Monday, October 28

 "Put an apron on," Marilyn said. "This spaghetti is messy and I don't want it on your white shirt."  It's the way that wives talk to you when you get old, and I just go along with it.  I have a couple of aprons to choose from: one has the pattern of a kilt with a painted-on sporran.  It's plastic so good for catching the occasional spill.  The other has a cryptic logo which seems to represent the children's ward at the hospital; I've no idea where that came from, but it's cotton material so is much easier to wear.  I wrap it around me and collect my meal.

I become aware that there is something in the large pocket on the front of the apron.  I reach in tentatively and pull out ... my missing glasses.  I have no idea how they got there.  I seldom wear the apron and can't remember having it on the day I lost the specs.

I'm starting to wonder whether we have a poltergeist or a nisse, the mischievous elf of Norse legend.  Anyway, all's well that ......

I think I must have been watching Downton Abbey when I wrote 'Bianca'.

BIANCA

Bianca was the only person she knew who had that name and she never understood what her mother was thinking when she decided to inflict her only daughter with such an unusual appellation.  It was unlikely her mother had read it because she couldn’t read so she must have overheard it somewhere.  It may have been part of some obscure plan designed to give Bianca a better start in life as if people with influence might be impressed with the name and give Bianca special attention.

One never knew with Bianca’s mother; she may have lacked education but she was cunning and was forever thinking of ways that her daughter could have more opportunities than she, herself, had enjoyed.  Throughout her young life, Bianca had been warned again and again.  “Don’t go into service.  Whatever happens, don’t become a servant in a big house.”

Bianca never went to school because she would have been expected to pay a shilling a week for the privilege, and there was never a shilling to spare for such frivolity.  Instead, she occasionally visited the local Church minister along with half a dozen other under-privileged children for some basic tuition in reading and writing.

When Bianca was twelve years old, her mother died and her father said it was time that Bianca contributed to the family income.  He had arranged for her to meet the housekeeper at the Big House and warned her to be polite and say, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am”

With her heart in her mouth, Bianca dragged her heels through the town and up the long driveway to the Big House.  She had never been close to the house before and couldn’t understand why just one family would need so much room.  Her own house only had two rooms and a scullery, and everybody in the street shared one lavatory.  She had been warned not to go to the front door so made her way to the back and timidly knocked.  The door was opened by the grandest individual Bianca had ever seen: he was tall with glossy dark hair and an immaculate uniform.  “Yes?” he enquired.  Bianca was speechless but the man beckoned her inside and pushed her along a corridor to a little room where she could see, sitting there, a severe-looking woman dressed all in black.

This was the housekeeper, who said, “You must be the girl who needs a job.  What is your name?”

  “Please, ma’am, it’s Bianca.”

“That’s a most unsuitable name for a servant.  We will call you Ethel.  We don’t have an Ethel on the staff at the moment so that is who you will be.  You may call me Mrs Hodges.”  You will begin work here as a scullery maid and, if you are satisfactory, you may be selected to become a chamber maid.  You will work from 6 o’clock each morning and you will be allowed one afternoon off each week.  Because you are just twelve years old, your wages will be paid to your father. Report to Cook who will find you a uniform and explain your duties.”

From that moment, Bianca’s life changed forever.  Her dreams for the future had never extended to meeting a rich young man who would sweep her off her feet and shower her with luxuries.  The most she could yearn for might be a position as sales girl in a fashionable shop, a marriage with a reasonably respectable young man and eventually a small home of their own where she could bring up her own children.

Instead, her own dreams had to be set aside and all her energies and attention must now be on fulfilling the desires of the members of the wealthy family who owned the Big House.  Ethel (as she now must call herself) didn’t even know the name of the family who owned the house and how they had come to own it.  Were they aristocrats, or did they make their money some other way?  Ethel knew that ‘real’ aristocrats looked down on people who were making their money ‘in trade’ and Ethel hoped her new employers were not members of that grubby bunch.

Days passed and Ethel’s life fell into a dull but reassuring routine.  There was one other scullery maid, a cheerful girl called Beryl who took Ethel under her wing and helped her through the difficult early days.  Mrs Hodges was strict but was seldom seen by the younger staff who worked assiduously to keep out of her way.  There were a couple of boys on the staff about Ethel’s age and she enjoyed their cheeky banter.  She shared a bed with Beryl but the sheets were always clean and the food from the kitchen was more than she expected.  The best part of her day was when all the staff sat together around the large table in the kitchen for their evening meal. Her life might have improved if she had a little money to spend on her afternoon-off but it was all given to her father who never thought to pass any on to her.

Eventually, she discovered that her ‘family’ were true aristocrats.  The owner of the House was a Lord and spent his days in gentlemanly pursuits which included regular attendance at the House of Lords.

Ethel, if she thought about it, would have agreed that her life was surprisingly happy.  Certainly, she was working hard and had very little free time but she enjoyed the friendship of the other servants and Beryl was almost like a sister.  Also, one of the young men who worked in the coach house was showing an interest in her and they were walking out together on their afternoon off. 

We can only imagine how Ethel’s life might have evolved but, sadly, she died in the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic.  To his credit, Ethel’s father insisted that her headstone should show her true name, and it is still there in the churchyard of her village.  Her young man visited her grave for a time but finally realised he needed to get on with his life and his visits ceased.  Bianca is now all but forgotten, just a girl with an exotic name who trod lightly on the earth.