Henrietta Sees It Through by Joyce Dennys Page A

Charles,’ said Lady B.
    â€˜Lots of us could look after darling Charles,’ said Faith. ‘He had a hole in his sock yesterday.’
    I was just thinking of a stinging retort, when suddenly my knitting came out. ‘Look, look!’ I cried. ‘It
is
a bootee!’
    And so it was, Robert.
    Always your affectionate Childhood’s Friend,
    H ENRIETTA

 
    Â 
    Â 
    December 1, 1943
    M Y D EAR R OBERT
    Although you are the same age as I am and therefore it is not the slightest use trying to persuade you that I am in my early thirties, I am not going to tell you which week I had to go and register, because I don’t see why the Censor, who is no doubt enjoying this letter, should know the horrid truth.
    Anyhow, when the Saturday for the forty-you-know-whats arrived, I had to leave my work undone, and a cold lunch for poor Charles, and mount the bus for a Journey to our Cathedral City which was most assuredly not Really Necessary.
    â€˜Are you going to Register?’ I whispered to Mrs Whinebite, who came and sat beside me.
    Mrs Whinebite looked at me with cold dislike.
    â€˜I am going to the dentist,’ she said. ‘I registered
ages
ago.’
    â€˜I suppose you’re all off to Register?’ said little Mrs Simpkins, getting in, rather out of breath, with her shopping basket. ‘Ah, me! What a thing it is to be young!’
    â€˜Register?’ said Mrs Savernack in her loud voice. ‘You must be younger than I thought, Henrietta.’
    â€˜My dear, I
am
surprised,’ said the Admiral, leaning confidentially towards me. ‘I had no idea you were so long in the tooth.’
    These remarks saddened me, and quite spoilt my ride in the bus, which I usually enjoy.
    At the Labour Exchange I was interviewed by a Young Person whose lips were painted where her lips were not.
    â€˜Have you any children under fourteen?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Any help in your house?’
    â€˜Part-time help.’
    â€˜How many people do you look after?’
    â€˜One.’
    The Young Person, looking disdainful, wrote down the answers. ‘Here’s an Idle Creature, I could see her saying to herself, and I had to admit that from the answers I had given there seemed no reason why I shouldn’t be whipped into a factory tomorrow. I opened my mouth to explain about Charles, and the secretary, and Matin’s departure, and Evensong’s chest, and the garden, and then I shut it again. There’s not to reason why, there’s but to make reply at interviews of this kind, and I shall enjoy another ride in the bus, and a jaunt to our Cathedral City to explain these matters later on.

    I was interviewed by a Young Person
    â€˜Your Registration Number?’ said the Young Person.
    I felt myself getting pink. ‘I’m afraid I’ve done a very silly thing,’ I said. ‘I’ve left my identification card at home.’
    â€˜Can’t you remember the number?’
    â€˜No.’
    The Young Person gave me a Look. ‘What were you before you were a housewife?’ she said patiently.
    â€˜An artist.’ The word echoed sadly round the bare little room, and several of the forty-you-know-whats, who were waiting, leant forward to get a better look.
    When I came out Mrs Whinebite was furtively crossing the road to the Labour Exchange. There are times whenone simply has to behave like a gentleman, so I stooped down to tie my shoelace, and saw her, out of the corner of my eye, skip nimbly into a tobacconist’s a few doors further down.
    Coming home, Mrs Savernack sat next to me in the bus. I hadn’t forgiven her for her remark on the journey out, so I said, ‘I didn’t care for that girl’s make-up, did you?’
    â€˜What girl?’ said Mrs Savernack.
    â€˜The girl at the Labour Exchange.’
    Mrs Savernack is fifty-five and unable to tell a lie. ‘I haven’t been to the Labour Exchange,’ she said