A Notable Woman. Jean Lucey Pratt
you better here.’ We moved a little aside out of the way of people coming downstairs. ‘Well Jean,’ she said softly, ‘there hasn’t been much time has there?’ ‘And,’ I hesitated, pulling at the banister with nervous fingers. ‘Yes?’ she said kindly. ‘I may go on writing to you, mayn’t I?’ ‘Oh yes, rather!’ she laughed. We moved towards the door, ‘Yes Jean, do write. I shall be pleased to hear …’ Then somehow it was all over. It was wonderful. I am so glad I did it. My school career ended gloriously.
I did just about what I expected in the exams. I failed in Maths, passed in History, Arithmetic, French. I only got a credit for Botany and passed in Drawing. And I got credit in English.
Sunday, 21 August
Ethel and I have talked together about the bigger things. But I cannot say what I feel, what I know. I was surprised to find out how very simple was her nature, how little she seemed to know of life. God has given me a far-seeing vision and a certain amount of understanding – I have an imagination. It is my most precious possession. And it is what Ethel lacks. Her hard practical character is redeemed by a very deep and broad sense of humour which enables her to see things from a wide point of view, but she hasn’t yet learnt to dream by day. I don’t think she ever will. She is inclined to laugh at all that I hold dear.
Tuesday, 23 August
This morning I took Daddy in Pipsqueak over to Acton and we went to Eastman’s [garage]. I came back by myself and all was going swimmingly until I tried to get into the garage. For the second time I nearly knocked down the gatepost, only it was the other one this time and the gate is unhinged. What will Daddy say? These sort of things just crush the spirit out of you. I wanted to creep away somewhere like an ashamed dog and howl. Why can’t I steer straight?11
There’s no getting away from it – it is my eyes. I must see Mr Roberts this week. I called in on Harris’s on the way back about the valves and the reverse gear, the latter being mighty difficult to engage. Of course when he did it it went beautifully and he only laughed.
Sunday, 11 September
I went to Mr Roberts and I have over-strained my eyes. It was part of the price of the Schools Cert. In consequence I am not able to do any of the things I like best, i.e. reading, writing and driving. Also sewing. I shall probably be going to a specialist in the future. I don’t think I had better write any more now.
Sunday, 18 September
Do you know a month from today I shall be 18 and I shall be allowed to smoke! O glorious day.
Tuesday, 20 September
Retrospect:
Tipping up in a perambulator left in the conservatory while the others were having dinner. Green peas. Golden curls and blue ribbons. Making houses with the bedclothes before breakfast. Running about naked and thrilling with the feel of it. A white silk frock and a big blue sash and dancing slippers. Dancing lessons. The polka with Noreen. Buddy’s cousin. Swinging at the bottom of the garden. Summer days and the smell of citronella to keep away the gnats. Bare legs and the wonderful silver fountain of the hose. Daddy in a white sweater. School. Very small, very shy. The afternoon in May – taken by mother to Penrhyn. Learning how to write the letters of the alphabet. A beautiful clean exercise book and a new pencil. Miss Wade at the head of the dining room table and me at her right. Choking tears because of youth’s cruelty. Leslie as a cadet in khakis. Wartime. Air raids. Mother white-faced and fearful. Mummy and Daddy who were ‘lovers still’. Youth’s sudden fierce resentment. Lavender, Peggy, Veronica and I. The Xmas when Mummy wasn’t there. Mummy white-faced and old eyes grown tired with suffering yet dimly alight with that courage which never quite died. The sudden night-fears. The long lonely nights that ended and she was home again. Hot days when she sat in the garden. Nurse Petersson. Darkness in her bedroom. The electric fan and ice to keep it cool. Leslie suddenly brought home to see his mother for the last time. An afternoon in late July when we all came into her room and she prayed for us. Realisation that my fears were true. Tears. Tears. A dull sudden despair. Tennis and laughter. Boarding school next term at PHC! Thrills of the new life before me. Clothes. Mummy’s last kiss on my lips and my eyes dim with tears. Two shillings in my hand. Gwyneth as a new girl next to me. Bells, bells. Nights spent praying. The Tuesday morning French lesson. Boredom itself. Miss Rodger’s face round the door. ‘May Jean Pratt go to Miss Parker.’ The absurd consciousness of having on my lavender jumper. The swing doors and Miss Parker beyond. ‘Your father is in the drawing room my dear, he has something to say to you.’ The sudden knowledge of the end of all things. Daddy red-eyed and tired with open arms and only a sob to tell me everything. Tears. Tears and unbearable heartache. Home for the day. Aunt Edith outside in their car waiting for me. Workmen that stopped to stare. A silence that greeted me as I stepped inside the house. Mother was dead. A sudden fierce desire to turn round and run away. Anywhere. ‘She will be very still.’ The peace that smoothed away the suffering from her face. And her forehead so cold when I kissed it. The gold of the sunshine outside. Back to school. Feeling paralysed. Pleased with sudden elevation of position the simple tragedy had placed me in. The weekend and the flowers. White lilies that I threw after the coffin. It seemed such a long way down. We left her under the yew tree covered with flowers.
The term went by and the holidays came as all holidays will. Daddy alone. So he worked to save himself from dying of a broken heart. And so the years went by. And Ethel came. And life became what it is now.
Sunday, 9 October
I am beginning to live again – at last! But there is still something lacking – just a boy. To take me to the pictures, to be teased about, to write me letters, to dance with me, to sort of fill Leslie’s place. But I must be patient. I know it’s my glasses, always has been. Leslie said once, ‘I suppose you’ve got to wear glasses? You know, without pulling your leg, you’re a pretty girl.’
And I, fool that I was, answered ‘I know!’ I didn’t mean to leave it at that. I had meant to add that ‘my glasses don’t improve my looks,’ but somehow I couldn’t get it out, and he’s gone away thinking perhaps I’m conceited. Perhaps he’s right.
I have asked Miss Wilmott to tea! Daddy suggested it. I’ve asked her!
I love the work at the office. I am learning shorthand and typewriting at the moment.
Thursday, 20 October
The dreamed-of has happened. SHE has sat in the drawing room and drunk our tea. I have talked with her and walked with her, as I sighed for long ago. But the things we spoke about were very ordinary, everyday things. I was nervous at first and felt frightfully sick, but by tea-time I gradually calmed down. She was very sweet. Nothing embarrassing happened. Ethel is in bed with a frightful cold and Daddy couldn’t get home, so it was just she and I, a whimsical trick of fate. How extraordinary life is. And yet I’m not as thrilled as I dreamed of being. Sentimental relationships are always embarrassing.
And I’m eighteen! The time one longs for comes around at last. This evening when Daddy came in I was smoking a State Express and neither of us remarked on it.
Saturday, 22 October
It is a miserable day and Leslie has forgotten my birthday.
Thursday, 1 December
I was half awake this morning when the clock struck 8. Then Daddy came in with two letters. One he gave to me – it was only my dividend and he waited till I read it. There was something strained in his attitude. I knew before he told me that he had some sort of bad news. But I knew it couldn’t be Ethel. It was Leslie. I had to hold my hand over my heart very tightly to stop it beating before I could open the Company’s letter. He has diphtheria. A mild attack they say. He is lying ill now, now as I write this, and we cannot do anything because of the miles that separate us, the miles of this ‘small’ world. But he is in Montevideo. The Company will let us know how he gets on. But I cannot help thinking of the things that might happen.
And