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Authors: Sarah Grazebrook
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proud.
Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie have been rushed off their feet these last few weeks. Ladies have come and gone bringing leaflets and posters, all to be stacked in Miss Sylvia’s room till it looks like a paper factory. Once, the old man who we saw at the theatre, that winked at me, came. He showed no such impudence this time, I am happy to say, or he would have found mud on his coat when it came time for him to leave. Miss Sylvia seems very fond of him and listens to him with great respect.
The Wednesday meetings are back and this week we were all given handbills about the rally at Caxton Hall. I did not know what to do with mine so showed it to Cook who made a ‘tch’ing sound and put it straight on the fire. Though she does not say so, I think she is vexed with me for spending so much time above stairs, yet the mistress truly encourages it and is herself much occupied with writing letters to the newspapers.
Miss Sylvia asked me to help her with rolling up her posters but I spent so long admiring them that in the end she did it allherself. She did not seem to mind. When I told Cook, she said if I had nothing better to do she would find me something and made me unpick two whole rows of Will’s new coat. I had better make haste, else it will be too small. The baby’s blanket is finished. I do not think I can ask to go home again yet, for it is less than a month, but if Miss Annie is really to talk to the women in our street, perhaps she will take it for me.
Well, thank goodness for Mrs Drummond. Just when Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie seemed fit to drop and everything an utter muddle, arrives Mrs Drummond
with
a typewriter. I am ashamed I did not believe her the first time, for then it seemed impossible that she should have use of such a thing. Now, after three days of her sweeping in and out, I think there is not one thing impossible for her, except, perhaps, to speak English that I can fathom.
Every morning she is up when I am, breakfasts off a piece of bread and some butter, then off to the omnibus, her arms fair dropping with bills and posters. Back in the afternoon, a cup of tea and a cake, then off again to knock the doors and wheedle the women into promising their attendance. From what Miss Sylvia says, a good few of the men have given permission for their wives to go. It would be brave man could refuse Mrs Drummond, I’m thinking, for though she is not fierce like Cook, she is very firm and does not like to lose a fight.
First Cook did not like her at all, for she came bustling down to the kitchen and tried to instruct her in a Scottish gruel with oats and salt and water. Cook sniffed mightily and said she thought she was above serving slops to her employers, but Mrs Drummond just laughed till the tears randown her face and said, ‘That’s me in my place,’ (according to Cook, who speaks a morsel of Scottish) and after that she begged Cook’s pardon and said it was just that she was sad sick for her babbies and the gruel would make her think herself back home. The next we know, Cook is making a great tub of it and it is vile indeed, although if you stir some sugar in, it is much improved.
Mrs Drummond came back all white like a statue this afternoon. Cook asked if someone had thrown a bag of flour over her, but Mrs Drummond just laughed and said, no, she had been chalking all over the pavements to tell people about the rally. I wondered how she had got away with it. When I asked her she just gave me a great big wink and said, ‘I hae my ways, little one,’ or something like that.
Miss Annie told me she would be seeing Ma this morning and had I any message for her? I asked that she would take the blanket and tell Ma I am working a coat for Will. Also I gave her three shillings to give to Ma and a ham bone that Cook had left for throwing out, as too small to make a soup of. Poor Miss Annie looked like a Hebrew slave, so weighed down was she when she left.
Miss Annie says Ma is feeling better. She
Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie have been rushed off their feet these last few weeks. Ladies have come and gone bringing leaflets and posters, all to be stacked in Miss Sylvia’s room till it looks like a paper factory. Once, the old man who we saw at the theatre, that winked at me, came. He showed no such impudence this time, I am happy to say, or he would have found mud on his coat when it came time for him to leave. Miss Sylvia seems very fond of him and listens to him with great respect.
The Wednesday meetings are back and this week we were all given handbills about the rally at Caxton Hall. I did not know what to do with mine so showed it to Cook who made a ‘tch’ing sound and put it straight on the fire. Though she does not say so, I think she is vexed with me for spending so much time above stairs, yet the mistress truly encourages it and is herself much occupied with writing letters to the newspapers.
Miss Sylvia asked me to help her with rolling up her posters but I spent so long admiring them that in the end she did it allherself. She did not seem to mind. When I told Cook, she said if I had nothing better to do she would find me something and made me unpick two whole rows of Will’s new coat. I had better make haste, else it will be too small. The baby’s blanket is finished. I do not think I can ask to go home again yet, for it is less than a month, but if Miss Annie is really to talk to the women in our street, perhaps she will take it for me.
Well, thank goodness for Mrs Drummond. Just when Miss Sylvia and Miss Annie seemed fit to drop and everything an utter muddle, arrives Mrs Drummond
with
a typewriter. I am ashamed I did not believe her the first time, for then it seemed impossible that she should have use of such a thing. Now, after three days of her sweeping in and out, I think there is not one thing impossible for her, except, perhaps, to speak English that I can fathom.
Every morning she is up when I am, breakfasts off a piece of bread and some butter, then off to the omnibus, her arms fair dropping with bills and posters. Back in the afternoon, a cup of tea and a cake, then off again to knock the doors and wheedle the women into promising their attendance. From what Miss Sylvia says, a good few of the men have given permission for their wives to go. It would be brave man could refuse Mrs Drummond, I’m thinking, for though she is not fierce like Cook, she is very firm and does not like to lose a fight.
First Cook did not like her at all, for she came bustling down to the kitchen and tried to instruct her in a Scottish gruel with oats and salt and water. Cook sniffed mightily and said she thought she was above serving slops to her employers, but Mrs Drummond just laughed till the tears randown her face and said, ‘That’s me in my place,’ (according to Cook, who speaks a morsel of Scottish) and after that she begged Cook’s pardon and said it was just that she was sad sick for her babbies and the gruel would make her think herself back home. The next we know, Cook is making a great tub of it and it is vile indeed, although if you stir some sugar in, it is much improved.
Mrs Drummond came back all white like a statue this afternoon. Cook asked if someone had thrown a bag of flour over her, but Mrs Drummond just laughed and said, no, she had been chalking all over the pavements to tell people about the rally. I wondered how she had got away with it. When I asked her she just gave me a great big wink and said, ‘I hae my ways, little one,’ or something like that.
Miss Annie told me she would be seeing Ma this morning and had I any message for her? I asked that she would take the blanket and tell Ma I am working a coat for Will. Also I gave her three shillings to give to Ma and a ham bone that Cook had left for throwing out, as too small to make a soup of. Poor Miss Annie looked like a Hebrew slave, so weighed down was she when she left.
Miss Annie says Ma is feeling better. She
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