Buku Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther

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Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther

Author:Jan Struther

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Open Road Media

Published: 2019-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

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Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther

For even if none of them was killed or injured, and even if their house did not, after all, attract one of the high-explosive bombs intended for the near-by power station, yet these possibilities had been abruptly and urgently mooted: and they had found themselves looking at each other, and at their cherished possessions, with new eyes. Small objects one could send to the country—a picture or two, the second edition of Donne, and the little antelope made of burnt jade; others, like the furniture, one could more or less replace: but one couldn’t send away, or replace, the old panelling on the stairs, or the one crooked pane in the dining-room window which made the area railings look bent, or the notches on the nursery door-post where they had measured the children every year. And these, among . their material belongings, were the ones that had suddenly seemed to matter most.

Another thing they had gained was an appreciation of the value of dulness. As a rule, one tended to long for more drama, to feel that the level stretches of life between its high peaks were a waste of time. Well, there had been enough drama lately. They had lived through seven years in as many days; and Mrs. Miniver, at any rate, felt as though she had been wrung out and put through a mangle. She was tired to the marrow of her mind and heart, let alone her bones and ear-drums: and nothing in the world seemed more desirable than a long wet afternoon at a country vicarage with a rather boring aunt. A mountain range without valleys was merely a vast plateau, like the central part of Spain: and just about as exhausting to the nerves.

The third and most important gain was a sudden clarifying of intentions. On one of the blackest evenings of all several of their friends had dropped in to listen to the news and exchange plans. Among them were Badgecumbe, the old bio-chemist, and a young man called Flint, who wrote poetry and rather neat essays. When Mrs. Miniver switched off the set on a note of gloom they sat for a few moments too stunned to speak. Then Johnny Flint said:—

 

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Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther

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Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther

 

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Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther

Author:Jan Struther , Date: June 12, 2019

,Views: 44

Author:Jan Struther

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Open Road Media

Published: 2019-06-11T16:00:00+00:00
For even if none of them was killed or injured, and even if their house did not, after all, attract one of the high-explosive bombs intended for the near-by power station, yet these possibilities had been abruptly and urgently mooted: and they had found themselves looking at each other, and at their cherished possessions, with new eyes. Small objects one could send to the country—a picture or two, the second edition of Donne, and the little antelope made of burnt jade; others, like the furniture, one could more or less replace: but one couldn’t send away, or replace, the old panelling on the stairs, or the one crooked pane in the dining-room window which made the area railings look bent, or the notches on the nursery door-post where they had measured the children every year. And these, among . their material belongings, were the ones that had suddenly seemed to matter most.

Another thing they had gained was an appreciation of the value of dulness. As a rule, one tended to long for more drama, to feel that the level stretches of life between its high peaks were a waste of time. Well, there had been enough drama lately. They had lived through seven years in as many days; and Mrs. Miniver, at any rate, felt as though she had been wrung out and put through a mangle. She was tired to the marrow of her mind and heart, let alone her bones and ear-drums: and nothing in the world seemed more desirable than a long wet afternoon at a country vicarage with a rather boring aunt. A mountain range without valleys was merely a vast plateau, like the central part of Spain: and just about as exhausting to the nerves.

The third and most important gain was a sudden clarifying of intentions. On one of the blackest evenings of all several of their friends had dropped in to listen to the news and exchange plans. Among them were Badgecumbe, the old bio-chemist, and a young man called Flint, who wrote poetry and rather neat essays. When Mrs. Miniver switched off the set on a note of gloom they sat for a few moments too stunned to speak. Then Johnny Flint said:—

“I suppose that play of mine won’t get written now. I’ve been talking about it for years. Oh, God. Nothing but a slim vol. and a bunch of light middles.”

And old Badger said in a tired growl from the depths of his armchair:—

“At least you’ll still be young, Johnny, if you come through it at all. But I wish I’d left all the small stuff and concentrated on the LP. experiments.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Miniver. “I haven’t got a pen like you, Johnny, or a laboratory like Badger. But there were a lot of things I wanted to do, too, that seemed fairly important. Only one never got around to them, somehow.”

“‘Time’s winged chariot,’” said Johnny bitterly. “It’s caught us up this time all right.”

“Looks like it,” said Mrs. Miniver. “But if by any miraculous chance it hasn’t …”

Well, it hadn’t, after all.

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