Shadows of the Workhouse

floundering, and swiftly came in on the attack. “Observe how the silken threads pick out a million dancing lights, and enhance the flickering shades in modom’s beautiful hair.”
    I had to agree that the colour certainly matched Jane’s hair, although she stood silent, having no opinion on the subject.
    The tape measure now turned to the drainpipe, who had joined us. “And now we must consider the passive and perfect necessity of the little blouse. Quintessentially, tara lawn is the first essential. Such a fine fabric – wouldn’t you agree?”
    “Oh, quintessentially essential,” the drainpipe gushed as we crossed the floor to a room filled with blouses.
    “The colour at the throat is all important. Modom requires understatement. The bold gesture is not for modom. Dusty pink, I think.”
    She pulled from the rail a pink blouse and held it against Jane’s scrawny throat. The result was undeniably pleasing.
    “Whilst the blue – muted, of course – draws attention to modom’s fine eyes.” A second blouse was held up. It was true. I had never before noticed how blue Jane’s eyes were.
    The tape measure drew forth yet another. “And what does modom say to mellow yellow?”
    Jane had nothing to say, but the drainpipe ventured to suggest that perhaps mellow yellow was a little over-emphatic in its proclamation, and would not the merest whisper of lilac speak with quiet authority?
    The tape-measure raised her manicured hands. “Lilac! Heavenly lilac! How could I forget?”
    She signalled to the drainpipe, who trickled away and returned with a third blouse, of perfect fit and colour. Jane looked charming in all of them.
    The tape-measure was rhapsodic. “Ah! the perfection of lilac. Queen Mary’s favourite colour, and modom’s truest friend. Lilac is a poem, a fragrance, a hint of nothingness. Modom cannot possibly miss heavenly lilac from her wardrobe.”
    These women certainly gave value for money and we took the lot.
    Shoes, gloves, handbag and some decent stockings were all chosen in the same manner, and we were on our way east of Aldgate, back to Poplar.
    Was Pippin likely to be aware of all the intense female activity that had been going on for his delight and diversion? Was he likely to see any difference? The sad answer to both these questions was probably “No”. I have yet to meet a man who can give you even the vaguest description of what a woman was wearing ten minutes after she left his company. He would probably say, with an airy wave of the hand, “Oh, she was looking lovely in a green floaty thing,” when she was wearing tight-fitting blue!

    Jane changed for lunch and therefore it was to an all-female audience that she displayed the results of our outing. Cries of “Lovely”, “transformed”, “fab hair-do”, went up all around, and Jane looked surprised, quietly gratified by all the compliments. Sister Julienne allowed herself a meaningful wink as she whispered to me, “Well done.”
    Pippin came at 2 p.m. prompt, and exhibited no surprise at Jane’s appearance. Perhaps he saw no change! They left together for Mile End, the northerly border of our district.
    Let us not enquire too closely into these guided walking tours, conceived and executed with a view to benefiting the native people of Sierra Leone. To do so would be a lapse of good taste. Suffice it to say that the two-week stay at the Rectory was lengthened to six and that, day by day, bit by bit, Jane began to look more relaxed and happy, and less chronically nervous.
    Pippin came to lunch one Sunday a few weeks later, and towards the end of the meal he said, “I will have to be leaving you all soon. My six-month furlough draws to its close, and I must return to the duties God has been pleased to entrust to me in Sierra Leone. Before I leave England I must spend a few weeks with my aged father in Herefordshire. These visits are not always easy for me, because we do not always see eye to eye, especially over the treatment of the native African. My father, now aged ninety, was an army officer in the African wars of the 1880s, and his principles I regard as harsh, whereas he regards mine as weak and mollycoddling. It can be very difficult.”
    He turned to Sister Julienne. “I was wondering, Sister, if you could possibly spare Jane for a couple of weeks to come with me? I feel that a feminine influence would ease the tension in an all-male household. With her charm and tact, and her gentle disposition, I feel that