“Well, goodbye, dear.” Said my sister, putting down her tea-cup. “I must flick off home and pop on the old glad rags. I’m meeting Will for dinner and the theare. Suppose you cant manage it now, poor thing with Frank working late so much and cherub  “. She dropped a kiss on her nephew's face, and dashed off.

A tear trickled down the end of my nose, as I cleared away and prepared for cherubs bath, and I tied my macintosh apron with a vicious jerk, as I thought of my “glad rags", which had been put away for so long. Like many another young mother I longed hopelessly for an evening that was not bounded by bath and 10 o’clock feed.

But the thought of “glad rags” had given me an idea. At any rate, I would get them out and put them on. No, I would go on better. I would plan an evening out at home. Feverishly I dived into  draws and boxes, and as I pulled out, frock, shoes and all the accessories the idea grew, and I sat back on my heels and solemnly invited myself to a theatre party the following night. I spent a happy evening mending and pressing, making myself a new necklace from : three old strands of beads, and laying plans for the marrow, which included a visit to the chemist and to the  Public Library.

As the clock struck eight on Tuesday, I entered my home theatre. (It might have, looked to you like a drawing room with a chesterfield drawn up to the fire). I  was conscious of that lovely "dressed" feeling, which is one of ‘the joys of going out, and which follows a leisurely scented bath and careful toilet. My frock, I know, was too short to be fashionable, but my audience would not be critical, and my evening coat, which I tossed over the back of the seat, was irreproachable. Chocolate, cigarettes and matches lay within reach, and the Public Library had supplied me not with one play only, but with a book containing half a dozen of the most famous modern plays. In a minute I was  deep in the first act of “Journey’s End” and my surroundings slipped away.

 I took advantage of the intervals to slip out to the kitchen, and when Frank returned as the play came to an end, I pointed to a dainty table by the fire and suggested "Shall we have a little supper after the theatre?” He entered into the games and we had the jolliest little theatre supper, playing that we were only engaged, till a shout from above reminded us that we were parents and brought the party to an end.

Are you tied to home and baby? Then “play pretend", as the children say, once in a while, and have an evening out at home.