Margaret Ogilvy
- How My Mother Got Her Soft Face
- On the day I was born we bought six hair-bottomed chairs, and in our little house it was an event, the first great victory in a woman’s long campaign; how they had been laboured for, the pound-…
- What She Had Been
- What she had been, what I should be, these were the two great subjects between us in my boyhood, and while we discussed the one we were deciding the other, though neither of us knew it.
- What I Should Be
- My mother was a great reader, and with ten minutes to spare before the starch was ready would begin the ‘Decline and Fall’ - and finish it, too, that winter. Foreign words in the text annoyed her…
- An Editor
- A devout lady, to whom some friend had presented one of my books, used to say when asked how she was getting on with it, ‘Sal, it’s dreary, weary, uphill work, but I’ve wrastled through with…
- A Day Of Her Life
- I should like to call back a day of her life as it was at this time, when her spirit was as bright as ever and her hand as eager, but she was no longer able to do much work. It should not be…
- Her Maid Of All Work
- And sometimes I was her maid of all work.
- R. L. S.
- These familiar initials are, I suppose, the best beloved in recent literature, certainly they are the sweetest to me, but there was a time when my mother could not abide them. She said ‘That…
- A Panic In The House
- I was sitting at my desk in London when a telegram came announcing that my mother was again dangerously ill, and I seized my hat and hurried to the station. It is not a memory of one night only. A…
- My Heroine.
- When it was known that I had begun another story my mother might ask what it was to be about this time.
- Art Thou Afraid His Power Shall Fail?
- For years I had been trying to prepare myself for my mother’s death, trying to foresee how she would die, seeing myself when she was dead. Even then I knew it was a vain thing I did, but I am sure…
