ALL of the following takes place in the mind of Sister Monica Joan.
That pastry forks are facing the wrong way. What is she doing? Sister Bernadette should know better than that. Argh no girl, the butter knife lies on the bread plate. Should I tell her? I suppose it does not really matter. Oh, this will never do. Now the teaspoons have just been abandoned aimlessly on the saucers. I am surprised at Sister Bernadette. I must tell her. It is for her own good.
Impudent young woman, how dare she. Why would I call her Bernadette? Sister Bernadette left us long ago, she has a family, she married the doctor. I was there. She wasn't. The trouble with this young nun is, she spends too much time gossiping with the nurses, when she should be partaking in the privilege of silence.
Sister Evangelina would keep her in order. It grieves me to say this, but at times I find things to be rather remiss around here, since the sad departure of my dear friend and nemesis.
There is far too much savoury as opposed to sweet on the table. Our humours will be all at odds.
Ah, here is Mrs Dyer, she must have come to help. No, it can't be Mrs Dyer, but… Oh,Valerie of course, so like her mother. I remember them all, somehow you do. I can't seem to recall what paltry morsel I endured for breakfast, but I remember every birth. Each precious child, I was privileged to guide onto this most blessed of planets, in this miraculous universe. It did not matter whether Venus was in retrograde or by the light of an auspicious blue moon, during the bleakest of winter nights or in the heat of a July noon.
Who is this? Ah! At last someone who was brought up with some due care and attention. I suppose Nurse Dyer's family were not fortunate enough to delight in frequent occasions on which to display the best china and silverware, if they were even fortunate enough to have such non-necessities handed down to them.
Now this girl, she doesn't just know how to arrange by Dewey. That's right! First the forks, handle to the left and then the teaspoons at 6 'o'clock. She talks about her mother, I imagine they had little more than Valerie Dyer, but I think her mother knew how to keep a good table.
She has promised to take me on an outing to the British Library on her next day off. I have agreed to her demands, she means well, as long as she does not mither me and lets me wander and find my own amusement. Not take me by the sleeve like a tiresome toddler.
The edges of the salmon and cucumber sandwiches are starting to curl. We will just have to go straight to the cream scones.
The bell, she is here, at last... No, that's not her...Where has this one been all dressed up like a dog's dinner? With that glorified barber I presume, in his sports car. How sharper than a serpent's tooth is he. She thinks she is the first one to feel the wind in her hair, the thrill of the chase. I was the first woman in my set to drive a Sunbeam. Alas, I was not the owner, it belonged to a beau. Yes, I also have had admirers, just like you, my dear. And just like you, I left them all in my dust. Does he know your dazzling suitor that your heart is not yours to give.
They ridicule me when I say Nurse Franklin in my day would have taken holy orders, but what else could she have done? So bright, so intelligent, so ambitious, what other life would have given her the opportunities and freedom she enjoys at her age. I could not imagine her choosing to be pitied as an old maid, forced to look after some sickly relative or governess to some spoilt progeny.
Girls such as my lady here, were taught first how to make tapestries and then how to make babies. I imagine not that different to Nurse Dyer's grandmother, who was first taught how to make shells for explosives and then how to make babies.
There are always exceptions, brave heroines who somehow find a way to prosper in the male dominated cadre. I recall meeting Gertrude Bell, newly graduated from Oxford, of course that achievement wasn't added to the university records, after all she was a woman. Unfortunately so many of our modern day female Argonauts, unlike the original Atalanta, appear to end their quests in tragedy.
No, no don't fuss and kiss me dear, you're not my granddaughter. Would she be like you? Stubborn, compassionate, a little foolish even at times. But this midwife is neither my descendant or my legacy, yet maybe she is both.
I know your secrets, my dear. They think I don't, they told me some nonsense about being overworked, fatigued. No, I knew before they did.
They drink the Russian spirit now, because it leaves no odour. In my time, it wasn't so frowned upon, I can't say I knew a day when Sister Consumpta was sober. She never departed company from her bicycle and there was never a complaint, in fact she was frequently requested, maybe because she always had something within her bag to wet the baby's head.
Consumpta was never unhappy though, she would make Sister Winifred look like a depressive. This one, now looks much better since her leave of absence. There is a light back in her eyes. Oh yes, it's not the breath or the gait, it's not in the speech, it's the eyes, it's always in the eyes. You can mask most everything else, but not the eyes.
Oh! The egg and cress has gone hard and now resembles some sort of epidermal plaque. We will just have to forsake the sandwiches and sad looking sausage rolls and go straight to the cherry and almond.
Ah! Is this her?... No, apparently Dr. Turner is picking up my company and as doctors are prone to be and no one here had the sagacity to foresee, has been called away to administer to an unfortunate individual.
The Northern one has a vehicle, why could she not convey my guest...Spanish? It is a rich language. There are many intriguing works in that tongue, but perhaps Latin or surely Sylheti would be more appropriate.
Apparently Mrs. Turner is coming to tea, so that is why Dr Turner has been burdened with the task...but Mrs Turner is dead, I... so young and leaving a child...surely? I must ask Sister Evangelina to warn these young girls of the dangers of their idle chatter.
What is that monstrosity in the centre of the table? Why anyone in their right mind would put a tropical fruit with a method of consuming pork then add a dairy derivative and continue by piercing a wooden stick through the heart of each of them? With the sole purpose of keeping them in much closer proximity than they would probably wish to ever be. If that wasn't completely ludicrous enough, then insist on using multiples to try and reconstruct the form of one from the erinaceidae family. And they think I am the one who is bewildered.
Ah the bell, it is her, at last here is Mrs Valentine, finally some conversation worthy of cake.
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