There can be nothing more extinct on this earth than that dear old nursery, closed nearly twenty years ago and utterly swept away, but I can never think of it without becoming young again—without being the eldest of that small flock and worshipped as only five small boys can worship a London cousin much older than themselves, who yet could enter into all their games and excursions with the zest of a girl who has never tried living in the country, and sees only the poetical side of it; and without remembering the happiest of happy homes, where I cannot recollect a cross word, a disagreeable day, or anything but the noise of the boys rushing about, the scent of a thousand flowers, the planning of a hundred picnics, and a delightful sense of summer and sunshine that can never be forgotten, and that has influenced more lives than mine—more even than the generous, hospitable master and mistress will ever know—though perhaps he does in the rest he won so worthily and in the Heaven that must hold anyone who was as generous and good as he was to the many, many relations with whom he filled his house, and to whom he always gave a hearty welcome.
But no doubt there are a great many other nurseries just like this one—and, indeed, I know of several—so I would beg my readers to bear with me while I speak of these rooms, and beg them not to make a clean sweep of the nursery altogether until they are positively obliged to do so, not because there may be other babies to come, but because the nursery is useful for a thousand things, and it makes such a dreadful difference in a house when the room is completely altered and turned into a room for the maid who takes the place of the nurse, perhaps, or into a sitting-room for the girls or boys. Don’t let this be done, dear readers, until you are absolutely crowded out, because you will be miserable, and because you can never tell that the room may not be wanted as a sanitorium; an upstairs sitting-room, a refuge for our grandchildren, should we have married children, and should they be coming to stay with us, and bring their babies in due course of time; while the room having been decorated and furnished as a nursery is that and nothing else, and would have to be completely altered, should we settle to do away with it altogether.
Now, I want you to look just for a moment at the picture I have had drawn here of an empty nursery and see how admirably it is adapted for the purpose, and how cruel it would be to sweep away all these corners and shelves. You will notice how the cupboard fills in the recess between the fire and the wall, and you will see how a doll’s-house should be arranged, and then, I am sure, you will think twice about weeding out all this, and doing away with things that may give pleasure to future generations, particularly when we must all number among our acquaintances people with children, who come to tea, and will enjoy their tea twice as much if the children can be relegated to old nurse and the room where all is prepared for the small guests, who will for the moment take the place of those who are still children to us, albeit they are as old as we were when we began housekeeping ourselves, and set up a nursery with the pride and consequence inseparable from that most important step; while we can look hopefully forward to other small visitors who will be delighted to play with ‘mother’s old toys,’ and to hear things about that mother’s childhood, which can only be told them by an authority on the subject.
The nursery I have had sketched here is, of course, a much more expensive and elaborate room than could be suggested to folks with small incomes, but will serve as an example, I hope even in little houses, although, as those were amply catered for in my first book, I do not feel so bound to consider them as I did then. I should always have a real dado in any nursery. The one used here is of Indian matting, which is as neat and clean after ten years’ use as it was the day it was put up. By the way, a dado should be secured at the top with rather a heavier rail than the one illustrated, and this should be screwed on, not nailed. The screws can be removed at any moment, and the dado taken down. In the case of a cretonne dado this could be washed at any moment, while stuff or matting could be brushed or shaken; but I have taken down matting after ten years on a wall, which was sized before the matting was put up, and have never found the smallest dirt behind it, while the wall remained absolutely intact for that space of time, and, indeed, is as good as new now, after fifteen years’ wear, at least, I hear it is; unfortunately we have moved twice since then, and I cannot possibly inspect the matting to verify this statement for myself as I should like to do; but ten years is a long time, and, in these roving days of ours, when all too rarely do houses descend from father to son, is quite space enough for most of us.
Above the matting—which should be the kind sold by Treloar, in Ludgate Circus, for 35s. the roll of 40 yards—can be put any pretty blue paper. Pither’s new blue bay-tree paper, at 1s. 6d., is charming, and is of a colour that
we never tire of. The paint could be the same shade of blue; the tiny cornice should be coloured cream, and the ceiling paper should be Maple’s cheap yellow and white one, at 4½d. a piece. This could be cleaned twice a year with stale bread, and, as it is so cheap, could be replaced the moment it showed signs of becoming in the least degree shabby. The best toys could be arranged round the room on the shelf, which could be painted blue, and further appropriate decorations could be made by tennis rackets and skipping ropes if desired, albeit I should prefer a picture there of some kind or other, or else a lamp hanging out over the fireplace, beyond the reach of little fingers which might hanker after the fascinating occupation of lowering the light or putting it up to such an extent that the glass might be smashed in less than no time.
The short curtains and absence of blinds which I always advocate, and which idea has been largely copied and adopted, are just indicated in the picture, as is the long straight seat under the windows, which would take the place of the sofa if there were not room for one; but the useful serge or arras cloth should be used instead of cretonne here, as cretonne so soon gets out of order in a place which is so much used as such a window-seat might be. Corduroy velveteen would also make an admirable covering, and would always be, in a measure, tidy. It is possible to make these window-seats do double duty as a seat and also as a box, for instead of the front being a ‘hollow mockery,’ as it is when it is a simple frill and nothing else, it could be a wooden box, and the seat could be a padded lid, which could lift up and down. A small frill nailed on the top of the seat would conceal the opening, and the front of the box could be covered with frilled material like small organ pipes. This would hold any quantity of work, old books, magazines, and rubbish generally: rubbish which is of no use at all, but is absolutely priceless to the little owners.