Haywire by Brooke Hayward (android based ebook reader .txt) 📕

old back injury was acting up, and she was confined to her bed under heavy sedation, while a stream of doctors came and went. Mother had never gone to bed sick before then, although we knew she had a bad back, because she’d often made fun of herself for having to keep a thick magazine like Vogue on hand to slip under her right buttock whenever she sat down. This unorthodox procedure, prescribed years earlier by an osteopath who thought she needed to support her right hip a little, was, she claimed, the only remedy that kept her from having chronic backaches.

Emily made us walk instead of run through the house, and, to our further consternation, forbade us to go anywhere near Mother’s room. “No, I’m not trying to be mean,” she said when we demanded querulously to see for ourselves how Mother was coming along, “and yes, I realize that when you’re sick in bed you like to have company. But it’s a funny thing. Everything’s the opposite when you get to be our age—and Mrs. Hayward is a spring chicken compared to me—you find out there’s nothing to make you sicker quicker than the combination of noise and pain.”

Shortly after both she and Father recovered, Mother—surprisingly—decided to go back to work. John Van Druten and Alfred de Liagre were taking The Voice of the Turtle to England and she agreed to go with it. She had fallen in love with England ten years before and to do “The Turtle” there was an irresistible temptation, she told us, but she would only be gone for six months at the most—and less, if English audiences didn’t like the play. In May, 1947, we put her on the train for New York with the warning to eat more and smoke less. The concept of six months as a stretch of time had very little meaning to us at all. “It’s not forever, I promise you,” Mother said sadly, hugging us goodbye.

From England she wrote us letters, long monologues, that vividly described its postwar ravages: the bomb damage in London, the queues for heavily rationed food, the pervasive feeling of envy and bitterness toward Americans, which, although she realized was impersonal, hurt her, and the guts and spirit of the English people for having lived through such devastation.

Her observations, as always, were intermingled with elements of both gaiety and depression. In one sentence, feeling rejected and lonely, she would complain about the rude and inhospitable attitude of English country inns; in the next, cross at herself for feeling rejected and lonely, she would extoll their charm and the extraordinary beauty of the English countryside. Whenever possible, everyone went sightseeing, which she loved, but typically, no matter how lonely she claimed to be, after just a few days with a group—even of close friends—she felt a compulsion to get away from it, to be alone. She was dissatisfied with the rehearsals of the play and the incompetence of the backstage crews and, when “The Turtle” opened in Manchester, with its reception (“Oh, dear,” she wailed to Delly, “is this what we came to England for? Where, oh, where is our slick little play?”), although, in fact, it got good reviews.

Every week, as we had promised, we wrote to her, since she assured us that our letters meant more to her than anything, even a steak in rationed postwar England.

From Bridget:

Dear Mother,

Brooke had the mumps and I am expecting them.…

Dear Mother,

I have the mumps at last! Brooke’s party has to be postponed all because of me. Father is in Hawaii. He sent us some leis and bathing suits. Bill’s is just like shorts and a blouse. Ours are a much better kind than we had before. When are you coming home? Are you still having nothing to eat but tea? You should see Emily. She has no teeth left.…

Dear Mother,

Yesterday in club we went to the beach and Brooke and I got a sunburn. Half of my vaccination was sticking out from under my bathing suit and it got sunburned too. So now half of my vaccination is pink and half white.… Are you getting more food? I have almost forgotten how you look and talk.…

From me:

Dear Mother,

How are you feeling? When are you coming home? I certainly miss you. I wonder what I’m going to get for my birthday. Bridget has the mumps and Bill has a bee sting on his foot. He can’t walk. Grandsarah came over yesterday and asked about you. She talked to Father on the telephone. He said he is very lonely. Emily has all her teeth out. She looks very funny. Her mouth is out of shape. I wish I knew what you look like, I have forgotten how you talk.…

Dear Mother,

Last night I had my ear opened. Now I can’t go in swimming this whole summer. I can’t get my head wet. Bridget has a rash. Bill has no ailments at all! …

Darling Mother,

I hope the play isn’t a success so you will come home. It is wonderful weather out here. We are all tanned like berries as Emily said. Have you had another egg? I must admit I have forgotten what you look like.…

And from Bill:

Dear Mother,

Yesterday I almost broke my ankle. To ducks are dead. Love and xxxxxxoxo

     Bill

Dear Mother,

We are playing nice. Today we had a tea party. The ducks feathers are white. I miss you xxooxx

          Bill

Dear Mother,

The ducks are eating the snails. I miss you ooo

          Bill

Dear Mother,

Brooke saw a snake, xoxoxo

          Bill

Dear Mother,

I had a wonderful time at camp. I am getting a banner for being the best camper. I love you.

LOVE

     Bill

Dear Mother,

I had a very nice time at camp. The ducks have laid some eggs.

          XXLOVEXX Bill

Dear Mother,

The day before yesterday I caught 12 fish.

                              LOVE

                                        Bill

To my dear Mother from William L.H.

The poem by Bill—“Something and Nothing”

PART ONE

If I had something,

What would I do with it?

But, I have nothing, so what?

But, I must have something.

PART TWO

Too bad,

Ha! Hal Ha!

So, too