More Mourning, and O Douglas

Taken by the Hand  by O Douglas

published 1935

 

 

The new black lace dress that Beatrice wore did not fit. It was part of the “mourning order” she had given to the shop where she and her mother had been in the habit of getting most of their clothes. The head dressmaker had come herself—tightly encased in black satin, and sniffing mournfully, for she had sincerely liked the cheerful, considerate customer who had been so easy to dress—and advised Beatrice as to what she would need.

“Just a nice morning frock, and mebbe a coat and skirt, and something for the evening is all you need to begin with. Black is not worn as it used to be. I remember when it was a year’s deep black for a parent, but now it’s black and white or grey from the very start, and every vestige off before the year’s out. But I’m sure, Miss Be’trice, you’ll want to wear real mourning for your Mamma, for she was a dear soul.”

She slipped a frock over the girl’s head. “…Ucha, that’s not bad, Miss Be’trice. You’re stock size and that’s a great help at a time like this. . . . Look in the glass. D’you like it yourself? You can wear black with your hair and skin, and you should be thankful, for some people look awful! Though it’s wonderful, too, what you can do with a touch of white, and there’s this about black, I always say it subdues ladies who are too what you might call rash in their colours. You’d be surprised at the trouble I have, to keep high-coloured, full figures away from puce, and even bright red. Some of them seem to have no control over themselves with regard to colour—just like some people with drink—so it’s a mercy in a way, though of course it’s a pity for the reason, when they’re compelled to wear black. Yes, I don’t think you could do better than that. Will you try this lace dress? I thought it would be nice and soft for you and younger than satin or crepe de chine. You suit the cape at the back. Isn’t it awful graceful?”

 

comments: Mourning featured a lot on the blog last year, and it was wonderful to find so many people shared my fascination with it. So when I came across this passage at the beginning of Taken by the Hand I had to do another post for old times’ sake.

Our heroine Beatrice has just lost her mother, who was a well-to-do widow in Glasgow. The young woman has been cast adrift – although she has plenty of money, she now has no home. (It is very like the opening of Stella Gibbons’ Cold Comfort Farm, 1932, though Beatrice couldn’t be more different from Flora Poste.) Although annoyingly timid, Beatrice does get up enough courage eventually to ignore her dead mother and the dressmaker, and make her own decisions about another black dress, from That London:

Beatrice got herself into the new black velvet dress and decided that, expensive as it was, it was well worth the money. She had never looked so well in her life, and she wished, childishly, that her mother could see her… it made her look so slim and supple, and so dazzlingly fair. So she peacocked in front of the mirror, very well pleased with her own appearance

…first signs of life and backbone from a rather dim character.

Staunch blogfriend Shay recommended O Douglas books to me when we were considering the state of the world, as calming comfort reads. For me they are more distractions – I can spend my time being annoyed with the Douglas snobberies and smugness, which is preferable to being annoyed about the aforesaid state of the world.

This one was as weird as usual, but not as predictable as some – Beatrice has an unhappy time with her (much older) step-brother and his family in London, but then in a rather random way hooks up with a family in a small village in the Cotswolds, and goes to live with them, initially just for Christmas.

Most of the books are set in Scotland, so this one is an exception. It is strictly a cameo appearance by the dressmaker, who will be left behind in Glasgow: and FYI ‘ucha’ seems to be an all-purpose Glaswegian filler sound, one that features frequently in O Douglas’s books. ‘An exclamation indicating attentiveness or agreement’ apparently.

Beatrice makes a new family amongst her new friends, and eventually finds even more happiness. So no surprises there. There are village events, amateur theatricals, clothes to be thought about, romances to be encouraged. It is very readable, even for curmudgeonly me, though quite often annoying. I ended up reading ten O Douglas books one after another – Shay wholly to blame. And the world is still in a state. Oh well.

For anyone who read the very popular entry on bridge coats last week: no bridge coats in the work of O Douglas so far as I can tell, which is quite surprising. The books are full of genteel ladies come down in the world, and clothes descriptions, and evening parties, and bridge-playing, and Scottish cold weather – natural home of the bridge coat, you might think, but no. I got excited when I saw the words ‘Tweed bridge…’ together. A new departure I thought, expecting ‘coat’ to come next: tweed instead of black velvet, a Scottish variation perhaps, but it was an actual bridge, over the river. Tchah.

O Douglas was the pseudonym of Anna Buchan (sister of John...) and the books appear under both names. 

Top pictures, from an American catalogue, show black dresses of the era.

Black velvet dress, 1930s, from the State Library of Queensland.