Lily watched her mother-in-law and thought, *What kind of doting servant must you be to your husband, taking off his boots for him? Not only is he drunk, barely able to string two words together, let alone remove his own boots, but she’s fussing over his toes, muttering, “Thank heavens—still warm, not frozen. And these wool socks, thick ones, I knitted them myself.”*
Lily was stunned. Her mother-in-law hauled her husband up from the sofa, propped him against her, and shuffled him toward the bedroom. She tucked him in like a child, left a pint of ale on the bedside table, and happily went to make tea. Lily nearly scoffed aloud—*Where’s the yelling? The boot-throwing? The scolding?*
Instead, she saw satisfaction on her mother-in-law’s face, heard her excuse—no, *defend*—him: *“Hasn’t had a drink in ages. Must’ve met an old mate. Needed a breather—nothing but work lately. Overdid it, poor liver’s knackered. But he’ll lay off a week, sort himself out.”*
Lily had been married to their son a year now. She noticed how her mother-in-law bent over backward for her husband—never raised her voice, explained patiently, yet somehow always got her way. When he fell ill, she scurried about on tiptoe. Once, the older woman told her, *“Treating yourself is easy—but a man? You’re not just curing his cold. You’re curing his stubbornness, his fury at being ill when there’s too much to do.”*
Lily studied her and tucked every lesson away like a soldier’s moustache. At dinner, if her own husband slurped his stew too loudly, she’d freeze, drop her spoon, glare—until he caught on and ate quietly, burning his tongue. Her mother-in-law would chuckle, *“No need to rush, love. The cows aren’t waiting.”* If he gulped noisily, she’d tease, *“Must be good if you’re that worried we’ll nick it.”* He’d laugh and slow down.
Once, her father-in-law’s mates came round. Her mother-in-law laid out snacks, then left them to it. The men talked, laughed—maybe the odd swear word—but nothing rowdy. Lily grew impatient. *“Shouldn’t they go? It’s getting late.”*
Her mother-in-law shook her head. *“That’s for them to decide. You open the door wide when guests arrive, and when they leave, you don’t point to the door—you point to the drinks. Let them be. They don’t gather like this often.”*
When the men left, cheerful and content, her father-in-law hugged his wife, kissed her cheek. If Lily’s husband was late, she’d fume, eyes flashing thunder. Her mother-in-law would soothe her: *“Don’t assume the worst. Earning’s hard—takes time, not just sweat. And if it *is* what you fear, timing won’t matter. He could come home on the dot and still be distant.”*
Turned out, he’d stayed late for overtime. He walked in expecting a scolding—found warmth instead. *“Thought I was in for it,”* he admitted. Lily realized: *If he’s slogging for extra quid, why’s he scared to come home?*
Another time, her mother-in-law trudged in, tired but pleased. *“Helped my Tom with the shed roof—those rafters are heavy.”*
Lily bristled. *“That’s men’s work. Why not get your son?”*
The older woman smiled. *“In a household, you help each other. Work goes quicker together. They say a good family has four hands, four feet, and one tongue—a bad one, two. Choosing timber, we got to reminiscing. Post-war times were hard, but we stuck close. Tom always took the heavy load, but I’d pitch in where I could. A wife should stand by her man. He shoulders the weight, but it gladdens him to know she values his labor.”*
That evening, Tom fretted over his wife’s tiredness—*“Didn’t have to help.”* But you could see their shared effort had brought joy.
Lily pondered. Her mother-in-law was wise where she was sharp. She snapped, criticized—never held her tongue. But maybe she could try being softer.
On holidays, her mother-in-law cooked hearty roasts, the men’s favorites. *“Lily,”* she once said, *“you can rage all you like, but always feed your man. Silent? Serve him anyway. Fuming? Stuff him full first. A hungry bloke’s a beast—you won’t reach him till he’s fed. Then, if he’s in the wrong, give him what-for—but calmly. Let him know his wife’s always right… even when she’s wrong.”*
Lily absorbed it all. In her mother-in-law’s home, there was harmony—mutual respect, no divisions. She often asked Tom’s opinion, listened, then said, *“Right, let’s see how best to do it.”* She’d do it *her* way, and he’d agree. She led in daily matters; he took charge of heavy labor.
*“Keep your hands quick, your feet steady, and your tongue lazy,”* she’d say. *“That’s how things get done. And learn when to stand firm—and when to yield.”*
Lily didn’t live with them long—she and her husband moved to the city—but the lessons stuck. *“Live and learn,”* her mother-in-law had told her, *“preferably from others’ mistakes.”* And she’d never steer her wrong.
