Tuesday 2 September 2014

A Pamphlet From History

On Inducting a Girl into the Household –

By the Celebrated, Major Alistair StJohn Allois Perskin

Or:

The Control, Discipline and Chastisement of the Recalcitrant Young Maid or Petulant Servant Girl: 

Modern Methods, Hints and Tips.
Being a Pamphlet Detailing Thoughts on Uniform Considerations and Choice, Duties, Assessment and Training and Featuring the Author’s Celebrated Outspoken Views Countering Current Progressive Liberal Thinking on the Subject
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From the outset, on entering the household, a girl should be encouraged to immerse herself in – and be satisfied by - solely occupying herself with feminine occupations. There is a proviso one should consider here; while I say she should be encouraged, at the same time she should not be made to feel she is held in particularly high regard, nor allowed to consider the same. In the latter vein: one should never hesitate to remind her of her limitations; and if a task or imposition may be designed as an exemplar of a particular inadequacy, so much the better.

That being said: there is one important caveat, the master or mistress of the household should be aware of, which is that it is vital such an assignment or chore is not repeated on such a regular basis as to allow practice to make perfect, which is to say, to allow the girl the satisfaction of herself marking any improvement. As much as is possible, then, she should be encouraged to recognize that advancement is beyond the means of her meagre intellect. By this in effect you are doing the girl a service; it is a kindness which ultimately will lead to less frustration, less resentment, on the girl’s behalf by aiding her in her eventual acceptance of the unalterable fact that her life is now under the rigid rule of the household, and that every action, every thought running through that pretty snub-nosed tousled head, is beholden to the gentleman or lady of the house.

To this latter end it does no harm for a girl to overhear her shortcomings discussed with others, particularly as pertains to her intellectual development or lack of it. In actual fact a criticism received in such a manner will be more readily incorporated in to a girl’s persona than if she were to be directly confronted by it or berated face to face. This latter point is especially true in a situation wherein it is the stranger or visitor who initiates the discussion or points out the problem, whether it be perhaps clumsiness or some demonstration of the girl lacking ‘common sense’, and is even more especially true if reinforced by sufficiently frequent exposure to such third-party criticism.

A girl constantly and consistently told she is stupid, will in time become stupid; not in that she will be tempted to mess around, but rather in that she will come to believe herself incapable of arguing back, standing her ground or making decisions for herself and instead will tend to capitulate without struggle to whatever new restriction or stipulation one might care to impose. Consistency is the key here; once knocked off balance she must not be allowed to regain her footing. But you do not stamp on her, you do not trample her under heel. you must not seek to break her in a single step, in one full-blooded blow, as if smashing some unwanted vase in a fit of pique against the wall or in the drawing room fireplace. The human spirit is a resilient thing – even the apparently fragile spirit of a self-conscious and bookish teenage girl – and can bounce back surprisingly quickly from such a direct, dare I say brutal, assault; and bounce back even stronger as a result!. No, for a more permanent result her shy little spirit has to be crushed, slowly, lovingly, little by little and step by step. And never forget; the carrot can be as effective as the stick; though the stick should never be spared where needs must.

One may envisage the process as akin to plucking the petals from a rose. You twist off each off, one by one, each one some new rule or stipulation she must adhere to, some new, perhaps even quite minor, indignity she must suffer. But you do not leave behind just the stem; rather the time to stop is when just sufficient of the bloom remains to still be recognisable for what it once was. In that manner, by tempering one’s hand short of total personality collapse you leave the poor blameless lamb with sufficient wherewithal to assure she truly appreciates the shame inherent in the lowly station she has been brought down to; it is in that constant realisation that true humility lies.

To the latter end I would say there is no harm at all in from time to time reminding her, or contriving to have her reminded, of what she may have become had she not fallen within one’s employ and come under the control of the household. For example; if taking to the stage had once been an aspiration, however lofty or out of reach – but so much the better, if once realistically within her grasp – then a couple of theatre posters or handbills decorating the walls of her room may be in order. Alternatively, why not let her have a programme to read from time to time, procured during some visit to the theatre?

Under such circumstances as I have outlined above I would see nothing wrong with the mistress of the house sitting down with the girl and flicking through the pages with her; in fact I would think it a most instructive exercise. I make a point of suggesting the mistress of the house rather than the gentleman for such a diversion. For it is she - sharing empathy as a fellow member of the fairer sex - who is best suited to perhaps sorrowfully pointing out the pretty lead actress and how prettier still ‘her girl’ is by comparison - or would have been had circumstances been kinder - or discussing the sumptuous costumes, while commiserating over the functional dowdiness of the uniform the poor thing wears, as necessitated by the day-to-day tasks of the common domestic servant girl.

It all helps to act as a constant reminder to the girl of her station within the household, and within society as a whole. As does her uniform. And unlike some, I do not see having a household servant wear a uniform as a ‘thorny question’ or ‘problem’ whatsoever. In fact there should categorically be no question of a serving girl not wearing a uniform. There should be none of this namby-pamby nonsensical advice advocated in certain ‘enlightened’ ‘modern’ pamphlets and ‘household guides’ about how if one ‘provides an attractive uniform, little trouble will be encountered in it being worn’, to quote from one such journal.

The old queen may have passed, God rest her soul. But the Empire remains sound, the Union Jack once more flutters proudly over the Palace of Westminster, and I'm pleased to say that in this King Edward's England we have yet to buckle to women’s suffrage, thank the Lord! Well established traditional values still hold sway in polite society, despite the 'upheaval, turmoil and change' certain mischievous factions within 'the third estate' had predicted for this 'new century'. More to the point: there remain a far greater number of unplaced young women and girls wandering the streets and alleys and facing the workhouse than there are positions available within good, well structured households.

Hence whatever gripe or grumble a girl might have regarding her employer's choice of her wardrobe or other stipulation, the employer holds the whip hand in the matter, never forget that; just as one should never forgo an opportunity to remind the prospective serving girl of that fact. Nor should one ever hesitate to remind the girl how with but a single word whispered in a friendly magistrate’s or councillor’s ear, albeit perhaps eased by means of a little financial consideration, a place for her in a suitable workhouse, or even the equivalent of the old Clink, can quickly be found. The single fact remains: there are still a good few men of conscience within the legal profession and judiciary of these islands today who believe it is better to provide for a secure and structured detention than risk a pretty young innocent, if left to her own devices, descending to the level of a painted-faced young hussy or streetwalker.

With such considerations foremost in the mind, a line should be drawn under the young thing’s previous existence from the very moment she sets foot in the house. It is the author's modest, yet considered, opinion that the most efficacious path to follow in order to achieve the latter aim is to be reached by way of some contrivance or other ultimately resulting in divesting the girl of her own old togs, the aim being to get the winsome young filly placed in her employer's choice of uniform as soon as practically possible. Of course it goes without saying that the well prepared householder will have had the requisite uniform prepared, correctly sized, ready and waiting for her prospect new employee well beforehand; and in this matter the services of a good, reliable dressmaker or seamstress can prove a godsend!.

Now, should a girl arrive on the doorstep bearing luggage, then that should be taken from her before she is shown up to her room. At this early stage it is perfectly acceptable to offer some words of explanation, and a good way forward is to mention laundering or storage elsewhere ‘for the time being’. In her room a washstand with a jug and bowl should have been readied so that she might wash and a linen basket left on her bed to collect her old clothes. If you employ a housekeeper I see nothing wrong with having the woman wait outside the girl’s room to take the basket once she has changed. If not, then the gentleman or lady of the house can perform the same function. The aim is the same. The girl should have to present herself soon after, and while it is perfectly fine – a good thing, in fact – to praise her if she has made an obvious effort in arranging her personal appearance and in her timely arrival in the parlour or wherever it has been agreed to receive her, it is also the perfect moment for the householder to begin to assert his or hers authority, especially as regards to the girl’s uniform.

Some might think the latter be best served by something plain, servile, hard-wearing and serviceable and of some suitably subdued hue; in short, apparel best suited to the efficacious performance and fulfilment of those more distasteful base menial tasks one might think well below the station of housekeeper let alone the mistress of the house.

On the other hand in some households there may well be call for sumptuous layers of satin and lace, most appropriate should a coquettish demeanour be considered pleasing to perhaps indulge a whim on some rainy or snowy afternoon.

In terms of her continuing education, if such should be your wish, she might – at one’s pleasure – in addition to keeping house, be taught the more genteel arts of music, singing, drawing, sewing and poetry. But she need learn nothing whatsoever of the world of science. Nor need she know of engineering, economics or mathematics and she should be actively discouraged from any form or school of philosophical thought. She should, however, be taught all manner of those – one is to hope - strictly feminine arts as might pertain to providing satisfaction of a more, personal, nature, even if destined to fulfil the most demeaning of scullery maid’s tasks or to fill the lowliest of menial positions, perhaps to make a tweeny at most.

Wednesday 27 August 2014

Spam-A-Lot... No More!

Yeah, right! Spamalot (with apologies to Monty Python's Flying Circus) is the right term - I'm getting pretty annoyed! Actually I'm getting pretty annoyed about a lot of things at the moment, not least of which being that it has been raining - HARD - and when it rains my phone line sounds like frying bacon in a pan, which of course buggers my internet connection. Thus I am in a pub so as to use their WiFi connection (currently The Toll Gate in Turnpike Lane, North London if anyone fancies a 'meet and greet' and a pint). Today I am having to do some desk research on behalf of one of my two significant others (a hospital dietician) on the dietary requirements and guidelines applicable to cardiac babies... Yahhhhn! By the way: Desk research is a sideline of mine (in case anybody has any work - I need the cash!). But what is REALLY pissing me off is this:

Up until now I have always followed a policy of allowing open access to posting comments on this blog free of moderation, rarely if ever interceding other than to post comments of my own, in fact encouraging its use as a kind of discussion or bulletin board. However for some time now I have been aware that an individual - or individuals - has / have been posting comments which on the surface look vaguly genuine but which include a link to something the person or group describes as 'my blog' but which in fact turns out to be a link to a foreign language commercial site.

Now I'm not sure what all this is about or what the individual or group concerned expects to get out of it (I suspect it is some sort of search engine optimisation strategy), but it has to stop. Therefore I have had to instigate moderation, which basically means that from now on all comments will automatically pass through me via email for vetting before being published. It's a bloody pain, but I've been driven to it. In the meantime, rest assured I will be trawling through the site removing the offending material as and when I have the time!

Wednesday 20 August 2014

There Are Worse Things Than a Caning, Dear!



“Now, dear; some ground rules:  This is not a NORMAL hospital; this is a mental hospital.  And you are here because you are a mental patient – it’s as simple as that.  I don’t want to hear any of that blathering about how you are ‘normal’, how you’ve been put in here because someone wants you out of the way…  because if that’s the case, they’ve very much succeeded.  This place is very much ‘out of the way’.  No, as far as I’m concerned, if you’ve been placed in here it is because you, girl, are a mental patient; end of story! 

Nobody wants to listen to the ramblings of a mental case, nobody will take a blind bit of notice of anything you say, so you might as well get that in your head right away.  You will not speak unless spoken to, and you will do so only in a whisper.  You will address me as Matron and you will do EXACTLY what I tell you; immediately and without argument.  And you can start by learning how to stand properly; a mental patient does NOT make eye contact with ANYONE…  EVER.  You make eye contact with ME, girl, and you’ll taste my cane across your backside…  Oh yes!  Don’t look so shocked.  I’m fully authorised to use corporal punishment if that is what it takes to tame you!  And I’ve already warned you about eye contact; on the rare occasions you’re allowed out of bed and I speak to you, you will look down at your feet, keep your head slightly bowed at all times. 

I will have no defiance; you will learn to submit to my authority to an extent and in ways you can’t even imagine…  Ok let’s have you bend and touch your toes;  I’m going to give you your first introduction to institutional corporal punishment… And before you think about refusing, think about THIS:  One word from me, one bad report or recommendation, and you could well find yourself going down the path to having a lobotomy carried out.  How do you think you will feel then – not just a mental patient but a LOBOTOMISED mental patient? ”

Tuesday 19 August 2014

EMPTYING HER HEAD 2: ANOTHER SIX MONTHS IN CAPTIVITY

Hi Chaps and chapesses!  Another of those jolly little pictures that jump-starts the little grey cells.  And they really DO need jump-starting at present!  Of course it alludes in some way to the latest outpourings I have been working on, but whether that particular project will come to fruition is another matter.  

I have several part-finished projects on my hard drives, and usually it is because I have just lost interest or taken a dive into depression and not resurfaced until the original concept has sort of gone out of focus; with the way I work momentum is everything, and as it is I am also working closely with Roger Benson on an art project of his which means there are already breaks in my productivity.  The latter is not helped by the fact that my home Internet connection has been clobbered by a bad phone line (noisy, crackling - it has been raining!), is running BELOW the old-style dial-up speed and I'm dealing with 4-5+ Mb files with Roger's drawings which means I'm having to go the pub to receive new work from him at upload the finished product (which in turn means I have been drinking FAR to much, which is not a good thing).  But none of this is what is REALLY putting the kibosh on my writing projects.  

What is really getting under my skin is my having discovered my stuff being offered  free, gratis and for nothing on some sort of file sharing site!!!  Now, I make precious little out of this lark as it is - but I DO like to think I make SOMETHING out of it... 

Sorry I've not got back to you, Non-Victorian Chick.  I will do - very soon, maybe even today if I don't get TOO pissed, I promise (inebriated, not necessarily angry - although I might well manage both!).

Friday 8 August 2014

She Runs a Tight Ship

Outside it's 3 o'clock in the afternoon, the scorching early-July sun is still high in the sky - it wont get dark 'till nearly 10PM. The Saturday afternoon shoppers buzz like bees around the stalls in the market place in front of The Corn Exchange, holidaymakers lounge beneath red and white umbrellas outside picturesque pubs lazily supping cider, ales and wine. Incensed, the locals steam behind the steering-wheels of their cars bemoaning the permanent near-gridlocked tailback snaking back and forth through the narrow streets from one end of the market town to the other - a constant carnival parade of tourists; horns sound, angry remarks rend the air, a police siren screams irritatedly. And all this against the background of the constant rumble of the motorway which was built far too close to the edge of the chocolate-box hamlet.

In here, on HER ward, all is deathly quiet, only the tap, tap, tap of her heels on the lino and the hollow, resonant tock, tock, tock of the wall clock she had installed - the time it gives is what SHE calls 'hospital time'; it has nothing to do with the world at large; 'bedtime' here is when SHE says it is, when the 'night bell' rings, a healthy dose of sedetives and sleeping pills helping to ensure sleep comes quickly. The routine has little to do with circadian rhythms and much more to do with staffing levels and shift patterns.

All is neat and tidy and stripped of anything and everything not ENTIRELY essential to the care of 'difficult' girl's in their late teens to early twenties. Thus there are six caged beds with six plastic chairs, one alongside each, and six enamel bedpans, one perched on each chair. There is a desk and chair at one end forming the nurse's station - and that's about it. There IS ONE other thing present - on a hook on the wall behind the nurse's station hangs a slender, wickedly pliant crook-handled cane. Under HER influence corporal punishment has been introduced - they've given her a free hand, so why not? Glancing up at the clock, presently showing ten thirty, she smiles to herself. She knows that strident, insistent ticking is driving certain of the girls to distraction, but if that encourages certain individuals to accept the medication she is keen to introduce, so be it

Tuesday 5 August 2014

SILENCE IS GOLDEN – OR: AN ORTHODONTIC INTERVENTION (with apologies to the original artist)

 Yes, silence was indeed golden as far as Julia's guardian was concerned, and where the strap and the cane might have failed in enforcing her strict no-talking rule...

Well, once her young, headstrong, ward, Julia, discovered she was now saddled with a pronounced lisp and was barely coherent she felt sure things were going to change – and when she looked in the mirror! One way or another she was going to get her own way with the girl. Career on the stage? Ha! She'd see about THAT!

(A scenario inspired by an event alluded to in one of my books)
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In case any of you had been wondering as to my absence of late, I have been on holiday in Sardinia (where it bloody well rained on three days, I experienced gale force winds and I suffered from a chest infectiion for the first four day!!!). But  I'm back now and normal service will soon be resumed, which includes a new addition to the 'The Original Institute / Beyond The Barred Window' website which I have neglected for a long tme now (far TOO long).  Today and tomorrow I shall be working on some artwork for the spanking arist Roger Benson but I also hope to be adding to a new work I started on while away, a kidnap / hostage taking story which is intended to be a little more mainstream than my previous stuff, although rest assured that there will still be spanking, discipline and much mental anguish.  Some of the themes I have been hinting at for some time now and there will continue to be teasers from time to time published here...  SO WATCH THIS SPACE!!!