tight, snip snip and it’s off, paste the glue along
the edge, press together, another one done.
Roll it round, nice and nice, hold it tight, snip it
off, off it comes, good paper this, this time,
press the glue, too much that time, never mind eh,
it’s not as though she’s paying us, eh, snip snip
go the scissors, I can do this without thinking, easy,
got it off to a fine art, like I used to when
I was at Fuller’s, packing, we used to have
races amongst ourselves to see who could fill
most cartons first, I’d usually win, there was
only one girl who could give me a run for my
money, not that we ever bet on it, her name
was Fair
hair, rosy cheeks she had, a bit cheeky with
the men from Bakery she was, too, given half
a chance, what was her name?
One afternoon I remember it was so hot that she
undressed right there, took everything off under
her overall and sat there in just her overall,
bold as a knocker, any of the Bakery men could
have come in just then and seen her stark naked,
we were all holding our breath at the nerve of it,
there she was, right in – Yes, dear, what do you
want?
Yes, I’ll join you, if I can do the rolling again
like I did before. Yesterday, was it yesterday?
Forget, there must have been one day I was
beating Ivy and she kept on keeping the paper
from me so that I wouldn’t beat her, but Ivy
seems to think it was yesterday we worked together,
perhaps it was, her memory may be better than
mine, mine is getting shocking.
Yes, someone has to do the organising.
And it always seems to be you. If it’s not House
Mother it’s Ivy. She’s welcome.
Roll it round now, nice and easy, that’s the way,
smoothly does it. There.
Easy.
the still-room next to the carved
room would wait on my own and listen
the company lords and ladies
sometimes the carving
I did not like, it was heavy and dark, it did not
reach to the ceiling because it had belonged to
the older house, over the doors it said 1636 in a
shield, but the house itself was more modern, the
rooms were taller and bigger, the carving was
patterns and crests and shields of families they
were related to, or wanted it thought that they
were related to, the way
mirrors opposite the back lawn with
a sundial
The house itself I loved from the first moment I
saw it, though it meant servitude to me, it was
the people who made me a servant
walking from the village with Megan Williams along
the galloping drive, miles of rhododendrons,
suddenly you could see a top corner of the house,
black-and-white, but big, bigger than any other
black-and-white I’d seen, though when you were
nearer you could see it wasn’t wood, it was a black-
and-white pattern in plaster or something like
that but it was a lovely house, I forgave
it that cheating.
the hall Hall
the portrait of Miss Eirwen and the
tiny the panelling was oak, it took
some polishing and a great brassbound
trunk, with studs it broke my heart
that place died in 1939, died,
they told me
Even took away my name, didn’t like Sioned,
wouldn’t call me that, or even Janet, gave me
a new name to suit them, Emma, that I hated
most of all, I think.
Alyn Llywelyn said fuckit in bead-threading. I
did not know what it meant then. I don’t think
he did, either. Miss Jones made a fuss about it,
she washed out his mouth with soap and water. We
did not understand, but he was careful what he said
after that. In fact, from that day on he was never
a great talker, was Alyn Llywelyn.
Bowen gowen. Yes, Ivy, you made a
rhyme. No one’s ever made up a rhyme about my name
before, never. Yes, we are doing well. I’ll
have to catch up or I won’t beat her.
Mr David worked in the Small Library.
I would take coffee to him, with biscuits on a
tray from the still-room or the
kitchen He would speak to
me in Welsh, which I did not usually use among
the other servants. His wife had
died before I came to the Hall, he had spent
much of his time at his sisters’ place since then.
He would be working at
the Welsh books the Small Library
was a cosy place
sometimes he liked to talk to me,
made me feel proud of being Welsh
the other servants were all
trying to ape being English, there was very little
Welsh spoken in the kitchen
The Factor hated to hear Welsh spoken, he swore
and bullied us if he heard us.
May we receive that which for
grateful until ever after
no one came
was to be successful
in the fullness, the first place
The Lyons over Hammersmith station. Would go
there for tea in the war, no meal could cost
more than five shillings. Essential warwork,
indeed! Better than the British Restaurants
or the canteen at Fuller’s. But even in the war,
Fuller’s gave you your wedding cake if you were
getting married, free. Told him that, but he
said he wasn’t going to get tied down just for
the sake of an unrationed wedding cake. We’re
happy as we are, he said, Aren’t we?
What’s he want now,
filthy old man always fingering his backside.
Glue? Yes, here. And have
Ivy’s, too, then you won’t have to stretch over
and hurt yourself so much. All right
now? Have to be.
How many of these does she want us to do?
on and on Still, Ivy’ll
tell me when she thinks it’s enough, Ivy’s doing
the organising here
Finish at last
I’ll say we’ve done a good session. Worked my
poor old fingers into an ache. Glad that’s
over for one day. It makes a difference.
I’ve worked harder than Ron, I’m four or five
ahead of him, spare, all those. I’m good. Yes,
here’s my bits and pieces, Ivy, and good riddance!
Yes, pack them neatly in, crackers
for Christmas.
Why can’t we have some different coloured paper?
I’m fed up with this sort of red, rotten red.
I may not be very but I am
Here she comes. I hope she’ll like what we’ve done.
Ron is stupid. They’re not
bad, are they, Miss?
Better than hers, anyway –
Oooh – she hasn’t done any, Mrs Ridge! How
does she get away with it?
So tired now. I’ll drop off
in my chair soon if she doesn’t watch out.
Pass the Parcel.
Haven’t played that since I was a child. Sweets it
was usually, very small packet of sweets wrapped
&n
bsp; round and round and round with lots and lots and
lots of paper and string and brown sticky paper.
It was such a let-down in the end, but that made
it all the more fun and it meant that all those
who didn’t win were less disappointed when it
turned out to be next to nothing.
Oh, it’s my turn.
Parcel feels exciting. On to George.
Marvellous, he moves. Passed it to Sarah, as well!
He must be getting better, old George. You never
know, he might even say something next. That would
be a miracle!
She shouldn’t keep it, you can’t trust that Mrs Ridge
to be fair in the slightest. Oh, the
music’s stopped, and Ron’s the one to open it. I
wonder what it can be?
Eh? Not very nice at all! Why did she do that?
Poor old Ron, I feel sorry for him, his backside in
that sort of state, too. It’s not right at all.
The Factor was a swine,
a swine. And he was a villain, too. He came
there with hardly a penny to his name, and died
worth twenty thousand. How he got it is a long
story. He would tell the sisters things had been
done on the estate when he knew very well they
hadn’t. And he’d pocket the money, of course.
One day Miss Mary called me in to her in the great
drawing room and asked me if I knew where the Factor
was. He’s gone to Birmingham, I said. To pay
the coal bill, she said, but he could have done it
by post, I gave him a cheque. I think she knew
then he was taking a backhander and had gone to
collect it. She would never hear a word against
him until then, that day I think she realised what
a villain he was, but it was too late, she was –
Travel, no, what she means by that is
Don’t mind, passes the time.
But who’s going to push me?
Yes, that
would be good of you, Charlie. A gentle turn
round the hall. Sure you really feel up
to it, though?
When the Factor retired, he made a bonfire of
papers from his office and it burned for three
days. He built his own house, how he ever did
that I’ll never know, out of their money. How
could a man on his salary ever save twenty thousand?
The family knew, of course, and tried to
tell Auntie Mary, but she would hear no word
against him. He even had his own electricity line
from the big house, a mile across the fields,
so he got his light free. Though he did good work,
I’ll agree, but he never did it unless there was
a backhander in it for him. But you could never
prove anything against him, that was the difficulty.
And he had the power of life and death over some of
us, by dismissing us. Not that I ever wished to
prove anything against him, I got on quite well
with him apart – Not at all, Charlie, not at all.
It must have been some time after I came across
his only cousin in Rhyl, near the front, she
looked well and was well off. She would be, of
course.
We’re the last to be exercising. All
the others have given up – Tourney, oh yes, I
won that last time, beat old Ron hollow, though
he does have his troubles down there. Hang on a
minute, Charlie. Lift, adjust, myself.
That’s it, over to the corner by the cup-
board. Yes. Yes, Charlie, I can.
Here’s my mop. What’s she soaked it in this time?
Smells like what you were mixing, Charlie.
Lark is right, Charlie
Let’s get hold of this mop properly. Now where shall
I try to land it first? Off!
He’s a good pusher, Charlie.
George’s let his mop fall, get him right in the PUSS!
One to me, very pleased.
Off we
go again. I shall win again, I know. George is hopeless.
Aim at chest this time, oh flinch! SHOULDER!
Still a solid blow, his hardly flicked me with wet.
Good, eh?
Last time. I’ll aim for his breadbasket
this go Carefully, carefully.
GOT HIM!
Mrs Bowen the Champion, she
should have said. Twice I’ve won now, I’m the Champion,
I’ve never won many things in my life, but I’m
the Champion here.
There it comes over me
again
faintness
won’t last
long
not long
It just takes
some time before you’re
back to yourself again.
Auntie Mary did leave me something in her will.
They were good like that, remembering. It was very
little. They didn’t used to give pensions to their
staff however long they’d been there, they left a
lump sum in their will, the sisters. Fat
comfort to some.
A little use to me now, I can buy myself the odd
Guinness if I can find anyone to go out for it for
me. They had their own
bread, we baked every other day. But no brewer,
though, they were teetotal, very strict. Not Chapel,
church, but very teetee just the same. They
knew the gardeners drank ale with their dinners,
but woe betide anyone who brought it into the
Hall! I did once, felt ever
so guilty. I was low at the time and I bought
myself a small bottle of gin from the Bear. Normally
I felt so safe in my little attic room, well,
it was not so little, it was a reasonable size,
but all the time I had that bottle in the room I
felt as though I were a criminal. My little
room. The washstand with the plain green jug
and bowl, the window, quite big really, looking
down on the lawns and across the bridge to the
warren. I had some happy hours there, it was not
all hardship. Most of the time I didn’t have to
share it, only if we had Company and they had
servants. My bed
along one side, and an old easy chair, the high-
backed sort with wings, donkeys’ years old, a
picture Miss Eirwen had painted herself, brown
lino on the floor. I was content – no, at the
time I hated every minute of being a servant,
only now does it seem
pleasant.
The lilac
curtains, my own flowery jerry under the bed,
but clothes behind the curtains in the alcove.
They may be like it still, the Hall is still there,
I should think, but now it is probably a guesthouse
or something like that, perhaps they’ve sold it to
build houses on, chopped down all those lovely
trees. Everything changes,
nothing gets better.
I was going
to read myself, but daren’t now she’s given Ivy
a taste of her tongue. But I’m
not going to watch this filth again, why she does
it baffles me. Surely she can’t think it stirs
us up?
Summer we would go down the
bothy, where the single gardeners lived, next to
the walled garden and the greenhouses. They’d grow
&nb
sp; all sorts for the sisters there, figs and peaches
you didn’t get anywhere else in the county, or so
they said. A boilerhouse
in the basement of the bothy, coal down a chute,
the long winters. I can remember it exactly, why
can’t I remember what happened yesterday?
My friends would say I was forward,
just because I used to look men right in the eyes.
None of that shy retiring for me. That’s what men
and women’s eyes are for, I would say to them.
They knew what I meant, they would giggle.
Rabbits were common, we
had trout out of the stream, too, poached, the
sisters did not make a fuss about that sort of
thieving like some of the gentry around those parts.
Why trout were thought so special I could never
understand, anyone who’d had them as often as I
have would prefer a good fresh herring any day.
Listen to her!
No, doesn’t matter
George Hedbury
age 89
marital status bachelor
sight 10%
hearing 15%
touch 25%
taste 20%
smell 10%
movement 15%
CQ count 2
pathology contractures; incontinent; advanced
inanition; chronic rheumatoid arthritis;
Paget’s Disease; advanced senile
depression; muscle atrophy; fibrositis;
intermittent renal failure; among many others.
.
Lame
source
unfr
.
they’ll
for
why?
oughter
eh!
schools
.
consuls
how are you? in the
pink
straining
.
Cox’s Orange pippin!
No matter if the future’s dim
keep right on and suffer hymn
.
Work! work Fancy, aaah
crêpe paper, crêper crêpep crêper
crêp
crêper
crêper?
crêper!
House Mother Normal Page 8