repeatedly, and May wept too, because it was like an impossible dream come true. Only after she had left for New York did mother say to Grannie, 'How sad, though, how terribly sad, to think that she could have had this operation fifteen years ago. She must have been very badly advised by consultants in New York.'

'And now, I suppose, it's too late,' said my grandmother thoughtfully. 'She will never marry now.'

But there, I am glad to say, Grannie was wrong.

I think May had been terribly sad that marriage was not to be for her, and I don't think for one moment she expected it so late in life. But some years later she came over to England bringing with her a clergyman who was the rector at one of the most important Episcopalian churches in New York, a man of great sincerity and personality. He had been told that he had only a year to live, but May, who had always been one of his most zealous parishioners, had insisted on getting together a subscription from the congregation and bringing him to London to consult doctors there. She said to Grannie: 'You know, I am convinced that he will will recover. He's needed, badly needed. He does wonderful work in New York. He's converted gamblers and gangsters, he's gone into the most terrible brothels and places, he's had no fear of public opinion or of being beaten up, and a lot of extraordinary characters have been converted by him.' May brought him out to luncheon at Ealing. Afterwards, at her next visit, when she came to say goodbye, Grannie said to her, 'May, that man's in love with you.' recover. He's needed, badly needed. He does wonderful work in New York. He's converted gamblers and gangsters, he's gone into the most terrible brothels and places, he's had no fear of public opinion or of being beaten up, and a lot of extraordinary characters have been converted by him.' May brought him out to luncheon at Ealing. Afterwards, at her next visit, when she came to say goodbye, Grannie said to her, 'May, that man's in love with you.'

'Why, Aunty,' exclaimed May, 'how can you say such a terrible thing? He never thinks of marriage. He is a convinced celibate.'

'He may have been once,' said Grannie, 'but I don't think he is now. And what's all this about celibacy? He's not a Roman. He's got his eye on you, you, May.' May.'

May looked highly shocked.

However, a year later, she wrote and told us that Andrew was restored to health and that they were getting married. It was a very happy marriage. No one could have been kinder, gentler and more understanding than Andrew was to May. 'She does so need to be happy,' he said once to Grannie. 'She has been shut off from happiness for most of her life, and she has become so afraid of it that it has turned her almost into a Puritan.' Andrew was always to be something of an invalid, but it did not stop his work. Dear May, I am so glad that happiness came to her as it did.

IV

In the year 1911 something that I considered fantastic happened. I went up in an aeroplane. I went up in an aeroplane. Aeroplanes, of course, were one of the chief subjects of surmise, disbelief, argument, and all the rest of it. When I had been at school in Paris, we were taken one day to see Santos Dumont endeavour to get up off the ground in the Bois de Boulogne. As far as I remember, the aeroplane got up, flew a few yards, then crashed. All the same, we were impressed. Then there were the Wright brothers. We read about them eagerly. Aeroplanes, of course, were one of the chief subjects of surmise, disbelief, argument, and all the rest of it. When I had been at school in Paris, we were taken one day to see Santos Dumont endeavour to get up off the ground in the Bois de Boulogne. As far as I remember, the aeroplane got up, flew a few yards, then crashed. All the same, we were impressed. Then there were the Wright brothers. We read about them eagerly.

When taxis came into use in London, a system was introduced of whistling for cabs. You stood on your front doorstep: one whistle would produce a 'growler' (four-wheeled cab); two whistles a hansom, that gondola of the streets; three whistles (if you were very lucky) produced that new vehicle a taxi. A picture in Punch Punch one week showed a small urchin saying to a butler standing on a stately doorstep, whistle in hand: 'Try whistling four times, Guv'nor, you one week showed a small urchin saying to a butler standing on a stately doorstep, whistle in hand: 'Try whistling four times, Guv'nor, you might might get an aeroplane!' get an aeroplane!'

Now suddenly it seemed that that picture was not so funny or impossible as it had been. It might soon be true. true.

On the occasion I am talking about, mother and I had been staying somewhere in the country, and we went one day to see a flying exhibitiona commercial venture. We saw planes zoom up into the air, circle round, and vol-plane down to earth again. Then a notice was put up: '5 a flight.' I looked at mother. My eyes grew large and pleading. 'Could I? Oh, mother, couldn't couldn't I? It would be so wonderful!' I think it was my mother who was wonderful. To stand and watch her beloved child going up in the air in a I? It would be so wonderful!' I think it was my mother who was wonderful. To stand and watch her beloved child going up in the air in a plane! plane! At that time they were crashing every day. She said, 'If you really want to go, Agatha, you shall.' At that time they were crashing every day. She said, 'If you really want to go, Agatha, you shall.'

5 was a lot of money in our life, but it was well spent. We went to the barricade. The pilot looked at me, and said, 'Is that hat on tight? All right, get in.' The flight only lasted five minutes. Up we went in the air, circled round several timesoh, it was wonderful! Then that switch-back down, and the vol-plane to earth again. Five minutes of ecstasyand half a crown extra for a photograph: a faded old photograph that I still have showing a dot in the sky that is me me in an aeroplane on May 10, 1911. in an aeroplane on May 10, 1911.

The friends of one's life are divided into two categories. First there are those that spring out of one's environment; with whom you have in common the things you do. They are like the old-fashioned ribbon-dance. They wind and pa.s.s in and out of your life, and you pa.s.s in and out of theirs. Some you remember, some you forget. Then there are those whom I would describe as one's elected elected friendsnot many in numberwhom a real interest on either side brings together, and who usually remain, if circ.u.mstances permit, all through your life. I should say I have had about seven or eight such friends, mostly men. My women friends have usually been environmental only. friendsnot many in numberwhom a real interest on either side brings together, and who usually remain, if circ.u.mstances permit, all through your life. I should say I have had about seven or eight such friends, mostly men. My women friends have usually been environmental only.

I don't know exactly what brings about a friendship between man and womanmen do not by nature ever want want a woman as a friend. It comes about by accidentoften because the man is already sensually attracted by some other woman and quite wants to talk about her. Women a woman as a friend. It comes about by accidentoften because the man is already sensually attracted by some other woman and quite wants to talk about her. Women do do often crave after friendship with menand are willing to come to it by taking an interest in someone else's love affair. Then there comes about a very stable and enduring relationshipyou become interested in each other as often crave after friendship with menand are willing to come to it by taking an interest in someone else's love affair. Then there comes about a very stable and enduring relationshipyou become interested in each other as people. people. There is a flavour of s.e.x, of course, the touch of salt as a condiment. There is a flavour of s.e.x, of course, the touch of salt as a condiment.

According to an elderly doctor friend of mine, a man looks at every woman he meets and wonders what she would be like to sleep withpossibly proceeding to whether she'd be likely to sleep with him him if he wanted it. 'Direct and coa.r.s.ethat's a man,' he put it. They don't consider a woman as a possible wife. if he wanted it. 'Direct and coa.r.s.ethat's a man,' he put it. They don't consider a woman as a possible wife.

Women, I think, quite simply try on, as it were, every man they meet as a possible husband. I don't believe any any woman has ever looked across a room and fallen in love at first sight with a man; lots of men have with a woman. woman has ever looked across a room and fallen in love at first sight with a man; lots of men have with a woman.

We used to have a family game, invented by my sister and a friend of hersit was called 'Agatha's Husbands'. The idea was that they picked out two or at most three of the most repellent-looking strangers in a room, and it was then put to me that I had had to choose one of them as a husband, on pain of death or slow torture by the Chinese. to choose one of them as a husband, on pain of death or slow torture by the Chinese.

'Now then, Agatha, which will you havethe fat young one with pimples, and the scurfy head, or that black one like a gorilla with the bulging eyes?'

'Oh, I can'tthey're so so awful.' awful.'

'You must.i.t's got to be one of them. Or else red hot needles and water torture.'