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nness with which some women go to pieces after they’re married。 it’s as if they were strung up to do just that one thing； and the instant they’ve done it they wither off like a flower that’s set its seed。 what really gets me down is the dreary attitude towards life that it implies。 if marriage was just an open swindle—if the woman trapped you into it and then turned round and said； ‘now； you bastard； i’ve caught you and you’re going to work for me while i have a good time！’—i wouldn’t mind so much。 but not a bit of it。 they don’t want to have a good time； they merely want to slump into middle age as quickly as possible。 after the frightful battle of getting her man to the altar； the woman kind of relaxes； and all her youth； looks； energy； and joy of life just vanish overnight。 it was like that with hilda。 here was this pretty； delicate girl； who’d seemed to me—and in fact when i first knew her she was—a finer type of animal than myself； and within only about three years she’d settled down into a depressed； lifeless； middle…aged frump。 i’m not denying that i was part of the reason。 but whoever she’d married it would have been much the same。
what hilda lacks—i discovered this about a week after we were married—is any kind of joy in life； any kind of interest in things for their own sake。 the idea of doing things because you enjoy them is something she can hardly understand。 it was through hilda that i first got a notion of what these decayed middle…class families are really like。 the essential fact about them is that all their vitality has been drained away by lack of money。 in families like that； which live on tiny pensions and annuities— that’s to say on ines which never get bigger and generally get smaller—there’s more sense of poverty； more crust…wiping； and looking twice at sixpence； than you’d find in any farm…labourer’s family； let alone a family like mine。 hilda’s often told me that almost the first thing she can remember is a ghastly feeling that there was never enough money for anything。 of course； in that kind of family； the lack of money is always at its worst when the kids are at the school…age。 consequently they grow up； especially the girls； with a fixed idea not only that one always is hard…up but that it’s one’s duty to be miserable about it。
at the beginning we lived in a poky little maisonette and had a job to get by on my wages。 later； when i was transferred to the west bletchley branch； things were better； but hilda’s attitude didn’t change。 always that ghastly glooming about money！ the milk bill！ the coal bill！ the rent！ the school fees！ we’ve lived all our life together to the tune of ‘next week we’ll be in the workhouse。’ it’s not that hilda’s mean； in the ordinary sense of the word； and still less that she’s selfish。 even when there happens to be a bit of spare cash knocking about i can hardly persuade her to buy herself any decent clothes。 but she’s got this feeling that you ought to be perpetually working yourself up into a stew about lack of money。 just working up an atmosphere of misery from a sense of duty。 i’m not like that。 i’ve got more the prole’s attitude towards money。 life’s here to be lived； and if we’re going to be in the soup next week—well； next week is a long way off。 what really shocks her is the fact that i refuse to worry。 she’s always going for me about it。 ‘but； george！ you don’t seem to realize！ we’ve simply got no money at all！ it’s very serious！’ she loves getting into a panic because something or other is ‘serious’。 and of late she’s got that trick； when she’s glooming about something； of kind of hunching her shoulders and folding her arms across her breast。 if you made a list of hilda’s remarks throughout the day； you’d find three bracketed together at the top—‘we can’t afford it’； ‘it’s a great saving’； and ‘i don’t know where the money’s to e from’。 she does everything for negative reasons。 when she makes a cake she’s not thinking about the cake； only about how to save butter and eggs。 when i’m in bed with her all she thinks about is how not to have a baby。 if she goes to the pictures she’s all the time writhing with indignation about the price of the seats。 her methods of housekeeping； with all the emphasis on ‘using things up’ and ‘making things do’； would have given mother convulsions。 on the other hand； hilda isn’t in the least a snob。 she’s never looked down on me because i’m not a gentleman。 on the contrary； from her point of view i’m much too lordly in my habits。 we never have a meal in a tea…shop without a frightful row in whispers because i’m tipping the waitress too much。 and it’s a curious thing that in the last few years she’s bee much more definitely lower…middle…class； in outlook and even in appearance； than i am。 of course all this ‘saving’ business has never led to anything。 it never does。 we live just about as well or as badly as the other people in ellesmere road。 but the everlasting stew about the gas bill and the milk bill and the awful price of butter and the kids’ boots and school…fees goes on and on。 it’s a kind of game with hilda。
we moved to west bletchley in ‘29 and started buying the house in ellesmere road the next year； a little before billy was born。 after i was made an inspector i was more away from home and had more opportunities with other women。 of course i was unfaithful— i won’t say all the time； but as often as i got the chance。 curiously enough； hilda was jealous。 in a way； considering how little that kind of thing means to her； i wouldn’t have expected her to mind。 and like all jealous women she’ll sometimes show a cunning you wouldn’t think her capable of。 sometimes the way she’s caught me out would have made me believe in telepathy； if it wasn’t that she’s often been equally suspicious when i didn’t happen to be guilty。 i’m more or less permanently under suspicion； though； god knows； in the last few years—the last five years； anyway—i’ve been innocent enough。 you have to be； when you’re as fat as i am。
taking it by and large； i suppose hilda and i don’t get on worse than about half the couples in ellesmere road。 there’ve been times when i’ve thought of separation or divorce； but in our walk of life you don’t do those things。 you can’t afford to。 and then time goes on； and you kind of give up struggling。 when you’ve lived with a woman for fifteen years； it’s difficult to imagine life without her。 she’s part of the order of things。 i dare say you might find things to object to in the sun and the moon； but do you really want to change them？ besides； there were the kids。 kids are a ‘link’； as they say。 or a ‘tie’。 not to say a ball and fetter。
of late years hilda has made two great friends called mrs wheeler and miss minns。 mrs wheeler is a widow； and i gather she’s got very bitter ideas about the male sex。 i can feel her kind of quivering with disapproval if i so much as e into the room。 she’s a faded little woman and gives you a curious impression that she’s the same colour all over； a kind of greyish dust…colour； but she’s full of energy。 she’s a bad influence on hilda； because she’s got the same passion for