AN EDWARDIAN PICNIC
PART ONE
"Yes, I'll bring scones and two loaves of homemade bread and of course the
pickled tongue in aspic as you suggested, and Agnes said she's bringing her
delicious potato salad. Everybody loves it and a picnic wouldn't be the same
without it, would it?" she twittered, tucking a strand of hair into her
untidy bun and dabbing her upper lip where the little beads of sweat were
gathering.
"Such a hot day, today - I've had the blinds down since 9 o'clock and the
house feels stifling already, goodness only knows what it will be like on the
day of the picnic, although mind you - I hope we don't have any rain, as that
would spoil things for everybody wouldn't it?"
Sally was an inveterate chatterer, voicing every thought the moment it entered
her head, and some said this made her a monumental bore with nothing of value
to impart. But she was so good-hearted and had such a caring nature it was hard
to be critical when encountering her warmth and despite her chattering, she had
loads of friends.
When Marie had been told about the arrangements for the annual picnic she had
rebelled at the thought of another of these "family and friends"
events. She really hated having to be present at these gatherings; they were so
boring and repetitive. "Why can't we do something different this
year," she had grumbled to Mamma, thinking of the interesting activities
they could undertake to replace the staid gathering of adults and their friends
who congregated on the banks of the
"We'll have to organise things ourselves, now that Grandad's
gone", remarked, "but we can still use his
workers from the timber mill to help with the heavy carrying. They'll bring the
wagon loaded with the tables and chairs, all the cutlery and tableware. Tell
Katrina to get the maids to pack the silverware into the green baize boxes and
pack the china carefully in straw in the usual way."
"Oh Mom," complained Marie, irritated she was being roped into the
preparations when everyone knew exactly what they had to do from long practice.
"Why do we always have to have a picnic every year? We're all so bored
with the same thing. Except for the occasional bird dropping on the tablecloth
and the sunshine and fresh air, it's always the same. All that's missing is the
smell of past meals and the pong of the gentlemen's cigars!"
"Your Granny Lotta always liked things to be
done properly," her mother replied inexorably. "Always insisted on
keeping up appearances, she did. The family's social position in
But thankfully, since her death seven years ago, followed six months later by Grandad William's quiet passing, things had eased
considerably and now the picnic was easy-going and free, with groups sitting
and lounging on the grass and the younger men bringing earthenware demijohns of
cider and large bottles of beer to which they helped themselves surreptitiously
behind the screening umtungula trees.
Marie seldom took much part in the activities, her incapacity prevented her
from joining in the games and races, but as she grew older she had begun to
watch the people around her, taking pleasure from observing the interactions
and listening to the conversation. It was always a source of wonder how much
information people gave away with their body language and whispered asides, and
somehow in the open air everybody seemed to relax the conventions and behaviour
changed subtly as it would never do indoors.
First, there was little Auntie Connie, one of the many spinsters in the group,
for whom this annual picnic was the highlight of her year. She lived a lonely
life in an uncomfortable dark rooming house, mostly
occupied by overworked teachers whose only conversation was their pupils. She
earned her keep by helping out in the kitchen and was always frightened of
losing her accommodation through some trifling misdemeanour of which she was
unaware. She wore black buttoned boots polished to a high shine, and a drab shirtwaister, and her hair was usually tied up in a doek, "to keep the spiderwebs
out," she said, when questioned. She'd fancied herself in love with the
local parson, but when her adoring glances were not returned after many Sundays
spent listening to his sermon with her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face, she
switched her affection to the butcher, ignoring his stout wife and four
children on the farm.
"You'll be making a real fool of yourself if you go on that way," her
spiteful sister Maud had warned her, but it took more than one warning to bring
her to her senses before Connie gave up all hope of finding the love of her
life, and resigned herself to lonely spinsterhood.
"Do you think Charlie and his friends will be coming?" Marie asked
her mother, preening herself in front of the mirror and twisting two of her
beautiful chestnut curls over her shoulder.
"He'll not take much notice of you, my girl, if he does," her mother
replied with brutal truth. "He's got his eyes on a much bigger prize than
an invalid girl. He wants to find a healthy rich heiress who'll be a mother to
his children, and you're certainly not what he's looking for." Marie hated
it when her mother spoke to her in this way, it was cruel and unnecessary, but
perhaps this very hardness had given Marie the courage to overcome the
disability of her withered left leg. Unbeknown to Marie her mother's
attitude hid her grief and anger that she, her beloved last-born child, should
have been born with a withered leg.
'Oh, I do hate this heavy calliper,' thought Marie walking awkwardly on her
shorter leg. 'It makes my hips ache and slows me up so much. I can never join
in the other activities and I'd love to be able to dance when the band starts
up.' But despite her lack of movement, Marie had many friends as she had such a
loving nature. 'I love talking to you Marie my dear,' they all said, 'you're
always willing to listen no wonder you know so much about what goes on in the
village.'
Others amongst the group who would attend the picnic were the cousins, Lance
and Gerald. Strictly speaking, they were no longer boys, but young men on the
cusp of manhood, eager to get out into the world and try their luck on the
famed
"How d'you like my new 'stache,
Marie?" Lance queried, carelessly swinging his leg as he perched on the
'X'-shaped railings around the veranda. He had recently grown a whispy brown moustache which he stroked lovingly every time
he remembered. The moustache still looked like an untidy scrap of seaweed
draped across his upper lip, but to Lance it represented manhood and he
imagined that every sweet young thing who saw him, immediately developed an
insatiable desire to be wrapped in his arms. He still had a lot to learn about
the world, and women in particular.
His brother Gerald was quieter and less outgoing, following in his brother's
footsteps wherever he went, but there had been times in the past when Gerald
had not failed to take the lead, and there were plenty of signs to indicate
that as soon as he had gained sufficient confidence, Gerald would become a
force to be reckoned with. He had always been interested in mechanics and
showed quite an aptitude for it.
"That boy's got aptitude!" Granny 'Lotta
had been fond of saying, and she'd insisted that he receive some training in
elementary electrics and mechanics. With his innate ability, Gerald was quickly
learning how the new labour-saving gadgets and inventions worked, and in a
couple of years, he'd be a valuable addition to any employer's workforce when
the boys went up to the goldfields.
The day of the picnic dawned bright and clear with
just a hint of a breeze. The whitecaps on the waves off the
Scurrying outside Katrina screeched at the top of her voice - [so inelegant,
but then you could never teach these coloured people anything could you?' Mama
said], "Jy, Koosie,
vat die seil and trek met hom,
en maak dit vas aan die tak," and there was
a running and scratching in the barn to find the canvas and ropes and then a
loading and the swift clopping of hooves as the wagon moved off with the first
load of chairs and comestibles. All would be ready for them by the time the
family reached the picnic ground, and the awning would give them some
additional cover from the baking sun.
..oo0oo.
Ten minutes later the ladies descended dressed in their summer finery, parasols
at the ready. There was
"Mollie" was Colonel Moline of the Worcestershire Regiment stationed
at Fort Beaufort on the Border between the Kei and Fish Rivers, protecting the
settlers from the onslaughts of the Fingoes and the Dwyka; a thankless job and one for which these fair-skinned
Englishmen were totally unsuited. Their background and training had never
prepared them for this type of guerrilla fighting in the unforgiving terrain of
the
"Many a good marriage prospect waiting his time for promotion out
there," Uncle Edward murmured jocularly. "You girls don't want to let
these sons of
"You'll be entertaining us as usual with your lovely singing won't you, me
dearie?" he added, changing the subject before
the family noticed his sentimentality. Pulling out a silk handkerchief smelling
of Bay Rum cologne to dab his lips, he screwed his monocle into his eye as he
gazed lovingly at his darling girl. Seventeen now, and developing into a real
beauty like her elder sister Alice, he would do all he could to facilitate a
good match for her, it was the least he could do to
help his favourite sister's daughter.
Chapter Two
When the wagon returned, the ladies and the rest of
the baskets piled in and, with Albertina and her
grandson Sammy to serve at table, they took a leisurely drive down to the
picnic grounds. Crowds of friends were gathering, there was Mrs Cooke with her
three daughters and the two younger boys, and Mrs Robertson had brought old
Auntie Mamie, such a long time since she'd attended a
picnic.
"Alfred not joining us today, Mrs Cooke?" queried Mama kindly,
wondering how she managed with that husband of hers.
"Surprised he keeps a job these days really, always drunk and in such a
responsible position - train driver and all. Don't know what the family will do
if he loses his job on the railways and all them little ones to support. It
must be a terrible worry for Adeline, never knowing whether his stoker is going
to bring him home half-sozzled, or if he's just been
kept late at the depot."
After unloading the wagon and setting up the picnic the group settled down to
exchange all the latest news and stories, and, in the usual tradition, this was
when Freddie Knight set up his camera tripod and with many a laughing
direction, got them to pose for a photograph.
"Move in a little closer, Cousin Katie - and Gerald and Lance put on your
straw boaters, they make you boys look so handsome," he said, cleverly
stage-managing the group, getting them to pose attractively and showing the
ladies and young gentlemen off to their best advantage.
"Alice, tilt your head a leetle forward, your
beautiful hat must look well in the picture, also hold your parasol towards the
front as well, and Marie dear, you sit on this small stool - you'll be more
comfortable that way - then Lance can put his hand on your shoulder, we all
know how fond he is of you, me dearie" continued
Freddie, deftly moving the living pawns around his chessboard until they were
positioned to his satisfaction.
Then, darting back to his tripod, he ducked under the black cloth and holding
up the phosphorus flash, he shouted "Hold it!" and the group froze
until, with a small explosion, the flash went off and they could resume
talking. After another two or three pictures were taken in various positions -
Freddie was stickler for always getting things right -
Freddie felt he had 'captured the moment' as he liked to call it. Nobody
objected, in fact, they looked forward to seeing the finished product and
later, when he produced copies for sale they sold quickly, soon becoming
treasured items in family photograph albums.
The day passed quickly in a haze of food, good fellowship and talk lubricated
by the hidden jars of cider and beer for the lads, and an occasional glass of
wine for the ladies and by late afternoon people were beginning to rouse
themselves from their after-lunch snoozes, brush off the dust and grass and
splash cooling river water over their sunburned cheeks and arms. Soon, a plume
of golden dust rising into the sunset air and the clopping of hooves indicated
that the wagons were on their way. People began packing unused food and drink;
the annual family picnic was over.
In a quiet glade shaded by giant milkwood trees, two
people were busy with their own concerns, unaware of the flurry of activity and
increased noise.
'It's all so silly really,' she thought to herself, biting her lips to prevent
her lifting her head and glaring at him in an attempt to make him hurry up and
say the words. 'We all know that of course I'll accept him, it's been a
foregone conclusion for months now. I'll never get a better offer than Colonel
Moline, and even if it means I'll have to leave my family, friends and country
and follow wherever the Army sends him, it'll be a small sacrifice to make for
the prestige and position it'll bring me as the wife of a colonel.'
At last Mollie stopped whittling the stick he had broken from the overhanging
branch and applied himself to the matter in hand, clasping her cool slender
fingers in his hot, dry hands. Tilting her chin up with one finger, he looked
deep into her lovely eyes and in one breath he said, "Darling Alice, you
know how much I love you and how long it has taken me to bring myself to ask
you this, but - will you marry me? I've deferred asking you, knowing how deeply
you love all your family and how much of a wrench it'll be for you to leave
them and live in another country many thousands of miles from home. But if you
can bring yourself to undertake the sacrifice and are willing to follow me and
become my wife, I promise that you'll never regret it and I will make you the
best and happiest of wives."
Breathing a soft sigh of pleasure and acceptance,
BARBARA DURLACHER
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|
Name |
Comment |
Date |
|
Erna |
Great imagination! You seem to
have brought an old photograph to life here – did you? Maybe one of Freddie’s
pictures in your grandmother’s album? It takes a lot of guts to tackle a
“period piece”, and a lot of research to make it sound authentic. For
instance: did Edwardians eat potato salad? I feel that this story really
wants to be a novel. There is more than one “plot” or “theme” in it – I
wanted to know more about chattering Sally and cripple Marie and lonely
little Auntie Connie. In fact, I was rather bemused when the story ended with
a proposal – I had not expected the main theme (or climax) to be about Alice
and her colonel. When you re-write the story, you could perhaps focus more on
Keep writing! You have created a
lot of interesting characters, who all deserve to have their stories told.
Stephen King says that he never knows what is going to happen in a book he
writes… he just follows his characters around and writes down what they do! |
2007-10-16 |
|
Barbara |
Dear Erna - Sorry, somehow I did
not manage to finish my earlier thanks for your very constructive comments on
my story. I had wanted to develop the story into a short novella or novel,
depicting the events of the family over 40 years. Delighted to receive your
critique, as now you've given me the impetus to continue. Also thanks for
your perceptive remark about "potato salad". You're probably right
- I doubt that it was known to the Edwardian table. |
2007-10-16 |
|
Mandy |
This is a stunning piece, Barbara.
Your descriptions are so vivid that they breathe life. I can so relate to
those obligatory family affairs but I must say this is one is much grander
scale than those to which I refer. I agree with Erna, you have created some
very interesting characters - don't let them die whatever you do! |
2007-10-17 |
|
Lois Harris |
I love the style, I found your voice,
and I love the way you introduce the characters. |
2007-10-18 |