Rules
Being Mrs Banks. What did that entail?
An endless list that could never be completed, no matter how much she achieved. She had hired the house staff; they weren't good enough. Became a mother to be told that children were too inconvenient. Birthed more children; they were never going to repaint the front door now- not that he had thought of that when he agreed to the act. Hired a succession of nannies; they had been too strict, too kind, too everything. She had socialised like a good housewife but her friends had been too frivolous, and when she had found a cause that she believed in, she had been told that the suffragette movement infuriated him.
Mrs Banks attended to every one of his whims. Yes, dear. No, dear. I couldn't have said it better, dear.
It seemed a lifetime ago that she had opened the back-stage door one summer evening, only to find a nervous young man offering her a marigold that he had purchased at the market. His ears had stuck out a little, propping up the bowler hat that was a size too big. He had introduced himself as George. Over time, he had left her. Only Mr Banks remained. And with every twitch of his moustache, she was reminded that she could not please him.
He would take to explaining, time and time again, where she had gone wrong. What was expected of Mrs Banks, for there were standards to be upheld. So simple that even she could understand. But she was not applying for a formal position; they were supposed to be partners.
Entering the parlour, she took a deep breath. The children were at the park, her husband at the bank; the only sounds were of Ellen's footsteps creaking around upstairs and Mrs Brill humming in the kitchen. Atop the mantelpiece was a collection of marigolds.
"Oh, George," she sighed. Crossing the room, she plucked a marigold from the vase, catching its scent as she did. "Whatever shall we do with you?'
She broke the flowerhead from its stem, tucking it through the metal clasp of the suffragette flag pinned to her chest. Slipping the sash around her head, Winifred looked down at the words printed across its front.
There were guidelines in place for people like her- mothers, daughters, wives. Her husband placed his faith in this law and order, but Winifred could not do the same. She no longer wanted to follow those rules. If that made her a disgrace in the eyes of her husband then so be it. Surely, Mrs Banks had a say in her own destiny?