Mother Knew Best

by Dorothy Scannell

  Although lots of funny things happened during the General Strike, I think it gave me my first shadowy stirrings and feelings that there was some truth in my father’s complaints about the conditions of the poor. I hated the undergraduates who came down to the East End driving vehicles. I became very afraid of the policemen having seen them beat a crowd of men round the head with truncheons. It was the first time the words ‘unconditional surrender’ were used, I believe, and by my father’s arch-enemy, Mr Churchill. I suppose to Mr C., we were his enemy.

  Chapter 15

  Passing Out

  A year before we left school, at fourteen, we attended on Fridays housewifery classes at Culloden Street school, the scene of my scholarship failure. The teacher was a motherly type of woman; we all knew she wasn’t a real teacher, and she would train us how to be good wives, from a financial point of view, of course, to a working man. The classroom was very large, very warm, and smelt of strong carbolic soap. The tables were snow-white and I wondered why they were not worn away with all us scrubbers.

  As we entered, facing us was a large blackboard on which was permanently written, ‘A nourishing meal for a poor family of six.’ Three fresh herrings, two lb. of potatoes, and underneath were the words, ‘If a pudding is needed and able to be provided, then a suet pudding with black treacle.’

  At the end of the year we were told that if we passed out as good housewives we would be given a certificate to that effect. I thought I would try hard to get this certificate for then I could show it to Mr Right, whom Mother said I would meet one day when I was really grown up. I thought I was grown up when I went to housewifery, but I knew what she meant. Everybody married a Mr Right, providing of course they met him. I asked Mother how I would know it was he, and Mother said, mysteriously, that I would recognise him when I saw him.

  We were told that each day of a working housewife should have some special job in addition to everyday work. Mondays would be washing-day. So that we would be doing proper washing, we brought up soiled garments from home. Mother sent me with a little tray-cloth and a clean pair of stockings, and was horrified when I told her some of the girls brought the most filthy things and big bundles from home, so that the water seemed to become muddy and black very quickly. The washing was shared among us and I hated the thought of washing bloomers, even though they might be a friend’s. Mother said her tray-cloth was dirtier than when she sent it, and she sniffed, and put it in the scullery to give it a good boil-up when she did her washing.

  Before we started the washing we had to inspect all the clothes and garments, tack with big stitches round the stains so we could give them an extra scrub in the zinc baths, take all breakable buttons off, for the mangles with heavy wooden rollers would smash them to smithereens (the buttons had to be sewn on again afterwards), and sew on any missing tapes. I wondered how my mother ever had time to do any cooking on washing-day, let alone sing and play with us as she always did when I was little.

  I didn’t like the paragraph in the good housewives’ book, where it said, ‘morning work in the kitchen,’ followed by another enormous list of jobs. This worried me so much I spoke to Amy about it. She said, when she was at housewifery and saw the ‘afternoon work in the kitchen’ paragraph, she thought she’d take no notice of that, for when she got married she wasn’t going to work in the afternoons. I admired her for her bravery but secretly thought how could she do the morning work either, if there was no one to get her up in the mornings, no Mother to call her, no parrot to scream her name and make her come downstairs? If her husband had gone to work she would stay in bed all day, for when we others had gone into the country she just slept on and on at home, and the office manager sent someone down in the afternoon because he was worried, as he knew Miss Chegwidden was alone in the house, and she was still asleep when the messenger came.

  The great day came when we should pass out of the house-wifery class and receive our certificates. The final test before we received these happened on the last day at the school. We cooked a meal for the Culloden Street teachers. Mrs Wilson put me in charge of the mashed potatoes. Ever my favourite, I knew I would get added good remarks on my certificate because the teachers would never have tasted mashed potatoes like mine. Where Mrs Wilson went wrong, although she didn’t know it at the time, was in giving me a whole packet of margarine for the potatoes. She said, ‘Put on the mashed potatoes, one nut.’ I already knew that, but I thought I would put about two nuts because I wanted the Culloden Street teachers’ extra approval. Once I had put two nuts I couldn’t stop, and over-generous, I ended up using the whole packet. I thought my potatoes looked really rich and delicious. Mrs Wilson nearly choked with temper when she saw them and the whole class had to turn to and cook more potatoes. They were annoyed with me for making them late home, Mrs Wilson looked as though she would strike me, and the teachers had to wait for their dinner, and I thought they had never seen really nice mashed potatoes before. I did not get my certificate.

  On my last day at school the morning broke cold, crisp and clear, but for the first time I was loath to rise. When I came downstairs Mother and Marjorie were having breakfast, and Len, home on leave from the Navy, was sitting, reading the newspaper, by the fire. When he saw my dejected appearance he made a comical face and gave a comical sort of twitch. He couldn’t bear anyone to be miserable and it was his way of trying to make me laugh, but irritably I thought, if he’s not careful he’ll have St Vitus’s dance. Marjorie was chatting away to Mother, all about nothing, I thought; anyway what did she have to worry about ? Mother said, ‘Cheer up, Dolly, don’t make your unhappy life miserable.’ Marjorie thought this saying most comical and went into a bleating sort of laughter like a goat. This was much appreciated by Mother, but I thought it a most stupid saying and, if anything, guaranteed to make me feel more miserable than I already was. As I went out into the scullery to wash Mother and Marjorie lowered their voices, like conspirators, and I put my ear to the kitchen door to listen for I was sure they were talking about me. Len, unaware of what I was doing, pushed open the kitchen door and it cracked me on the temple. He was very upset and full of apologies but Mother said sternly, ‘Listeners never hear any good of themselves.’ This was true in my case but I added it to my list of ‘stupid remarks,’ deciding to work out later why I knew it was a silly saying.

  I had been busy at school for some weeks training my successor, who, I felt, was not as reverent towards the position, or me, as she should have been, for although I hardly knew her she had jumped the barrier from subservient trainee, to a companions-in-crime attitude from the start. It was therefore difficult to teach her the job from my ‘almost a mistress’ position for she possessed a silent quizzical ‘come off it, Dolly Chegwidden’ look, and so I dropped my voice of authority and taught her from the democratic old pals’ position. She really didn’t need teaching, for although a sleepy-looking girl, continually yawning, her mind was as sharp as a needle. Until then I always thought people were, mentally, as I saw them physically. Her yawns hypnotised me and we traversed the school like two gold-fish, open-mouthed, gasping for water. In turn I hypnotised my family and the yawns spread. Mother was afraid I was becoming anaemic and thought she’d buy some iron tonic for me.

  I always felt that in the dim future, when I too, was some-thing in the City, I would be warmed by Marjorie’s ‘Oh, Dolly, Miss Wilkie does miss you, she says you were a sad loss to the school.’ This was one dream shattered by the new P to be. She would be calm and worry about nothing, and I had to admit to myself she would be a perfect prefect. Still, perhaps I would get a little credit, for Miss Wilkie would have believed I had trained my successor so efficiently.

  The morning dragged on. I had no official duties and I was in the classroom, for my P had already been removed from my chest, but I knew the two holes made by the safety-pin at the back of the badge would always remain on that dress for I had worn my shield of office for many, many months. For the first time we had silent reading, there was
no point in lessons when we were leaving. What more could we learn in the few hours remaining? It was obvious to Mother, when I went home to dinner, that her bright saying had not dispersed the clouds for me and it was a quiet dinner-time although Mother sympathetically reminded me that no one could be young for ever, we all had to grow up sometime. I didn’t mind growing up, but I wanted to grow up in a school. I think I worried Mother—she may have thought my mental development had been arrested in some way. Quite out of character, she gave me ½d. to spend, and then I knew why she had cried when she had received a postal order when I was little. Normally a gift of money would bring great joy, now when I looked at my ½d. on the way back to school I felt like crying.

  There was a strange excitement abroad, my friends were eager for the four o’clock bell to go. In a few days they would have ‘wages for their mums.’ Since my mother never discussed money—money was an evil word in her vocabulary—I had never longed to bring wages home to her. What money did I need for myself? Miss Cook made lovely frocks for me, out of nothing. My library books were free. I was a source of great amusement for my friends on that last afternoon.

  Miss White entered the classroom carrying a basket containing brown foolscap envelopes, THE GIRL’S CHARACTER. Characters were very important, passports to livelihood to be cherished, and of course, to be kept very clean, and only to be opened by one’s parents. (Lots of the girls opened them on the way home and seemed to think them very funny.) ‘I have no character for you, Chegwidden,’ announced Miss White, ‘Miss Wilkie will give you yours if you go along to her study now.’ I suddenly felt all warm, I knew Miss Wilkie was thinking of me.

  The headmistress was at her desk, writing, as I entered her room and I stood respectfully at a distance until she looked up. The new prefect was just leaving the study and such a strange thought entered my mind, ‘The King is dead, long live the King.’ I felt like a King pronounced dead when only paralysed, watching, helplessly, a successor he didn’t want, crowned.

  ‘Well, Chegwidden,’ Miss Wilkie’s kind voice brought me back to reality. ‘I wanted to give you your character personally and to wish you every success in the world outside.’ She handed me my character saying she would like me to read it aloud to her. It was a truly wonderful character and I knew it would give me a high position in life for it said I would be a credit to any prospective employer. It ended with the words, ‘And with her warm and attractive personality, I am confident she will go far.’ I was overjoyed and could not stop my mouth from smiling. It was as good as winning a medal. No one in the family had received a character with these words on it, so far as I could recall.

  Miss Wilkie shook hands with me, but as I turned to go, she said, ‘Oh, just a minute, Chegwidden.’ For one awful moment I thought she was going to say she had handed me the wrong character, but she said, ‘Before you go, perhaps you would put these papers on the fire for me.’ Always quick off the mark, never waiting for people to finish their sentences, I threw the papers on to the huge fire. The headmistress was a chilly mortal who always looked as though she was shivering; her skin was always goose-pimpled, and her study like an oven with the coke fire always half-way up the chimney. She sat, at her desk, with her back to the fire and so hadn’t seen my efficient handling of the papers. They flared up so quickly I thought I would catch the chimney on fire and I took up the poker with which to hold the papers down. The heat was so intense it almost burnt my hand and my head felt as though it would burst.

  At the noise of the poker Miss Wilkie turned round, and let out a terrified scream. She was always so calm and dignified this unearthly scream made my heart jump. ‘You senseless, stupid girl,’ she shouted, half-choking, ‘I said file, not fire.’ She fell across the room to a corner cupboard, while I stood transfixed with fright, and brought out a thick round piece of shiny wood in which was fixed a long sharp skewer. She thrust this at me several times, saying between her teeth, ‘File, file, file.’ Had it been a sword and I an honourable Japanese prefect I would have thrown myself on it with remorse, or fright, so ghastly did I feel. Had she decided to stab me with the skewer, in her fencing fashion, even though I still held the long poker which would have been a match for her ‘sword,’ I would have fallen without resistance. I felt stabbing was nothing less than I deserved, for it appeared the documents were irreplaceable. ‘The trouble with you, Chegwidden,’ said Miss Wilkie, her face still red with annoyance, ‘You will act and speak before you even start to think, it is your great failure, and I tremble to think how you will get on in the outside world unless you make every effort to overcome this.’ So my character was a lie. Would she ask for it back? How could I go home and face them all without a character?

  It was of the utmost importance to my mother that none of her girls should lose their characters, sometimes it seemed the one worry of her life. My sisters and brothers had all kept theirs. It would be just ‘like Dolly’ to be the first one to lose her character. At the age of fourteen too! I knew, too, that once having lost one’s character, one can never get it back. Always on the look-out for escapes from tricky situations, always ready with an excuse (Mother’s words), I thought if I put the character in my pocket the headmistress might not, in her present hysterical state, think about what she had written. I didn’t want to fold it, that was bad, but it was the lesser of two evils, and, surreptitiously, I thought, I pushed it into the pocket of my frock. Lovely Miss Cook to always give me a pocket. Sadly I realised I was not the clever girl I secretly thought I was, I had no idea that a file was anything but the metal rasp my father had in his tool bag.

  Miss Wilkie suddenly shook off her distress, as a dog shakes off water. She sat down at her desk, and, although holding her head, she said calmly, but wearily, ‘Go now Chegwidden, and do try to curb your impetuosity.’ I left, happily relieved to be gone from that room for ever—yet a few hours before I felt I should leave it regretfully in tears.

  I was still hot and trembling when I passed the little sweet shop on the corner opposite the school. I had lost my desire to spend my half-penny there for the last time, in spite of the lovely selection the shop contained. Soap sugar (dirty off-white misshapen lumps of soapy acid sweetness), tiger nuts (tiny shrivelled ‘dried peas’ with very tough outer skins which made one cough), locust (dried, dusty, broken, sugary brown pods), Chinese coconuts (round, brown, billiard balls, hard as steel, which took days of sucking before the thin brown skin came off to reveal an ivory ball which could never be eaten but only sucked, tastelessly, for ever). My father said, ‘It’s not confectionery, it’s bloody cattle fodder they sell the kids.’ But we loved it all.

  I walked slowly home, deep in thought. The future was a kaleidoscope—I could not know what would evolve, or even what pattern I wanted. The past already seemed like a misty panoramic landscape, yet special happenings, happy and sad, seemed to stand out as distinct shapes—tableaux. I knew this day would be one of stark remembrance.

  When I finally arrived home I told Mother nothing of my burning activity of the afternoon, although she put her hand up to my forehead and remarked I musn’t get ill now, for I had to be up early in the morning to choose a job from the Daily Telegraph. I handed her my character which she read silently, without emotion, until she came to the last paragraph, about my attractive personality, and then she became happy and excited. ‘That is so true, Dolly, and I’ve always said it’ (praise from mother at last, something salvaged from the wreck of my day) ‘people always take to us.’ At long last I was included with the others.

  I could never remember what I did with that ha’penny.

  Chapter 16

  Something in the City

  No time must be lost between school and work, and I got up early the following morning to buy the Daily Telegraph for Mother said the best office jobs were advertised in that expensive paper. The house was quiet and Mother left me alone in the kitchen to search through the columns of small print. No one seemed to want an office girl that Monday morning, and Mother was
not surprised for Tuesdays and Thursdays were the lucky days. There was, however, an advertisement in it for trainee telephonists. ‘Call at Snow Hill between ten o’clock and two o’clock,’ it said. Leonard was home on leave from the Navy and Mother thought it a good idea for me to apply, as Leonard could take me there. It poured with rain while we were waiting for the bus and we arrived at Snow Hill looking like two drowned rats. I completed my application form, did a test of spelling and sums, quite simple, and so I was one of the lucky applicants to obtain the final interview.

  Len insisted on coming into the interview-room with me. He had promised Mother to look after me, although I felt I was looking after him. Behind a desk sat a very severe elderly-looking woman, with black hair scraped tightly into a bun on the top of her head. She wore a lace collar round her neck, stiffened with whalebone up to her chin. Her face was yellow, long and thin, her eyes very black, and dangling on her immense bosom were gold pince-nez spectacles. I knew when she looked at us she didn’t like us, and the way she said Poplar, I knew she didn’t like that place either, but she said I passed my test with full marks. That’s it, I thought, I’m a telephonist, won’t everyone at home be proud of me. No one had reached such heights, success had come to me only a few hours after leaving school. I was miles away in my lovely dream world when the supervisor said, ‘Say, round the ragged rock the ragged rascal ran.’ I said it beautifully for no one could catch Dolly. I was the champion tongue twister sayer, we played tongue twisters every Christmas. Amazement and disgust on the supervisor’s face. ‘You have had fourteen years in which to roll your R’s,’ she admonished, ‘and cannot do so, I’m afraid I have no vacancy for you, all my girls roll their R’s.’ I was on the point of tears, I hadn’t expected such a thing, I was a dismal failure at the start. Len was so upset for me he said belligerently, ‘She’s only just fourteen, she can learn, can’t she?’ What could she say to this? I was to have six weeks in which to accomplish this art, and then return for a test. I sat up in the front room at home and rolled my R’s all day. Father said I would drive him mad, I got a sore throat, but finally trilled like a canary. I went by myself to Snow Hill at the end of six weeks, but all vacancies had been filled.