SIR,--As a middle-aged mother I do not appeal for your sympathy, I merely
wish to describe my position, the difficulties of which might no doubt be
paralleled in hundreds of other households. I have three children whose
characteristics may be thus briefly summarised:--
(1) Pamela, aged nineteen, is an ultra-modern young woman. She hates
politics of all shades, but adores SCRIABINE, STRAVINSKY and BENEDETTO
CROCE. She smokes cigars, wears male attire and has a perfect command of
the art of ornamental objurgation.
(2) Gerald, aged twenty-three, is war-weary; resentful of all authority;
"bored stiff" by any music save of the syncopated brand, and he divides his
time between Jazz-dancing with the dismal fervour of a gloomy dean and
attending meetings of pro-Bolshevist extremists.
(3) Anthony, aged twenty-six, is a soldier, a "regular"; restrained in
speech, somewhat old-fashioned in his tastes. This summer he spent his
leave fishing in Scotland and took with him two books--the _Life of
Stonewall Jackson_ and the _Bible_. It is hardly necessary to add that
Gerald is not on speaking terms with him.
As for myself, while anxious to keep in touch with my wayward brood, I find
the strain of accommodating myself to their varied requirements almost more
than I can stand. Pamela can only endure my companionship on the conditions
that I smoke (which makes me ill); that I emulate the excesses of her lurid
lingo (which makes me squirm), and that I paint my face (which makes me
look like a modern Messalina, which I am not). Gerald is prepared to accept
me as a "pal," provided that I play David to his Saul by regaling him on
Sunday mornings with negroid melodies, which he punctuates with snorts on
the trombone. If he knew that I went to early morning service all would be
at an end between us. Finally, Anthony wants me to remain as I was and
really am. So you see that I have to lead not a dual but a triple life, and
am only spared the necessity of making it quadruple by the fact that my
husband is fortunately dead. As Pamela gracefully remarked the other day,
"It was a good thing for poor father that he went West to sing bass in the
heavenly choir before we grew up." In conclusion I ought to admit that my
future is not without prospects of alleviation. Pamela has just announced
her engagement to an archdeacon of pronounced Evangelical views; Gerald is
meditating a prolonged tour in New Guinea with a Bolshevist mission;
Anthony contemplates neither matrimony nor expatriation.