“What,” I asked my father once, “what is a concubine?”
“Er‐hum — !” he responded. “Why do you ask?” Clearly, he was playing for time.
“Well, it says in the Bible that David took him more concubines and Solomon had 300.”
He inwardly groaned, but grappled with it. “Well, David was the head of the house, he needed people to look after him and the concubines — er did.”
Three hundred! I thought to myself. One would need a very big house.
“What a pity, father, that you have only two!”
He was astonished. “Two what?”
“Two concubines — Katie and Bella to cook and make beds.”
“Katie and Bella are not my concubines.” Here was a child being childish, which was something he did not like.
“Then, Nelly, what about her?” Nelly was slightly wanting, and came to help with the washing.
“Certainly not.” The idea was repugnant.
“Well, father, who are your concubines?”
“I have no concubines!” he roared and stormed out of the room.
The head of the house and no concubines! Clearly we, as a family, were vastly lower on the social scale than Solomon or David.

P. L. Travers (1899-1996) Australian-British writer [Pamela Lyndon Travers; b. Helen Lyndon Goff]

Essay (1978-07-02), “I Never Wrote for Children,” New York Times
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