Wednesday, January 17, 2007

NOT A DOMESTIC GODES

NOT A DOMESTIC GODESS

As far as house cleaning went I was satisfactory.  In hospital we had learnt the science of cleaning and practised it daily, so my paint work was washed regularly and cleaning started from the ceiling and progressed downwards, with all the guff vacuumed up at the end.  But there had been a few disasters.

We had acquired a small washer which you filled and emptied manually but it washed – preferably whites and coloureds separately. No-one told me that Dodie had dyed William’s white naval shirts a burnt sienna colour so now I had matching underwear Then I wanted to emulate Dodie, who made delicious red currant jelly which we had with roast lamb. I got as far as slinging a muslin bag full of boiled red currants between the kitchen taps only to realise with dismay, that the red liquid vanishing down the plug hole was the jelly, not the mess in the muslin.  This was a valuable lesson to learn:  read the whole recipe before you start cooking.

We had been given an early pressure cooker as a wedding present and for years it was our only cooking pan.  Sadly one day I had the heat too high, bringing the pressure up too quickly and the whole kitchen, from the ceiling downwards, was sprayed with boiled, stewed apple.  A nice fresh smell but sticky underfoot.

William’s brother Wallace and his wife Fleur had invited us and William’s mother Dodie for Christmas.  Fleur informed me that the Christmas pudding would be my responsibility.  I found an old wartime recipe which used grated carrot, to cut down on the sugar.  I really concentrated and followed every step with the greatest of care and I can honestly say it was the best Christmas pud’ I have ever tasted.  William decided to take some extra time off and said he would write and tell Fleur we would be arriving a few days early.  I thought this was a rotten idea as I had seen how Mum and Gran used to get in a state with Christmas preparations, but William would not be swayed.

There was a mile long narrow lane to reach the pretty white house deep in the Hampshire countryside.  The grounds were littered with ornamental stone mushrooms and one of the outhouses alone would have made a splendid house.
When we arrived I took one look at Fleur’s face and wanted to run for the hills.  Thanks to the Christmas post our letter hadn’t arrived and poor Wallace had to cope with the fall out.  It was our first visit to Fernhill and the house was filled with Fleur’s mother’s beautiful furniture.  The dining room chairs were all carvers with women’s torsos carved on the uprights of the arms.  It amused me to watch the men’s hands slip casually on to the carved bosoms.  This seemed to have a soothing effect on them.
Fleur ran the house as her mother had done, with different napkins for breakfast, lunch and dinner and such things as the basins in the bedrooms cleaned daily.  The difference being that her mother had had staff and Fleur didn’t even have a daily (cleaner).  So when one offered to help – with a little light dusting in mind, one would be likely to be presented with a bucket of potatoes to peel or a similar arduous task.  She worked very hard herself – her eyes narrowed to avoid the smoke from the cigarette wedged in the corner of her mouth and we were always rewarded  with a suitably, stiff, naval libation – G and T with ice and a slice at lunch time and a horses neck (Brandy  and ginger) or three at dinner.


Apparently there was a lot of work to be done outdoors so William and Wallace would disappear after breakfast and return for meals, having enormous fun.  I admired Fleur greatly but we didn’t have much in common so the highlights were meal times which were excellent, although one knew all the beautiful fine china and crystal would be washed very carefully after dinner by yours truly.

‘For God’s sake don’t break anything Pat!  All this stuff comes from Greylands (her old home) and is irreplaceable,’

Meal times were quite noisy.  Wallace had an acerbic wit, especially after sundown and Fleur would give her rather raucous laugh which would bring on her smokers cough.  Dodie addressing her sons, would be constantly getting her Willys and Wallys mixed up which had me in stitches, which started my hiccups.

Fleur cooked on an enormous Aga which ran on fuel and sometimes went out.  That was the time to take the children for a long walk until things quietened down.  It was an interesting Christmas, and I learnt a lot. William had thoroughly enjoyed himself – the brothers got on well and William was happy to do as his elder brother wished.  I had felt a bit homesick for my family and was happy to be back in our more humble home again.  I wondered if William ever wished he had married into money.

10 comments:

AndrewM said...

Good work. Keep it up.

drunk punk said...

washing machines? cookers? my head hurts. I noticed a dishwasher 3 weeks after it was fitted. I wondered why Caz was gettin' humpy at me puttin' me plates in the sink. Well, she knew I wasn't house trained when she got me...

apprentice said...

I keep waiting for Gromit to turn up,lol! I laughed at the jelly bit, it makes complete sense that the bit in the muslin would be the bit you'd keep. I love jellies, especially crab apple.

Nice phto too, you've really not changed very much at all, good bones as my mother used to say!

R. Sherman said...

It amused me to watch the men’s hands slip casually on to the carved bosoms. This seemed to have a soothing effect on them.

I intend to use this bold part when I arrive home after the next stressful day at the office. I shall cite you, with your medical background, as my authority. "It must be true, honey. I read it on the internet."

Cheers.

PI said...

Good thinking Randall! Just don't mention my name.

Guyana-Gyal said...

Ever had the pressure cooker blow up on you Pat? I only heard about what happened to one of my aunts - it flew right off, hit the ceiling, and food was everywhere. We were young when we heard about it so of course were quite amused.

This entire post is just delicious...but those two lines, the one quoted by Randall and the very last sentence...they're the cream.

PI said...

GG: no - the worst was flying stewed apple. That Randall's naughty!

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

My mother has been and gone (for the holidays) and while she was here she washed my woodwork one afternoon while I was out. Isn't there some sort of etiquette to be observed in this situation? I mean isn't it rude to go around just washing other people's woodwork willy-nilly? Without asking?

Don't get me wrong, it was kind of her and no doubt needed doing, and I didn't really mind, but here's the thing: I sorta, kinda do mind because this would not be the first instance of my mother performing unwanted household tasks about the house. And I know that while I'm clean I'll never be the housewife that she was but I just can't care that much about it and she looks upon that as some kind of a moral failing.

What am i blethering on about? I'll stop.

PI said...

sam: it's a generation thing. My Mum always used to clean the lavatories. I made a dreadful bloomer when my DIL was in hospital and I washed the bedroom curtains. They were the same pattern as some I had but were a beige background instead of white and I thought they were dirty. Big mistake!!!We shouldn't do it and I have learnt the hard way and maybe your Mum will also.
It's usually done with the best of intentions and I know it is bloody irritating.

Zinnia Cyclamen said...

Fascinating details, I love the contrast between your way of life and theirs.