For Love Alone by Christina Stead Page A

lovelyclaret cup, I’m so greedy for it—that’s a lovely turtle neck, dear! Just a sec”, and off she ran. The lonely girls passed by another group where a smart-looking girl of about seventeen was leaning forward, stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth, while a fat brunette declared: “Oh, it was awful but we simply shrieked and I never dared tell mother”, and farther on they dropped anchor by some older people who were talking about the wedding presents. “A cheque for fifty pounds from the bride’s parents.” Here they listened eagerly, the shame dropping from their shoulders and their eyes getting tense; for they had given two presents, Kitty a handsome tray cloth from her own hope chest and Teresa an electric iron. These were Bedloes however; instinctively they closed rank to shut out the Hawkinses, and Teresa heard the words “another electric iron” from some of their own people, right at hand. The girls moved forward. Tina Hawkins was there, the girl who had just got engaged, thick-browed, jolly Tina, sullen no more but convulsed with laughter as in the old days, Tina with her guttural voice and beside her fat Aunt Esmay holding forth.
    â€œThree electric irons and believe it or not, a pair of chamber-pots.”
    â€œOh, it’s impossible.”
    â€œCall me a liar? I swear, I saw them.”
    â€œBut did they put them with the—with the—oh—other wedding presents?”
    â€œUnder the table,” said Tina solemnly, “of course.”
    â€œOh, I can’t believe it.”
    â€œWhy not?” said Aunt Esmay. “You need them even after you get married. You don’t stop wee-weeing.”
    The girls shrieked.
    A cloud of obscure references hung over the girls. Tina said:
    â€œThe girls and Madeline dared me to give po’s to Trix when Vic married; I said I would and she made me go buy them. I thought I would die when the man came up to me, a nice young man with hair plastered down. But I up and said: Two po’s.’ He turned red as a beetroot and then he laughed and Mad, the dusty bow-wow, said: ‘My sister wants them for a wedding.’”
    They laughed heavily. The humour of the afternoon was already well launched and ploughing through a choppy sea.
    â€œOh, I could have died laughing, I never laughed so much,” said Tina.
    â€œAnd you gave them to Vic?” one of the girls said, unwilling to give up the story.
    Aunt Bea came rushing up.
    â€œI don’t want to miss any of the fun, a family wedding doesn’t come every day and especially such a grand do as Aunt Eliza gives. Oh, girls, oh, girls, Tina, your sister Madeline, you two girls, you’re a menace to society. You ought to be put out. I never heard in my life such an awful,” she lowered her voice, “limerick. I flatter myself I’m open-minded, I relish humour, even broad humour, but there are limits, and Mad with those big innocent baby blue eyes wide open—oh, Mother Ida! But what were you girls giggling about ?”
    â€œTell us the limerick first.”
    â€œI couldn’t bring myself to. Go and ask Mad.”
    Instantly, there were some deserters. Aunt Bea, seeing them disband, quickly asked again what they had been laughing at. For the first time Kitty spoke and quite seriously:
    â€œChamberpots. Some awful presents someone, I mean, Tina, gave Vic.”
    â€œOh, let me die!” Aunt Bea swung on to Kitty’s shoulder. “Never!”
    â€œIt’s not so funny,” said Aunt Esmay. “I’ve seen po’s given twice. One pair, down at Mr Vetter’s wedding, some friends of his in the club gave them to him for a gag, when they gave him the bachelor dinner. This pair had eyes in the bottom.”
    Some vile jokes followed, but “Eyes, what eyes?” said one.
    â€œYes,” said Tina seriously, “they had one pair with eyes painted in when I was down with Mad. They