George Grossmith - The Diary of a Nobody

Two or three times he came up to me and deliberately kicked my shins. He hurt me once so much that the tears came into my eyes. I gently remonstrated with him, and Mrs James said: ‘Please don’t scold him; I do not believe in being too severe with young children. You spoil their character.’

Little Percy set up a deafening yell here, and when Carrie tried to pacify him, he slapped her face.

I was so annoyed, I said: ‘That is not my idea of bringing up children, Mrs James.’

Mrs James said: ‘People have different ideas of bringing up children – even your son Lupin is not the standard of perfection.’

A Mr Mezzini (an Italian, I fancy) here took Percy in his lap. The child wriggled and kicked and broke away from Mr Mezzini, saying: ‘I don’t like you – you’ve got a dirty face.’

A very nice gentleman, Mr Birks Spooner, took the child by the wrist and said: ‘Come here, dear, and listen to this.’

He detached his chronometer from the chain and made his watch strike six.

To our horror, the child snatched it from his hand and bounced it down upon the ground like one would a ball.

Mr Birks Spooner was most amiable, and said he could easily get a new glass put in, and did not suppose the works were damaged.

To show you how people’s opinions differ, Carrie said the child was bad-tempered, but it made up for that defect by its looks, for it was – in her mind – an unquestionably beautiful child.

I may be wrong, but I do not think I have seen a much uglier child myself. That is my opinion.

Master Percy Edgar Smith James

MAY 30. I don’t know why it is, but I never anticipate with any pleasure the visits to our house of Mrs James, of Sutton. She is coming again to stay for a few days. I said to Carrie this morning, as I was leaving: ‘I wish, dear Carrie, I could like Mrs James better than I do.’

Carrie said: ‘So do I, dear; but as for years I have had to put up with Mr Gowing, who is vulgar, and Mr Cummings, who is kind but most uninteresting, I am sure, dear, you won’t mind the occasional visits of Mrs James, who has more intellect in her little finger than both your friends have in their entire bodies.’

I was so entirely taken aback by this onslaught on my two dear old friends, I could say nothing, and as I heard the ’bus coming, I left with a hurried kiss – a little too hurried, perhaps, for my upper lip came in contact with Carrie’s teeth and slightly cut it. It was quite painful for an hour afterwards. When I came home in the evening I found Carrie buried in a book on Spiritualism, called There is no Birth , by Florence Singleyet. 63 63 (May 30) I found Carrie buried in a book on Spiritualism, called There is no Birth, by Florence Singleyet : Spiritualism, very popular during Victorian times – even Queen Victoria partook – was introduced to Britain in 1852 from the United States. As J. B. Priestley explained in Victoria’s Heyday : ‘In every town there were darkened rooms in which luminous spirit faces appeared, musical instruments played themselves, strange voices were heard prophesying… spiritualism and its miracles were all the rage’ (J. B. Priestley, Victoria’s Heyday , London: Heinemann, 1972). When Pooter returns home from work on 30 May he finds Carrie reading There is No Birth , by Florence Singleyet. The latter’s name is a crude pun on that of George Grossmith’s stage partner, Florence Marryat, an ardent spiritualist who persuaded George to take part in a séance in 1876 (an experience he found impossible to take seriously) and who later wrote a book called There is No Death . I need scarcely say the book was sent her to read by Mrs James, of Sutton. As she had not a word to say outside her book, I spent the rest of the evening altering the stair-carpets, which are beginning to show signs of wear at the edges.

Mrs James arrived and, as usual, in the evening took the entire management of everything. Finding that she and Carrie were making some preparations for table-turning, I thought it time really to put my foot down. I have always had the greatest contempt for such nonsense, and put an end to it years ago when Carrie, at our old house, used to have séances every night with poor Mrs Fussters (who is now dead). If I could see any use in it, I would not care. As I stopped it in the days gone by I determined to do so now.

I said: ‘I am very sorry, Mrs James, but I totally disapprove of it, apart from the fact that I receive my old friends on this evening.’

Mrs James said: ‘Do you mean to say you haven’t read There is no Birth ?’ I said: ‘No, and I have no intention of doing so.’ Mrs James seemed surprised and said: ‘All the world is going mad over the book.’ I responded rather cleverly: ‘Let it. There will be one sane man in it, at all events.’

Mrs James said she thought I was very unkind, and if people were all as prejudiced as I was, there would never have been the electric telegraph or the telephone.

I said that was quite a different thing.

Mrs James said sharply: ‘In what way, pray – in what way?’

I said: ‘In many ways.’

Mrs James said: ‘Well, mention one way.’

I replied quietly: ‘Pardon me, Mrs James; I decline to discuss the matter. I am not interested in it.’

Sarah at this moment opened the door and showed in Cummings, for which I was thankful, for I felt it would put a stop to this foolish table-turning. But I was entirely mistaken; for on the subject being opened again, Cummings said he was most interested in Spiritualism, although he was bound to confess he did not believe much in it; still, he was willing to be convinced.

I firmly declined to take any part in it, with the result that my presence was ignored. I left the three sitting in the parlour at a small round table which they had taken out of the drawing-room. I walked into the hall with the ultimate intention of taking a little stroll. As I opened the door, who should come in but Gowing!

On hearing what was going on, he proposed that we should join the circle and he would go into a trance. He added that he knew a few things about old Cummings, and would invent a few about Mrs James. Knowing how dangerous Gowing is, I declined to let him take part in any such foolish performance. Sarah asked me if she could go out for half an hour, and I gave her permission, thinking it would be more comfortable to sit with Gowing in the kitchen than in the cold drawing-room. We talked a good deal about Lupin and Mr and Mrs Murray Posh, with whom he is as usual spending the evening. Gowing said: ‘I say, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for Lupin if old Posh kicked the bucket.’

My heart gave a leap of horror, and I rebuked Gowing very sternly for joking on such a subject. I lay awake half the night thinking of it – the other half was spent in nightmares on the same subject.

MAY 31. I wrote a stern letter to the laundress. I was rather pleased with the letter, for I thought it very satirical. I said: ‘You have returned the handkerchiefs without the colour. Perhaps you will return either the colour or the value of the handkerchiefs.’ I shall be rather curious to know what she will have to say.

More table-turning in the evening. Carrie said last night was in a measure successful, and they ought to sit again. Cummings came in, and seemed interested. I had the gas lighted in the drawing-room, got the steps, and repaired the cornice, which has been a bit of an eyesore to me. In a fit of unthinkingness – if I may use such an expression – I gave the floor over the parlour, where the séance was taking place, two loud raps with the hammer. I felt sorry afterwards, for it was the sort of ridiculous, foolhardy thing that Gowing or Lupin would have done.