The Pursuit of Love

Uncle Matthew fell asleep practically at the
dinner-table. He would then doze in his business-room
for an hour or so before dragging himself, in a somnam-
bulist trance, to bed, Where he slept the profound sleep of
one who has been out of doors all day until cockcrow the
following morning, when he became very much awake.
This was the time for his never-ending warfare with the
housemaids over wood-ash. The rooms at Alconleigh
were heated by wood fires, and Uncle Matthew main-
tained, rightly, that if these were to function properly, all
the ash ought to be left in the fireplaces in a great hot
smouldering heap. Every housemaid, however, for some
reason (an early training with coal fires probably) was
bent on removing this ash altogether. When shakings,
imprecations, and being pounced out at by Uncle Mat-
thew in his paisley dressing-gown at six a.m., had con-
vinced them that this was really not feasible, they became
absolutely determined to remove, by hook or by crook,
just a little, a shovelful or so, every morning. I can only
suppose they felt that like this they were asserting their
personalities.
The result was guerrilla warfare at its most exciting.
Housemaids are notoriously early risers, and can usually
count upon three clear hours when a house belongs to
them alone. But not at Alconleigh. Uncle Matthew was
always, winter and summer alike, out of his bed by five
a.m., and it was then his habit to wander about, looking
like Great Agrippa in his dressing-gown, and drinking
endless cups of tea out of a thermos flask, until about
seven, when he would have his bath. Breakfast for my
uncle, my aunt, family and guests alike, was sharp at eight,
and unpunctuality was not tolerated. Uncle Matthew was
no respecter of other people’s early morning sleep, and,
after five o’clock one could not count on any, for he raged
round the house, clanking cups of tea, shouting at his
dogs, roaring at the housemaids, cracking the stock whips
which he had brought back from Canada on the lawn
with a noise greater than gun-fire, and all to the accom-
paniment of Galli Curci on his gramophone, an abnor-
mally loud one with an enormous horn, through which
Would be shrieked “Una voce poco fa”—-“The Mad
Song” from Lucia—“L0, here the gen-tel lar-ha-hark”—
and so on, played at top speed, thus rendering them even
higher and more screeching than they ought to be.
Nothing reminds me of my childhood days at Alcon-
ltfigh so much as those songs. Uncle Matthew played them
incessantly for years, until the spell was broken when he
Went all the way to Liverpool to hear Galli Curci in
Person. The disillusionment caused by her appearance was
$0 great that the records remained ever after silent, and
Were replaced by the deepest bass voices that money
could buy,

and


THE engagement was duly announced in The Timex.
The Kroesigs now invited the Alconleighs to spend a
Saturday to Monday at their house near Guildford. Lady
Kroesig, in her letter to Aunt Sadie, called it a Week-end,
and said it would be nice to get to know each other bet-
ter. Uncle Matthew flew into a furious temper. It was one
of his idiosyncrasies that, not only did he never stay in
other people’s houses (except, very occasionally, with
relations), but he regarded it as a positive insult that he
should be invited to do so. He despised the expression
“week-end,” and gave a sarcastic snort at the idea that it
would be nice to know the Kroesigs better.

and

He did not succeed in making an asset out of Linda.
Poor Linda was incapable of understanding the Kroesig
point of view; try as she might (and in the beginning she
tried very hard, having an infinite desire to please) it re-
mained mysterious to her. The fact is that, for the first
time in her life, she found herself face to face with the
bourgeois attitude of mind; and the fate often foreseen for
me by Uncle Matthew as a result of my middle-class ed-
ucation had actually befallen her. The outward and visible
signs which he so deprecated were all there—the Kroesigs
said notepaper, perfume, mirror and mantelpiece, they
even invited her to call them Father and Mother, which,
in the first flush of love, she did, only to spend the rest of
her married life trying to get out of it by addressing them
to their faces as “you,” and communicating with them by
postcard or telegram. Inwardly their spirit was utterly
commercial, everything was seen by them in terms of
money. It was their barrier, their defence, their hope for
the future, their support for the present, it raised them
above their fellowmen, and with it they Warded off evil.
The only mental qualities that they respected were those
Which produced money in substantial quantities, it was
their one criterion of success, it was power and it was
glory. To say that a man was poor was to label him a rot-
ter, bad at his job, idle, feckless, immoral.
and
She was far too young to be interested in politics, which were
anyhow, in those days before Hitler came along to brighten
them up, a very esoteric amusement.
and
 Linda looked at the list of families. It took the form Qf
a card index, the head of each family having a card on
which was written the number and names of his depend-
ents. ~
“It doesn’t give their ages,” said Linda. “How am I to
know if there are young babies?”
“That’s a point,” said Robert. “HoW is she to?”
“Quite easy,” said Christian. “With Spaniards you can
always tell. Before the war they were called either after
saints or after episodes in the sex life of the Virgin-
Annunciata, Asuncion, Purificacion, Concepcion, Consal-
acion, etc. Since the Civil War they are all called Carlos
after Charlie Marx, Federico after Freddie Engels or Es-
talina (very popular until the Russians let them down
with a wallop), or else nice slogans like Solidaridad-Ob-
reara, Libertad, and so on. Then you know the children
are under three. Couldn’t be simpler, really.”