Letters by my mother: pregnancy and a stickybeak neighbour

Jane had four children: three of them, Richard, Gillian and Phillippa born in Scotland and one, Nigel, in Australia.

Jane only ever spoke in general terms about her pregnancies in her letters to the family, and was in most respects a very private person.  So, you can imagine the exquisite embarrassment Jane suffered at the hands of Mrs Barron, the upstairs neighbour, when she overstepped the mark. Jane relayed the following story to her mother:

Mrs Barron, who has followed my every symptom with the closest attention and interest, and been in turn helpful and a nuisance, just overstepped herself a bit, and affronted me so deeply that I nearly died of rage, and Eric had to write her a firm note and tick her off.

I was so angry that I wasn’t going to tell Eric, but when I got home, there he was, and I was white and shaking with fury and embarrassment, and he couldn’t help but see that something was to do. Mrs Barron’s idea of friendly interest sometimes verges on common curiosity, and she has never been above asking very personal questions about my well-being and discussing matters that I would sooner leave unmentioned.  I have tried to dodge her inquiries many a time, but she is more persistent than any blowfly, and at the same time does me so many real kindnesses that I am rather at a loss to know how to deal with her. Knowing that her interest springs from genuine kindness, I have ignored or laughed at a lot of her annoying ways, simply because I knew that she had never been taught to know better. But she overstepped the mark at a time when I was feeling like an insect under a microscope anyway, and that just put the lid on it.

Every time I leave the house with Eric, all the neighbouring window curtains suffer a slight upheaval, and every old wife for miles around says to herself, “that’s Mrs Allberry away”.  Everyone I meet in the course of my shopping asks meaningfully if I am keeping well and looks disappointed when I give a brisk, “yes thank you” and no details. Neighbours, whom I barely know, tell me things about my size and prophesy an early end, and after an unmitigated month or two of this overpowering interest I was beginning to feel exasperated and almost self-conscious, and hated to leave the house.

I have avoided Mrs Barron because she kept asking “don’t you have a pain yet?”, but she either rang my bell twice a day or hailed me through my open windows as she passed by in the street, so that I felt like dismantling the bell and drawing all the blinds — only I knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Well, finally she came in one day, with a skirt of Molly’s that wanted an invisible mend and I had promised to do it. I did the job and returned the skirt and was just about to leave when the old buzzard hoisted up the hem of my smock and said she just wanted to see how I was shaping. I protested vigorously, and she said, “Och, I might be your mother” and started to feel how firm my bulge was. I was so flabbergasted that I couldn’t say anything except that I was in a hurry and rushed off downstairs like spring lamb, shaking with rage and feeling a perfect fool. There was Eric, and out came the whole story, and when I got to where she said she might be my mother, I just burst into tears because I’ve been wanting you so much, and anyway I knew you would never have intruded on my personal feelings to such an extent. Maybe the whole thing upset me more than it need have done, but it was also the best in the end, because Eric sat down then and there and wrote to Mrs Barron. He really is the most wonderful creature and I felt so cherished and protected and was given to think what a wonderful thing successful matrimony was, and how lucky I am to have such a husband.  He told old B that it hurt him to have to write in such a manner, but she really must refrain from embarrassing me with such personal inquiries as she sometimes made, and must have more respect for my private feelings. Both of us were unendingly grateful for all her kindness to us, but that the same time he thought that she should not presume on such short acquaintance etc. etc.  Mrs Allberry would be quite pleased to see her if she cared to visit the nursing home after the baby arrived, but she must understand that he didn’t wish her to discuss any details of the confinement or ask any personal questions, because I preferred not to talk of such things. Hers sincerely, E J Allberry.

Next day I lived in hourly expectation of the visit, and sure enough she came after lunch, full of apologies and a bit tearful about having upset me, also fully conscious that she had done wrong. I stood my ground quite firmly and pointed out to her that her action had been very far from anything you would have done. Also I said that I realised that she had been deeply interested in my adventure, and was more or less reliving her own happy preparations, but didn’t feel that she needed to know all the more physical details as well as the numbers of tiny garments I had prepared.  I felt that it was quite enough for her when I told her that I was perfectly normal in every way, and keeping well. She saw my point, and was really very sorry at what she had done, so I told her that neither Eric nor I wished there to be any ill feeling over it, but she must understand that I had my reserves, and they were not to be intruded upon.

So in the end everything was set in order and all was well again, and relations between us are as cordial as ever. It was difficult to know how to deal with an older woman, just at first, because I still feel so very young and inexperienced, but I recited to myself all day that I was married and 26 and almost a mother and must be treated with respect, and learn to be a proper grown-up — and by the time it came to the encounter I ‘had me strength’ and didn’t do any of the silly weak things I had been frightened I might do. Eric was pleased, too, because I think he was half afraid I’d apologise for being angry with her! Well, there it is, and the air feels clean and I feel better, and the long wait is nearly over, so cheers for everything. I think Mrs Barron saw Dr Tannahill leave here today because not long afterwards she sent the maid down to inquire if I was still keeping well. I merely said, “yes thank you, quite well” and left it at that. Time enough for her to know about it when I finally leave, otherwise I expect she’d be in and out all day to see what progress I was making!

But that was the only reported misadventure and all the other mentions of her pregnancies were just a happy mother-to-be reporting about her condition. In the next instalment, the news of her very first pregnancy was delivered to her mother with the expected level of excitement on such an occasion.

Did your mother write letters or diary entries during her pregnancy or pregnancies? If so, what did she say? And if not, what stories has your mum told you about?