Snippets of Sybil

Culture

Sybil was sat crossed-legged on the floor of the library. Her father was nowhere to be seen. Occasionally a servant would pass through the library, though not one of them noticed the small six year old seated in the corner of the room with a large, emerald, leather-bound volume in her lap. The words were too complicated for the little girl to read and some were in different languages so she did not stand a chance at understanding what they meant. The pictures were what caught her eye. Beautiful illustrations took up whole pages with colours more vibrant than she had seen in any other book.

Most of the pictures were of women all of whom had dark hair and full, red lips. Sybil touched her own lips and felt the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile. She didn't look too dissimilar to the women in the illustrations. Their clothes were magnificent. They wore patterned gowns of deep purples, cherry reds and midnight blues. Sybil thought that they looked like dressing gowns at first but then she realised that the dresses were so much more special than a dressing gown. The neckline came down quite low into a 'v' shape, though the dresses weren't indecent. They reached the floor, though none of the women looked uncomfortable, like women Sybil knew who wore dresses over the top of tight and restricting corsets. Around their waists were sashes in colours which contrasted with the shade of their dresses. One lady wore red and purple together, a combination which most women would push aside as being 'too brash' or 'too loud'. Sybil liked how the colours clashed against one another. The vibrant colours looked beautiful against their pale skin and dark hair. She wished that her mama would let her have a dress in such a colour, though Cora Crawley was keen to make sure her daughters dressed in a fashion considered to be acceptable. The colours in fashion were pale and pastel in tone. There were no bold colours, or at least what was considered to be bold in England would be considered to be pale and dull by these ladies' standards. Sybil noticed that all the dresses swept to the floor so their shoes could not be seen. She was curious about whether they were barefoot beneath their dresses or were wearing shoes. She liked to believe that if they were wearing shoes they would be comfortable, like their dresses. Sybil's leather shoes pinched at her feet and she much preferred her slippers or no shoes at all.

All the women had beautifully pale skin. It was fashionable for English ladies to have pale skin as it had been for centuries. Sybil's sister Mary told her it was because tanned skin indicated that people had been working outside and the upper class preferred to have pale skin as it meant they wouldn't get mistook for being a member of the working class. But these ladies, in their magnificent dresses had pale white skin. Their skin was as white as porcelain and their eyes were dark and sparkly. Elaborate hair pieces were placed in their hair. Some had flowers and leaves; others had little birds and animals. All the pieces were beautiful. She liked how the pieces acted as hair pins with their up-dos and to-knots. Sybil wished that someone would do her hair like that but she feared they would laugh at her. Sybil was certain that nobody laughed at these ladies.

When Sybil first saw these ladies she thought that they were something magic, or at least something from mythology. People so beautiful and so bright surely could not be real. She chuckled when she saw one who was pouring tea from an intricately patterned teapot. She wasn't laughing at them. She was laughing at herself for being so silly. These ladies were beautiful, but they could still carry out daily chores which everybody was so accustomed to. Sometimes when her mother had friends over she would ask Sybil or her sisters to carefully pour the tea into their cups. Sybil wondered what the ladies would think if she dressed like the women in the book and poured the tea like the lady in the picture was doing. Would they laugh at her? Would they smile and pat her hand, calling her 'sweet' or 'darling'? Or would they look on in wonder, at the new and daring Sybil, who wanted to be like the women in the book?

"How many times have I told you?"

Sybil looked up and closed the book to. She did not slam it, for that would damage the book and likely make her father even more annoyed than he looked now. She stayed silent, knowing that she was doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.

"You are not to take the books off the shelf without asking for my help. Some of them are very old and very delicate. Some of the books require gloves for you to turn the pages, they are that old." Robert Crawley frowned slightly and turned his head to one side, trying to see the title his youngest daughter had been gazing at in wonder. "What were you looking at anyway Sybil?"

She slowly stood up, not wanting to say a word in case she angered her father further. He would never hurt her, though she didn't want to get him angry to the point he'd banish her to her bedroom and stop her from exploring the house. Sybil held out the book with both hands to her father, a weary look in her eyes.

Her father took the book and quickly read the title. "Ah, you were reading about Japan were you?"

She frowned and shrugged her shoulders. "I think so." That was all she could say. She had heard Japan mentioned before in her lessons though knew next to nothing about it, apart from the fact that it was very far away. "Well, I wasn't really reading it Papa. I was looking at the pictures."

Robert chuckled and nodded, his expression considerably softer than it had been moments before. "You were looking at the geishas?"

"I'm not sure what they are called. They are very pretty though. I liked their dresses." She smiled up at her father, knowing that he could not stay angry at her for long.

"They live in Japan. It's true, the ladies in here are very pretty. They entertain people with their songs and dances and are just as famous for their tea as the British are." He turned and put the book back on the shelf. "I will let you read the book another time Sybil. You need to make sure that I am around though, for you would have had to climb on something to fetch this down. I don't want you hurting yourself. Your mother would never forgive me if you were to fall and hurt yourself when I should have been looking out for you. Now run along. Granny is coming over in a few minutes and you need to make sure you're ready for her."

Sybil did as her father asked her and left the library, her head full of the ladies, the geishas, she had seen in the book.

It would be years until she encountered a picture of a geisha again. She was living in Dublin with her husband and was expecting her first child. It was also the first Christmas she had spent away from her family in her entire life. Gifts had been sent to her for the Crawleys were never ones to forget a Christmas gift, even if one of their members was living hundreds of miles away. The last gift she was to open was from her father and was the largest out of the lot. Her husband held it out for her as she tore the paper from it. She gasped, her eyes widening in wonder and admiration as she saw the picture.

"What is it?" Tom asked, slightly bemused by the look on his wife's face.

"A painting." She whispered.

"A painting? From your father? What of?" He walked towards the sideboard and propped the picture against the wall, taking a few steps backwards to see its subject was. "What is it Sybil?"

His wife had tears in her eyes as she smiled. "He remembered. He remembered Tom." She took some steps towards the painting and took in the lady's purple gown, her kimono. She took in the red sash around her waist, the obi. "She's a geisha. They live in Japan, entertaining people with their songs and dances and are just as famous or their tea as the British are."