The Diary of Delia
Being a Veracious Chronicle, with Some Side-Lights on the Parlour
9781465637918
188 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
I got up at siven. Washed. Dressed. Made me bed. I set the kittle on the gas stove and then furyissly rung the brikfust bell. The famly begun to get up about 9. Mr. John was the first to ate. He guv a look sideways at the appytising eggs befure him and the luvly staming coffee and thin wid a shuv pooshed thim aside. He tuk up his paper and begun to reed ignoaring me and the brikfust as if we wus durt. Me mouth being open I spoke up. “Won’t you be after ating this morning” says I. “Its all rite” says he. “Its all rite Delia.” I lingered hoping to help him a bit. He russelled up the paper the way he has of doing when provoaked and says in that cam and gintle way he talks when turribly excited: “Delia—what are you waiting for?” “Nothing—says I—but won’t you be ating a bite Mr. Johnny.” He controlled himsilf wid diffyculty his voyce all the cammer for his inwurd anger. Now me girl says he—you attind to your own ating. Never mind me. I shugged me sholders in the disdainful way I have and walked kitchen-wurd. I’d jest reeched the swinging door when “Delia!” ses he, calling very perlitely now. “Well sir?” “Will you kindly bring me” ses he “a cup of hot water.” “Hot water is it?” “Yep. I’m dying Delia” ses he. “Dying!” ses I, shocked so that I drapped and broke the china in me hands. “Confound you!” ses he, starting up in his seet “Dy-et-ing I said.” “Its the same thing!” I showted back at him, and I marched out in a huff. By and by I heard Miss Claire go into the dining-room and I let her ring the table bell awile befure ansering. Her payshunce gitting the better of her sense she pokes her hed into me kitchen. Now I happened to be standing neerby the dure, wayting for further ivints. Well, as I sed, out popped Miss Claire’s hed throo the dure which banged against me own, while me frying-pan wint flying up on hers. “O! O! O!” crys she. Her mother come running down the passage in her nitegown her hair scrooed up in them kid curlers. “What is the matter?” crys she. Thin she seen the cundition of her dorter. The eggs had landed on her hed, and the fat run down her face in streams wid the yokes for company. The mother guv me a shove, and at that I boorst out in me rarth. “Its no lady you are” ses I. “The whole boonch of you is bad. Gitting up at these unairthly ours and bullying the life out of a poor loan hard working girl.”
