A Study in Pink

Here you see the result of my planning.
My sewing machine stands up very, very high on a sort of intermediate floor (they used that around 1900 as sleeping places for domestic servants - the rooms are very high and these floors are built into the second hall) so I thought it more possible that I break my leg while trying to fetch it than getting corona (I better knock on wood!)
So I sewed one with my needle - but then I went to my Russian tailoress. She opened the forbidden door in a secretive way - we had telephoned first - it much reminded me of tales my parents told about the black market. I gave her a moon-yellow blanket and ordered 14 masks - 7 for me, seven for someone else.
Next day I was in for a little surprise : look at the photo - that was her extra gift for me - I am so thankful - and isn't it cute?

PS: When I sent the photo via WhatsApp to a friend, she asked surprised: "What - you still make up your eyes - even if nobody else will see them?" 
As a woman who managed to paint her eyes even in the teeny-weeny bathroom of a narrowboat I answered: "But I am not a Nobody - I see it!"

Respiratory protection masks

September 1st, 1939. - Enquire of Robert whether he does not think that, in view of times in which we live, diary of daily events might be of ultimate historical value to posterity. He replies that It Depends.
Explain that I do not mean events of national importance, which may safely be left to the Press, but only chronicle of ordinary English citizen's reaction to war which now appears inevitable.
Robert's only reply - if reply it can be called - is to enquire whether I am really quite certain that Cook takes a medium size in gas-masks. Personally, he should have thought a large, if not out-size, was indicated. Am forced to realise that Cook's gas-mask is intrinsically of greater importance than problematical contribution to literature by myself, but am all the same slightly aggrieved. Better nature fortunately prevails, and I suggest that Cook had better be asked to clear up the point once and for all. (...)
She does come, and Robert selects frightful-looking appliances, each with a snout projecting below a little talc window, from pile which has stood in corner of the study some days.
Cook shows a slight inclination towards coyness when Robert adjusts one on her head with stout crosspiece, and replies from within, when questioned, that It'll do nicely, sir, thank you.
(Voice sounds very hollow and sepulchral).


This, dear blogger friends, is the beginning of E. M. Delafield's "The Diarty of a Provincial Lady".
Part Four: The Provincial Lady in Wartime. I love all four books immensely, have read them oh so often - and still have to laugh.

I could now begin to rant about the slight contradiction that our government says that they "have everything under control" and the fact that from January till now they are not able to provide a little piece of paper with two elastic bands at the side - not even for people who risk their lives in hospitals - the admirable nurses and doctors.
But I am my father's child: he survived 24 days in a lifeboat on the sea - without nourishment and water only from the nightly sky.
Thus I think for myself - and I act (as good as I can) : you might guess what the photo above shows.

I wish all of you: Stay healthy, take care!
Britta XXX