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I told you I was being distracted from my ‘proper’ chores didn’t I? I hope you’re as pleased with the resulting cushion (both sides) as I am! It is destined to be a gift for one of Youngest’s friends.
I have both an O and an A level in Needlework. For the O level I had to make a garment (I made a halternecked evening dress) and a piece of craft work (I made an embroidered picture, hand and machine, of Noah’s Ark). The dress is long gone, but the picture lurks in a box in my sewing space. Then there were two exams, one written and one practical. I did OK and I loved to sew so I moved on to the A. For this I made a Viyella dress, a lined needlecord jacket, a macramé lampshade and a machine embroidered picture which still adorns my parent’s spare room. The practical required me to make a lined waistcoat which I found easy, but the written paper was a different matter. The knowledge required included home dressmaking, fabric types, soft furnishing construction and design, and the history of costume. I was rubbish at the history part and have an abiding memory of being asked for the history of the pocket in womenswear… and something about providing instructions for making all the soft furnishings in my new house…
I tell you this to help explain my reservations about Youngest’s plans to take the sewing option as her GCSE Design Technology subject. She won’t need to decide for another year, but I have a specific concern! For the first 3 years of secondary school they alternate the DT subjects and in the sewing terms they do 3 projects: they design and make a bug, a hat and a pair of shorts. That’s what Eldest did, and Youngest has done the bug and expects to make a hat next term.
At my secondary school we had been timetabled to do Needlework classes weekly regardless of stream – you could only cook in the C form! We made bags to hold our sewing, and Science rolls to hold our scalpel(yes, knives in school , as required kit!) and other tools. Lots of straight line machining, name taping, chain stitch embroidery and oversewing. Basic, dull and useful! We were taught to darn, mend a variety of tears and different methods of sewing seams. Then we smocked aprons with shell-edged strings for our mums. At last we chose garments to make for ourselves. As a boarder I spent two hours every Saturday morning in ‘mending’ where we sat around sewing on nametapes, darning socks and tights, sewing on buttons… All those things I now do for my girls and have completely failed to teach them.
There is no sign of anyone teaching them to sew at school either.
I am ridiculously excited watching little flower heads popping up all over the garden, buds budding on the trees and birds house hunting, but please could it stay warmer and stop raining? I can’t make a plan from one day to the next and, ‘though Youngest needs some room decoration (if only she could keep it tidy), the house always needs more tlc than I can be bothered with and I’m supposed to be making a prom dress, I’d rather be gardening.
I’ve been shouting at the television. Has anyone else been able to stomach Women on BBC4?
I grew up in the 70s aware of the Women’s Liberation Movement and absolutely convinced of my right to be equal to any man. This does not mean I subscribe to some of the dottier things they did. I’ve generally thought my bra quite supportive even if I have wished for a smaller bust that wouldn’t need one – if only I was young enough not to find showing the straps acceptable!
Like the brave women who fought for the vote I applaud the ‘liberation’ of women. In my teens and twenties I had no interest in settling down with a man and a family; I was going to Save British Industry.
The first episode interviewed the chief activists (all mad according to A A Gill in the Sunday Times). The second interviewed a (very middle class professional) tiny set of mothers and their other halves about how they ran their marriages and who did what work. The key question seemed to be ‘In what way is your life different from that of a fifties housewife?’
It was at that point that I started to shout! The difference is that these women (and me too, being a middle class professional!) had chosen to lead the life they were leading. Some had given up work, but others were juggling work and family. There was some pointed stuff about who cleaned the bath, but little was made about the lower standards that we accept today. (Go on then: how many of you scrub your doorsteps, dust and vacuum daily?) And, since she was interviewing people with money, they all had washing machines and dishwashers. The hours my mum spent bent over her twin-tub, or my grandmother using her mangle, have been replaced by a machine that largely does the work while you do something else. The fifties housewife, of course, not only rarely did the sort of managerial work that a woman can do today, she also had to give up work if she married.
There’s a way to go! I’m not saying we’ve got equality. My adult life has been more different from my mother's than hers was of her mother's. I had a successful career and was on level pay with Husband when I gave up work to follow him to Germany. We had discussed our work and our wish to have children and made a conscious decision that he would support the family that I would bring up. As it happens Husband does a great deal more in the way of domestic chores and childcare than Father ever did. Regular readers will know that housework has never been of great interest to me. The things I do do are many and varied, but while Husband is bringing in the money it must be my task to spend it wisely… as well as do most of the chores.
At last a chance to post! These are the pent up scribbles of a frustrated blogger in the order they might have found voice:
They’re in shock: their mother has been into their secondary school to ‘meet the leadership team’. How embarrassing is that?! Headmaster was remarkably frank about the school, both good and bad points. An interesting morning. Under specific instruction, I studiously avoided catching sight of my girls and received a stuck out tongue from one and a lopsided grin from the other for my efforts. Other Mums were sought out and given kisses… Eldest says they’ll grow out of it.
Been struggling with AOL. Can’t get on line for long enough to read my e-mail, never mind place my Sainsbury’s order and there definitely hasn’t been time to post my blog and I’ve been missing my fix of a spot of cruising through the blogosphere. Mind, that’s not just AOL, that’s Husband being at home and hogging the study. It is his study, but the deal has been that the computer was my toy when everyone else in the house is out: how dare he be home?! He wants to eat lunch too, something I only do at weekends and during the holidays. There are up sides of course! We’ve been able to go for a walk, exercise is something we both need to do more often – particularly if I’m going to be eating lunch every day.
I am an occasional church goer. As a child I went on high days and holidays when we visited my maternal grandparents at the Vicarage. In our little corner of Wiltshire, church has been another place to meet people. And, as a result, I have been drawn in to other activities. I sit on a church fete committee- meetings have started for this year’s event in June- and this week I hosted one of the four Lent lunches. The deal is that the host provides a bread and soup lunch followed by cheese and biscuits, fruit, and then coffee. The guests make a donation to the church funds. It is a great opportunity to clean and tidy the house which Husband much appreciates- and Kindneighbour helping provide waitress service also commented upon!! I used up pumpkin and beetroot from the allotment to make three sorts of soup. It was all very jolly, so I expect I will agree to do it again if I’m asked… which will presumably depend on the feedback!
High time I put up a recipe – like others I don’t feel I can photograph my efforts with the family around. This is Granny’s Flapjack, although she would have melted and mixed in a saucepan and I use a microwave. It is something I remember making with her as a child; a fond memory: she was a very slapdash cook who rarely weighed things and didn't seem to mind how much mess we made. This is a very easy recipe that both my girls can now make on their own, but they too have been making it as long as they can remember.
8oz butter
6oz sugar
8tbsp golden syrup
1lb porridge oats
Melt butter and sugar together.
Stir in sugar.
Stir in oats.
Turn out mixture into 12x6.5x1 inch baking tin.
Bake for 30 minutes at gas 3/160C.
Cool for 5 minutes then cut into squares and leave to cool completely.
Note: Eldest likes this with glace cherries mixed into it, Youngest prefers it with raisins. At Christmas I like to put in half the mixture, then a layer of mincemeat, and then the balance of the mixture spread on top. We all like it straight from the tin while it’s still warm!
We have received two lots of visitors this weekend. Both are friends met through the Army, both have ‘matching’ girls.
In the first lot, both parents work and the girls went to boarding school when they reached seven. All are content with their lot. They value the limited time they spend together which is why getting all eight of us in one place probably only happens once or twice a year. We had a family dinner party where everyone participated in the conversation and then played a version of Trivial Pursuits in teams of two. Raucous!
Mother1 and Theireldest1 had seen the Channel 4 programme Leaving Home at Eight and been as unimpressed by it as I had. The programme focussed on four military families for some reason and then did not explain why such families might pick the boarding school option, nor what the alternatives would be. And we all agreed that being in too much contact with home (one mother seemed to ring every day) is a disaster in the settling in stakes.
Our next visitors were just Mother2 and Theiryoungest2 who were in the UK from a foreign posting to spend half-term with Theireldest2. She started boarding when she reached Year 10 and started her GCSE courses. Previously, like her younger sister, she has gone to school wherever her parents have lived. Largely this has worked, though Theiryoungest2 is bored by her latest school such that her parents are wondering what to do. This family are all finding the separation difficult; they have moved even further away for this, the actual GCSE year, and the distance in both miles and time doesn’t help.
For Youngest and myself it was a treat to have our friends with us, however briefly – Husband and Eldest missed theirs.
Perhaps I should add by way of explanation that you could see something about my boarding school experience here.
Half-term beckons and we are off to the smoke to stay with my parents.
There will be dark mutterings afoot regarding the large piles of paper Father cannot throw away. When asked to sort them they move, but they never get any smaller. Mother is no more interested in cleaning than her daughter, but she’d like to present a tidy front.
Father’s complete failure to do any household chores has long been a bone of contention. As a teenager I was very aware, when I was home from boarding school, of just how rebellious Mother was feeling. Married in the late 1950s, and to an Army Officer, she gave up paid work to follow the drum. By the early 70s, with her children away at school, stuck in Germany expected to help run the wives club and entertain all and sundry, she was understandably kicking against her world. Her reading material reflected the times, I remember, and I’ll confess now to some concern for their marriage (they’ve done over 50 years now). She and I muttered about men in general – my brothers were equally lax in their contribution to household chores, despite pocket money incentives and tick charts. (Not surprising really when their bossy big sister made the charts and did most of the nagging.) What a goody goody they must have thought me taking on cleaning jobs, the family ironing and, the one I actually enjoyed, helping with the cooking. I have a vivid memory of piping cooked mashed egg yoke mixed with tomato ketchup into the halved hard boiled whites to serve at a buffet supper party – we had very sophisticated tastes in 1972.
There’ll be fish pie for supper when we get home, it’s tradition. My Granny made it with fresh coley. Mother makes it with fish in parsley sauce. I use frozen cod and make my own sauce. But the result is pretty similar.
It is ironic that it is only now, as I contemplate how the time I have with my girls will come to an end of sorts when they fly the nest, that I realise how my parents might feel. Do they mind that we’ve all gone, or are they proud that they managed it… of course they might just be glad to be rid of us and be pretty grumpy because they (well, Mother) feel bound to tidy up and make fish pie.
