things he says about her, his own blood! It is almost as if â but no, I cannot possibly harbour such a thought. But I will speak to Margaret about it, or rather, drop hints so as to find out more. Mr McInnes would never have dared to speak this way in Papaâs presence! Yes, things are decidedly slipping downhill, and there is little I can do. In the end I am just a girl, hardly more than seventeen. Winnie wasnât much of a help when she was here, as all she could think of was her approaching wedding and the arrival of Mama.
But then Mama came, Winnie got married and everything changed.
9
Winnie
I quickly adapted to life in our Albouystown cottage. So many people had told me I wouldnât: I had to prove them wrong, and I did, and it wasnât even that difficult. Yes, the bathroom was in the yard and all it was was a roofless cabin next to the rainwater vat, with a bucket of water and a ladle. And the lavatory â well, it might not be ladylike to speak about that, so Iâll just say it was a hole in the ground with a wooden seat built over it. But Iâm not here to compare my old life with the new one. I had chosen the new one, and that was that. I would do it.
Winning over Maâs heart had been relatively easy. That hardness she had first displayed was little more than a shell. Once it was cracked she opened up, and treated and loved me like a daughter. And as I got to know her better she earned all my respect. Our house might have been small but Ma treated it like a palace; meticulously clean and tidy it was. Once a week Ma would bundle her long cotton skirts between her legs, get down on hands and knees and scrub the kitchen floor and the back and front steps. She used a scraper, a kind of wide knife-blade, and some kind of white soap. And she polished all the inside floors so that they glowed the colour of honey. And she cleaned all the windows with vinegar and newspaper so that not a streak, not a flyâs footprint, remained.
There was a standpipe in the front yard from which we schlepped water for use in the house, for drinking and cooking and washing wares and, later, for bathing small children. Ma washed the householdâs clothes each Monday in a wooden tub next to the rainwater vat, using a beater, scrubbing board, Rickettâs Crown Blue, salt soap and starch. The Blue was to keep the mensâ Sunday white shirts white, and the starch to keep them crisp. Downstairs she kept a coal pot and three cold irons; once the clothes were dry sheâd light the coal in the pot and, once they were red hot, she would place the irons upon them. Sheâd carefully lay a blanket and a folded sheet on the dinner table, which then became an ironing board; she used beef suet to grease the iron before use. Ma did not allow me to help with the washing, but the ironing became my weekly task, and I learned to enjoy seeing the mountain of rumpled clothes removed from the washing lines converted into neat folded piles to be returned to the cupboards.
Ma was meticulous about her own appearance, too. She never left the house without splashing herself with Evening of Paris perfume, and dusting her face with powder, and her body with Mimâs Talcum Powder.
She had an acerbic tongue sometimes, but I soon learned that her bark was worse than her bite, and once I knew her ways we became a team, and she taught me the art of living in a very small space. One by one my spoilt English ways dropped away.
Adapting to Albouystown itself â well, that was not so easy. I am not a town girl. Growing up on Promised Land spoiled me for anything less than paradise. I missed the garden: the orchard that brought forth fruit of every imaginable variety, every month a different and more delicious kind; especially the mango tree with its low-slung branches inviting us to climb into its leafy canopy. The towering bougainvillea that climbed our porticos and porches, huge bunches of purple, pink and vermillion
But then Mama came, Winnie got married and everything changed.
9
Winnie
I quickly adapted to life in our Albouystown cottage. So many people had told me I wouldnât: I had to prove them wrong, and I did, and it wasnât even that difficult. Yes, the bathroom was in the yard and all it was was a roofless cabin next to the rainwater vat, with a bucket of water and a ladle. And the lavatory â well, it might not be ladylike to speak about that, so Iâll just say it was a hole in the ground with a wooden seat built over it. But Iâm not here to compare my old life with the new one. I had chosen the new one, and that was that. I would do it.
Winning over Maâs heart had been relatively easy. That hardness she had first displayed was little more than a shell. Once it was cracked she opened up, and treated and loved me like a daughter. And as I got to know her better she earned all my respect. Our house might have been small but Ma treated it like a palace; meticulously clean and tidy it was. Once a week Ma would bundle her long cotton skirts between her legs, get down on hands and knees and scrub the kitchen floor and the back and front steps. She used a scraper, a kind of wide knife-blade, and some kind of white soap. And she polished all the inside floors so that they glowed the colour of honey. And she cleaned all the windows with vinegar and newspaper so that not a streak, not a flyâs footprint, remained.
There was a standpipe in the front yard from which we schlepped water for use in the house, for drinking and cooking and washing wares and, later, for bathing small children. Ma washed the householdâs clothes each Monday in a wooden tub next to the rainwater vat, using a beater, scrubbing board, Rickettâs Crown Blue, salt soap and starch. The Blue was to keep the mensâ Sunday white shirts white, and the starch to keep them crisp. Downstairs she kept a coal pot and three cold irons; once the clothes were dry sheâd light the coal in the pot and, once they were red hot, she would place the irons upon them. Sheâd carefully lay a blanket and a folded sheet on the dinner table, which then became an ironing board; she used beef suet to grease the iron before use. Ma did not allow me to help with the washing, but the ironing became my weekly task, and I learned to enjoy seeing the mountain of rumpled clothes removed from the washing lines converted into neat folded piles to be returned to the cupboards.
Ma was meticulous about her own appearance, too. She never left the house without splashing herself with Evening of Paris perfume, and dusting her face with powder, and her body with Mimâs Talcum Powder.
She had an acerbic tongue sometimes, but I soon learned that her bark was worse than her bite, and once I knew her ways we became a team, and she taught me the art of living in a very small space. One by one my spoilt English ways dropped away.
Adapting to Albouystown itself â well, that was not so easy. I am not a town girl. Growing up on Promised Land spoiled me for anything less than paradise. I missed the garden: the orchard that brought forth fruit of every imaginable variety, every month a different and more delicious kind; especially the mango tree with its low-slung branches inviting us to climb into its leafy canopy. The towering bougainvillea that climbed our porticos and porches, huge bunches of purple, pink and vermillion
Similar Books
