Read Online Anglo-Saxon Attitudes by Angus Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

reminiscences, handed her the customary glass of sweet sherry and asked her how she liked living at her daughter's.
    'Oh! it's a loverly residence,' Mrs Salad said, carrying her glass with shaky hand to her smudged scarlet lips. 'Gladys isn't equal to it,' she added with dignity, 'though she's my daughter. My son-in-law saw it at once. "Mother," he said to me, "you make the place like a palace and it fits you like a glove."' Mrs Salad here moulded one of her black kid gloves to her small, knotted hand to illustrate the point. Then she continued, 'And a beautiful class of neighbours too. Though it's a trashy lot next door. Makin' h'objections without call. My grandson Vin come at weekends and he likes to sun himself in the garden. He strips thin but very delicate, and a lovely choice of the trunks. Gold-and-white satin. They starts makin' h'objections. I didn't lose my dignity. I just said, "You filthy trollopy lot," I said. Well, you know me, dear. How's Mr John?'  she asked, giving Gerald a sharp glance. 'I seen him on the Tele. Very quick he was helping the lot that won't help themselves. Poor chap. Answering a lot of silly questions from the poorest of the poor. They won't thank him for it. Vin's met him often. A la-di-da lot they move with. It doesn't do any good to ask about it. We shouldn't understand it if we did. But there you are, it doesn't do to criticize, just because their larks aren't ours, does it?'  Gerald had no idea what Mrs Salad was driving at, but he agreed. 'I had a lovely powder-puff from Miss Dollie. She always remembers me. You goin' to her for Xmas?'
    It was Gerald's turn to look sharply at the old woman. 'Now, Mrs Salad, you know very well that I haven't seen Mrs Stokesay for years.'
    'No,' said Mrs Salad; 'more's the pity. You took what you wanted and passed on, as men will. Oh well, who can blame you?'  She shrugged it off with an ancien régime worldliness. 'Nobody wants to wear an old pair of shoes. But you had lovely larks while it lasted. And very nice to work for, you both were, sin or no sin.'
    Mrs Salad looked round the walls and fixed her eyes on a John drawing of a woman putting on her stockings. She gave it an approving smile as though to illustrate her broadmindedness.
    'That's the trouble with Gladys, doesn't know life,' she said. 'I was talkin' about the old days at His Majesty's the other night when we had company. After they'd gone she says to me, "Can't you find nothing to talk about but lavatories?" "I've met better class in the Cloakroom than you'll ever know," I said. "Programme girl seems more refined to me," she answered. Silly cow! I could have been programme girl over and over. But, no, thank you! Save your feet's my motto.'
    Mrs Salad's dim old eyes took on a distant look and she brought out a small lace-edged handkerchief from her old black velvet vanity bag, filling the room with the scent of violets.
    'Many's the time Sir Beerbohm Tree's stood outside the theatre, and Mr Lewis Waller too; lovely little body he had. "I'd strictly advise you," they'd say to their lady friends, "to use Mrs Salad's lavatory; it's on the left of the stalls going in." And they'd come, all the upper tens! I wouldn't have the trash - the demimondes and débutantes - I didn't want that filth. "There's a cloakroom on the other side," I'd say, and send them to old Mother Rogers. And now you want your present,' she said abruptly, as reminiscence and invention both gave out, and opening a brown paper bag, she produced a huge white silk handkerchief on which were embroidered a number of large orange flowers.
    'Thank you,' said Gerald. 'I like that very much. I'm glad you're able to keep up your embroidery.'
    'Art's in the bones or it isn't,' said Mrs Salad sententiously. 'I'm sorry it's marigolds, dear. I know you like the birds better, but I can't see to do their beaks now. The Mayor of Southtown,' she added rather vaguely, 'was looking into my eyes only the other day, "It seems against nature, Mrs