She Lost Her Husband by a Whisker

SHE LOSES A HUSBAND BY A WHISKER
Margaret Cramer’s Courtship Bristled with Difficulties

JURY AWARDS HER £250

It was at a dance in Tenindewa, a place about fifty miles from Geraldton, WA, in 1921, that Margaret Cramer first met Charles Meadowcroft. Margaret was employed by Mrs Troy, of Indarra, as a ladies’ help and companion. She was approaching a woman’s ‘dangerous age’. She smiled upon Clarence, and Clarence, in blissful ignorance of the fact that beneath her cream and powder there lurked a decided growth of whiskers, found her smile attractive. It was the tragedy of poor Margaret’s life, those whiskers. Her mother had died a broken-hearted woman because of it. Margaret, against the advice of her brother John, had spent her life’s savings in trying to get rid of them.

Needles, depilatories, razors, doctors, quacks — she had tried all, and all had failed.

The treatments had left blue marks on her face. None the less, with sublime faith, she told the court that it was an affliction that could be permanently cured. She hadn’t found it in thirty four years, but still she believed that a cure existed. Clarence, as we have said, found her smile attractive, but it was not for some years, not till 1924 to be precise, that he perceived that she possessed other attractions. He had seen Margaret a fair number of times during the years between 1921 and 1924, and with the passage of time she had grown fairer in his eyes. Towards the end of 1924, he increased the number of his visits, and their frequency, to such on extent that Margaret began to suspect that there was ‘something doing.’ She was right, Clarence started ‘walking out.’ But unkind people had been busy regarding Margaret, and it was not long before Clarence heard the gossip.

‘I say’ he said to her one day at the Troy farm, ‘how old are you?’ ‘I’ll be twenty-nine on the 9th of November.’

A Close Shave – She deceived him; her actual age at that time was thirty three. But people were saying things other than about her age. A friend of Clarry’s, with inside information, so he said, told Clarry that she shaved. Clarence was perturbed. At Christmas they both went to Geraldton and Clarence took her for walks. That nasty tale about the shaving was rankling in his mind, and by and by he asked her: What are those blue marks on your face?’ ‘Oh.’ said she, ‘those are birth marks. “Are you sure they are not hair?” “Clarry! How could you suggest such a thing? They are birthmarks.’ ‘Well, someone told me that you shaved.’ ‘What: Told you that I shaved! Clarry give me his name immediately. I’ll sue him for defamation of character!’ But Clarence refused to do anything of the sort. Being in love, he believed her, and there the matter stood for a time.

The blue marks were more noticeable on some occasions than others, and once or twice Clarence was moved to refer to them. She repeated on each occasion that they were birthmarks. During the following April, he proposed, and was accepted. Margaret gave Mrs Troy notice, and gathered together the trousseau that ever since Clarry proposed she had been industriously working upon, and about the 7th or 9th of October, she boarded the train to Perth. A few days later, Clarence followed. Margaret had gone to stay with a Mrs. Webb, at Cottesloe. Clarcnce went to stay with his mother and sisters at West Leederville. Of course, Margaret met the family and they talked over the coming event. They fixed a date for the 24th. On the 21st he was to meet her in Cottesloe, and together they were to go and see Father O’Neill, and sign the documents. So on the 21st they met as arranged, and while they were on their way to the presbytery where Father O’Neill lived, Margaret said (for the fibs she’d told about her face and her age were preying on her mind).

‘Now, what shall I tell the priest? I don’t know what age to tell him I am. I’ve forgotten tbe year I was born in, and I don’t know whether I’m 32 or 33.’ Now it seems that the actual imminence of marriage itself had had a cooling effect on the ardor of Clarence Meadowcroft. He wasn’t in a very good mood in consequence; in his present mood, in fact, the lady’s defects far outweighed her merits. He thought of her age, he thought of those blue marks on her face. . . ‘Now what about the marks on your face?’ ‘You’ll know about that later,’ Margaret returned, thinking she had him safely hooked, but fearful all the same. ‘I’ll know now!’ he said. The tone of his voice, suspicious and angry, transmuted her fears into tears. She started to cry. Clarence was not proof against tears. He capitulated, but gruffly.

The priest had the papers ready for them; Margaret, without her fiance’s knowledge, had seen the priest previously, and had arranged for the papers to be ready. The priest asked about the ring and the license. Clarence would go for them on the following day. Then they left and Margaret said to Clarence  ‘The stuff I use to take the hair off my face is not strong enough. I’ll use a razor in future.’ ‘What?’ exclaimed Clarence. ‘Use a razor? Hair on your face so strong that you’ll have to use a razor? My God, You’ve deceived me! Use a razor? Never with my permission. I— I— I don’t know whether I’ll be able to go on with it after this.’ ‘Not go on with it? Oh Clarence!’ Margaret cried tearfully. ‘Will you let a little hair on my face stand In the way of our happiness. ‘You’ve deceived me,’ said Clarence sadly.

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At this juncture the priest overtook them. They had not signed all the papers. He had forgotten some. Would they come back now and do it, Clarence refused. It was a sad Clarence and a sadder Margaret who went to bed that night; both were too ill to get up early in the morning. Mrs. Meadowcroft was terribly upset about it. She feared that Margaret’s whiskers might be hereditary. Arriving at Mrs. Webb’s house at Cottesloe, she was shown into a room where the tearful Margaret sat. Margaret had had a bad night, and was not looking her best. Mrs. Meadowcroft looked at Mrs. Webb, who remained in the room, and she said: ‘Will you leave us please. I have private affairs to discuss.’ Mrs. Webb went out in a huff. ‘We’re terribly upset about this,’ said Mrs. Meadowcroft to Margaret. ‘Did Clarry tell you?’ ‘No. He told my sister, and she told me. Why weren’t you straightforward with Clarry when he asked you months ago?’

Margaret did not see Clarence for some day’s — wedding congratulations arrived in droves, and there had been no wedding, it was very sad. Then she went to West Leederville to see Clarry, and found his family all at home. Even his father had come down from the farm in response to a hasty telegram which said, ‘Come down; everything off!’ Margaret and Clarence were left together in the sitting room. ‘Are you going to overlook it?’ Margaret whispered. Three times she asked him to reconsider; three times he refused. ‘What? Will you let this come between us and our happiness?’ ‘It is ‘not our happiness alone,’ said Clarence. ‘We must look ahead a little. There may be children; they, too, would have hair.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘we can be friends. Kiss me, Clarry. We’ll part friends.’ They kissed. Then Margaret went to see Clarence’s sisters. She found them in the room. ‘It’s all over.’ said she. ‘Clarry won’t overlook it. I’ve lost my mother and my father, and now I’ve lost my lover.’

Margaret later said in Court that Clarence came to her and tried to make it up. She wouldn’t listen to him at first. His conduct had been awful. She said Clarence’s mother came down to Cottesloe, and implored her to wear Clarence’s ring -again. But both Clarence and his mother denied this. It was absolutely untrue they said. Clarence had determined to go home.  Both were agreed, however, that Clarence had offered her money if she needed it. The jury were also guilty of the bad taste of inspecting Margaret’s chin, and the indiscretion of examining the chin of one of Clarence’s sisters— at the lady’s own request. The Jury retired, and when they had returned to the Court they had decided that Margaret had been guilty of no deception in regard to her chin, that her misrepresentations had not induced Clarence to ask her to marry him, that she had not been a party to the breaking of the engagement, and that £250 should compensate her for her lacerated feelings, and her unused trousseau.