Friday 4th March 1938
Sequel to a call made on October 14th 1937 when a Westcliff builder – Taylor – of Taylor and Moore – requisitioned samples of Egham, Glacier and PHG in green. The strange thing is that he considers the results obtained show that Egham, the cheapest in price is also the cheapest in quality! I who have been through the Works, know that there is absolutely no difference in quality. Trick of the trade! However he couldn’t receive merchants terms so I today sold him six gallons (Housing paint and Randall Enamel) at contractors terms. (20%) Curious how my contact with this firm has gradually improved. Progress seemed impossible when I first used to call. Encouraging to think of these things. A good day. I worked fairly hard, made 12 calls, collected two accounts and received two orders. No frustration.
Pat and I went to the Regal tonight. Most of the “turns” were cheap music-hall stuff but two magnificent pianists played Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2. I drowned in the inexpressible beauty…
We got back to no. 218 at 11 o’clock and I went in “just for a few minutes”. Pat and her mother sat with me by the fire. At 12 o’clock I rose to go but Mrs Retallack suddenly introduced an interesting subject and I stayed. At 2 o’clock Pat went to bed but I was with her mother until the clock struck five and the fire was a heap of cold grey ashes.
We discussed Mrs Retallack herself, her daughter and the young man who loved her.
And so I at last realised how complex was Pat’s character. It has to be awakened; she does not know herself, even. And perhaps it is already awakening… Her mother told me many things which Pat would be too shy perhaps to speak of. Little things she says, the expression on her face at some moments. Little things which make all the difference.
By Jove, I am fortunate! Such unusual incidents and people cross my path. Some day perhaps, I’ll weave them all into a book. True life is as dramatic as fiction.
A very remarkable woman, the Mother of Pat.
Drove home through dank fog. Bed 5:30 a.m.
Pat and I went to the Regal tonight. Most of the “turns” were cheap music-hall stuff but two magnificent pianists played Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2. I drowned in the inexpressible beauty…
We got back to no. 218 at 11 o’clock and I went in “just for a few minutes”. Pat and her mother sat with me by the fire. At 12 o’clock I rose to go but Mrs Retallack suddenly introduced an interesting subject and I stayed. At 2 o’clock Pat went to bed but I was with her mother until the clock struck five and the fire was a heap of cold grey ashes.
We discussed Mrs Retallack herself, her daughter and the young man who loved her.
And so I at last realised how complex was Pat’s character. It has to be awakened; she does not know herself, even. And perhaps it is already awakening… Her mother told me many things which Pat would be too shy perhaps to speak of. Little things she says, the expression on her face at some moments. Little things which make all the difference.
By Jove, I am fortunate! Such unusual incidents and people cross my path. Some day perhaps, I’ll weave them all into a book. True life is as dramatic as fiction.
A very remarkable woman, the Mother of Pat.
Drove home through dank fog. Bed 5:30 a.m.
posted by Paul Wilson at 5:13 pm
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