Holidays really shouldn’t be allowed to come to such abrupt ends. Luckily for me, the village school didn’t reopen until yesterday. On Monday I had one little person still by my side, to ease me back into term.

Looking back, I think we all had exactly the sort of holiday we needed. I know I did. Lazy days, in that we didn’t have to be anywhere at any particular time. Yet the days were busy, too. Days full of projects and plans, making and doing. Sewing, for me, and plenty of gardening. Knitting in odd moments here and there, which added up to four baby hats and a new dishcloth. For the children there were board games, and long days of make-believe, and reading, and running around out of doors. For John, the pleasure of being at home, snug in the cardigan I knitted him last year, away from worries and work. There were high days, of course, but lots of deliciously ordinary ones too.

Ilse received a beautiful edition of Alice in Wonderland this Christmas. It has coloured illustrations throughout, and gilt-edged pages. She has carried it around with most of her other presents, in her little satchel, and spent hours looking at the pictures and reading bits of it aloud to anyone who’ll listen. She simply makes up any words she can’t decipher – an approach which suits the text admirably. She is bold and inventive, my youngest.

Which is why I wasn’t surprised to be told off numerous times for referring to this little girl by the wrong name. It’s hard to keep up. She’s been Titty for much of the week, and occasionally one of Shackleton’s huskies. But there was no hesitation today. I’m Alice, Mummy. Alice.

Alice, in her blue frock and hair ribbon, helped with the morning chores. She chattered to Mrs P all through the wash, and then to the hens while I cleaned out their house. Finally, while our soup was warming for lunch, we did a quick bit of baking together: the sort of baking Alice would have done in Wonderland had the cook been better tempered.

By the afternoon there was nothing for it but to pull out the sewing machine and make the most of a precious day at home, just Alice and I. I hesitated over a worn sheet, set aside for sashing a quilt. But some moments just beg to be seized; I can source another by next autumn. Together we measured and cut, stitched and hemmed. Alice had a little rest, to look at the pictures in her book and discuss our progress with Dinah. She joined in again for the sewing on of the buttons, and we brushed her hair and retied the ribbon before ceremoniously slipping her arms into her new pinafore and buttoning up the back.

I’ve been meaning to make her one for months – the sort of simple white pinafore I grew up in. It was what all little girls wore, then. Today we made it for Alice, but she can be on the beach with the psammead in it, or waiting for Daddy, her Daddy, in a Yorkshire station. She can be a little princess, sleeping in a cold garret with only the rats for company, or sullen Mary Lennox, learning to skip and laugh and bring gardens back to life. I have a feeling that this pinafore will get an awful lot of wear, by an awful lot of characters. It was satisfying sewing. Not utilitarian in my eyes, but certainly so in hers.

Thus it was an afternoon well spent, for Alice and I. When the big ones tumbled in from school they recognised her immediately, much to her delight. And in turn she delighted them, by serving jam tarts for tea.

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— January 7, 1931

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