Women Are Bloody Marvellous! And Other Stories

by Betty Burton

  He relit the skinny cigarette and leaned back. Kiza saw him well — an old man.

  The boy leaned forwards on his elbows. Kiza saw pleasure light her husband's face. His rich voice had not aged and it hit the walls of the hut like drumming.

  'I was shown a picture of a man whose features were exactly those of your father — a little older, fatter, but the same. They said that he had gone to another state, which I think is Lesotho. Some said that he had become a famous leader of freedom-fighters. A general! Some people say that he is the one who will return to give freedom.'

  The boy's eyes shone. He got up and went to lean close to his grandfather, and Kiza knew that she had lost him to the men. But — she picked up the dishes — Ngubeni had made a concession to this new life that they must now lead together under the one roof, he had softened a little. Told an untruth, kindly, like a woman. Well, that was something.

  He followed her into the yard.

  'I have brought you this. It is a new headscarf with a picture of the city.'

  WOMEN ARE BLOODY MARVELLOUS!

  WOMEN ARE BLOODY MARVELLOUS!

  JANUARY

  January 16thCarlton Hotel

  Johannesburg

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Just a picture postcard to say we've landed and are all right. Straight from the great freeze into mid-summer.

  Thank goodness we shall not be in this hotel for long. You don't even have to be the idle rich to be idle rich here — if you see what I mean. IBCC with their usual efficiency have provided everything. The children have even got a nanny. Honestly!

  The papers are full of new flats for sale so we should soon find something. I will write very soon,

  Love, Liz

  Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

  I did not like flying. I was sick at Rome and sick at Luanda.

  This is a picture of our hotel. I like being in a hotel. There is a lady here who plays with us. She is nice. She always wears a hat. She gives Brendan his bath. I bath myself.

  Love from Simon

  Dear Grandma Burford,

  There is a nice lady here who gives us our dinner. I read comics to her. There is a man who cleans our shoes. Dad has got a big new car. Daniel drives it. Daniel has gold buttons. Daniel calls Dad the Master. Daniel calls me Little Master. He calls Brendan Little Little Master. I worked out that I shall be nine when we go back to England, (6+3=9).

  Love from Simon

  January 17th Carlton Hotel

  Johannesburg

  Dear Stell,

  No trouble with immigration. Apparently BOSS has a reputation for being extraordinarily inefficient, and unimaginative, so that it wouldn't occur to them that an IBCC company wife could possibly be at all 'political'.

  Anyway, it's a super hotel but the sooner we're out the better. In just a few days the kids have taken to being waited upon hand and foot. I can see many a battle on the horizon.

  I looked for some mention of your court appearance at Newbury in the Guardian but there was nothing — what happened?

  Please, please, write and write. I shall hardly bear three years of this isolation from you all.

  Sorry to be so brief, but I must write to John's mother. (Do you remember her? The lady who came with me on the Hyde Park demo. She kept calling that policeman 'me duck' and he finished up calling her Jessie.) Tie a ribbon on the fence for me. In sisterhood, as they say in Spare Rib.

  Liz

  January 16thCarlton Hotel

  Johannesburg

  Jessie,

  Thought you'd like this postcard. Those beautiful golden mountains in the distance are pit-tips — it's true — spoil from the gold mines. Jet-lag, hot sun and a home to find, so this is all for now. I shall write up all the local colour for you as soon as there's time.

  Love, Liz

  January 21st Cherry Hinton

  Aylchester, Hampshire

  Dear Liz and John,

  The picture postcards were an eye-opener. I hadn't realized it was such a big city.

  I know that when you were at university you got mixed up in some sort of protests about South Africa and all that, and I must admit I was worried when you decided to go, especially now you have taken up with all the CND and feminists.

  I know you say IBCC don't know that you go on marches and all that, but you ought to be careful. You could ruin John's career. Also, from what I hear you can soon find yourself in trouble out there if you say anything they don't like, and they can keep you locked up without a trial.

  I hope you won't get mixed up in anything while you are out there. Remember you have got children now and you have to put them first, no matter what you see that you don't like. After all it's their country and they've got to sort it out.

  Take care and don't go out too much in the sun at first. Get some big sun hats for the children — to keep the backs of their necks cool.

  Much love, Mum

  FEBRUARY

  February 7th 2 × 5 Avenue

  Clipton, Nottingham

  Dear John and Liz,

  I'm just blessed fed up with this weather you are best off out of it.

  Our David and Jean flew off to Australia on Friday. Now you're all out of the country. Four lads, four daughters-in-law, scattered over the world. And I'm glad. I told our lads, right from when they were little to get shut of this place, it's all The Pit and The Club. I'm glad they've got out. I reckon I shall have to adopt somebody else's grandchildren.

  That's how the world seems to be these days. It used to be a lot different when I was young — still, you can't stop progress can you. If it wasn't for my leg and a few other bits and pieces that are wearing out, I think I would be off as well.

  I am glad you have got out of that hotel and have got a flat. Children don't like being cooped up.

  Your new flat sounds very nice what with three toilets and all that. One day I'll tell you what Alf Dunkin said about people who have three of them — it wouldn't look too good on paper.

  I must say the waste from the gold mines makes better-looking pit-tips than this lot round here. Not that they'll be any less mucky for anybody who lives near them, and it's all one to the men who work on the face.

  I never thought I'd see the day when one of our lads had a uniformed chauffeur. I know you don't go much on being waited on and that, but I reckon it knocks spots off scrubbing floors.

  Send me a bottle of that sunshine. We could do with some here.

  Love, Jessie

  MARCH

  March 7th 101 Chaucer Hall

  Illova, Johannesburg

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  It's been ages since I wrote a proper letter — sorry, but there's been such a lot to getting this place straight, buying furniture, carpets, etc. and, although March is about equal to September back home, the days are still very hot.

  The only reason I have time to sit here writing to you this morning is because Brendan is being taken care of by Sara. Who's Sara? Sara is quite a woman: she has infiltrated the Burford household, and I'm at loss to know quite what to do about her. It happened like this.

  A few days ago, quite late, she came knocking on the door looking for a job. She said she must have work with an 'Overseas Madam' because she wanted to learn to be an English cook, and she would work as a maid if I would take her on. I said that I did my own housework, and in any case most of the work was done by the cleaning staff.

  She put forward every argument under the sun as to why I should take her on, that she was a devout Christian, had a glowing reference from a Reverend somebody or other, years of experience, etcetera, etcetera, but I kept insisting that I didn't want any help.

  Talk about foot in the door! She said she had come all the way from one of the Townships, miles out of town, because she had heard that the concierge of these flats wanted to find somebody for the New Overseas Madam (meaning me) who was in need of servants.

  The cheek of it! Me, in need of servants! This concierge has been constantly pestering me about
taking on maids, nannies, cooks, and I made it perfectly plain that I had no intention of having servants. She implied that as Chaucer Hall is a very superior type of establishment, people who don't have at least two servants rather lower the tone of the place.

  Anyway, as Sara said she had come all the way from Soweto Township, I asked her to come in and have a sit down and a cup of tea.

  Well, she came in. She took over making the tea, washing up and putting away. She seemed ever so nice, but I ought to have known about the dangers of 'personal contact' — American service personnel are trained never to see actual women at Greenham, just subversives, which is why they aren't allowed to talk or have 'eye to eye' contact. That's what I should have done with Sara.

  After she had gone I noticed she'd left her bag in the kitchen, and I guessed that I hadn't seen the last of her.

  Next morning when I opened the door to collect the post, she was waiting outside (in cap and apron if you please). Bubbling over with chatter — she took over the kitchen again. She has been here ever since.

  She says she particularly wants to work in this area, so I have agreed that she can stay here as a base while she finds herself a job.

  She keeps gathering Brendan up in her arms and hugging him. Brendan seems delighted to have somebody who will play with him all day.

  As I write I hear them having a whale of a time playing in the sandbox.

  I have a feeling that she could be trying to take us over.

  Love, Liz

  March 8th

  Mother,

  Do not send any more letters to this old Township address. I have found an Overseas Madam. If I can make her keep me I can learn English cooking. It will be then that I shall get more money and will not have to be a maid or nanny any more.

  She has never had a girl or cook before. She says that Overseas people do not have any servants.

  She says I must not eat by myself in the kitchen. She says I must eat with the family. I would not know what to do to sit at table with the Baas. I would be so shy. Therefore I say I do not like to eat except in the evening. This is true as you know. The Madam has said I can stay until I find other work. I think she will not send me away. There is just also only the Baas, Simon who goes to school and one baby who is name Brendan.

  I will put some money in this letter. I cannot send much now. When the new Baas pays me I shall send more. I have to keep a little money to last until the Baas pays me. I am sure he will let me stay. I will then send money for you to buy a dress for Esther.

  Tell her to learn everything that the Reverend Ototi teaches her. She cannot become a teacher or doctor without reading and writing and sums.

  Your loving daughter, Sara

  March 9th Concierge's Office

  Chaucer Hall

  Madam,

  I am informed by my Head Boy that you have a maid who is sleeping in the non-European servants' quarters.

  When your lease was signed I was informed that you did not intend to take up the option on the servant's room allocated to your flat. If my information is correct, will you please sign the agreement.

  Doreen Blackmoor, Concierge

  March 10thFlat 101

  Dear Mrs Blackmoor,

  In reply to the note about the servant accommodation, we do not intend taking up the option on this. The woman you mention is not my maid, she is only on the premises until she finds work. She tells me that she has a friend who works in Flat 89 with whom she is staying temporarily.

  Liz Burford

  March 10thConcierge's Office

  Chaucer Hall

  Dear Madam,

  I have spoken to the girl Sara who informs me that she is employed by you as a cook. Will you please confirm in writing whether she is employed by you or not.

  You cannot expect another resident to pay rent for a room and your girl staying there.

  If she is living on the premises illegally then I must inform the authorities, she is not permitted to stay with any other person employed in this building.

  Mrs Doreen Blackmoor, Concierge

  March 10th

  Dear Mrs Blackmoor,

  I had no idea that it was either improper or illegal for a servant to have a friend stay for a few days. To put things on a proper footing, please take this as a formal request to lease the servants' accommodation allocated to this flat, for a period of one month.

  Liz Burford

  APRIL

  April 1stNewbury Magistrate's Court

  Dear Liz,

  As you see from the address, it's trouble again. This time I've been charged with 'Obstruction'.

  I'm at the camp almost permanently now. It seemed futile assing around as we were. The odd visit. An occasional sing at the gates. Would you ever go the whole thing? I think the Jekyll and Hyde persona was beginning to tell wasn't it? How long could you have kept separate the Liz Burford in the woolly hat and green wellies, and the one in the smart suit and hair-do. Not that I think anybody in IBCC would ever imagine you to be anything other than the model director's wife you were when you boarded the plane. So entirely respectable and establishment.

  And what's this about a servant problem? Well at least you won't feel out of things at cocktail parties any more. Your very own servant problem. Wow!

  Damn! We are being called into the court now. Fines all round again I expect. My old man is getting a bit edgy these days — doesn't like his name in the paper so I'm pleading in my old name, I quite like it, makes me feel that I own myself again. Must go dear Liz, in sisterhood as they say.

  Stell

  April101 Chaucer Hall

  Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

  We have somebody else living with us now. Her name is Sara. She is a Swazi. Mum says she is not a servant. Marnie De Kloof, who is my friend at school says she is. A lot of people here have servants. She gives Brendan his bath. Sara lets him splash and only laughs at the mess. She is nice. She cleaned my shoes but Dad says she must not. Sara does not give me a bath. I can wash my own hair. Thank you Grandpa for the pocket money.

  Love from Simon

  P.S. If you would write to Sara she would like it. She does not get letters.

  April 15thCherry Hinton

  Aylchester, Hampshire

  Dear Sara,

  I hope you don't mind me calling you Sara, I don't know what your other name is. My grandson does seem very pleased that you live with them now. My daughter too writes very highly of you. She has always got on with everybody.

  I keep a Birthday Book with everybody I know in it. When is your birthday?

  Will you ask Simon to take a photo of you and send it to me?

  I have been worrying about my daughter. But now that you are living with them, you will be able to tell her how to go on in that country so that she won't break any rules and get into trouble.

  With best wishes,

  May Johnston

  April 25th c/o 101 Chaucer Hall

  Dear Overseas Grandmother,

  I was surprised to have a letter from you. I was very happy to have it. I have never had a letter from England, thank you. I expect it was Simon. He is always writing me letters so that I get some also when the Madam gets the post. Simon is such a sweet child. Brendan too of course. I have learn him to say some Swazi words which make the Baas laugh.

  In reply to your question, I have not got a birthday. I was Christened into the Church May thirtieth. Perhaps this could be my birthday.

  My real home, where my mother is, is Orange Free State. This is many hundred miles, it takes two days on trains to get there. Which is how long it take the Madam to get to you.

  I shall take great care of the Madam and Brendan and Simon. The children make me very happy.

  I shall tell my mother that you have written to me. She cannot write as she did not have school. Her priest writes for her if it is important. I have school until I am twelve years.

  The Madam is teaching me to make the Dundee cakes which the Baas like and are not in shops in this p
lace.

  Yours faithfully, Sara

  MAY

  May 3rdFifth Avenue

  Clipton

  Dear Lizzie,

  I'm not writing to John and the children, just you.

  You sound that bothered about what people will think about Sara working for you. Well, you know what I think — I haven't met a deal of people whose opinion I care tuppence about.

  Women have got to look after themselves in this world. It's men who can have ethics and ideals, and what not. I've told you about that time when I black-legged in the General Strike and got my bus turned over. And the time when I brought out all the mill-girls on strike. Well it wasn't because of any ideals — after all I was on a different side of the fence each time. I did what I had to do at the time. I black-legged because I needed the money, and I started the strike because of rotten conditions.

  What I'm saying to you is — if Sara needs you and you need her, then to hell with what anybody thinks. It's the blessed men that's the trouble with the world. In my time I've had eight of them to do with one way and another, I reckon I know what I'm talking about.