Shadows of the Workhouse

work, and we would rush to our sitting room to clear away dirty plates, mugs, ashtrays, magazines, glasses, empty chocolate boxes, biscuit tins, hairbrushes, medical books (yes, occasionally, we put in a bit of study), and all the paraphernalia essential to the life of the average young girl.
    The Sisters entered and we smiled sweetly, as though we hadn’t been frantically clearing things away for the past five minutes. Sister Evangelina, not famous for her tact, glared around her, growling, “Well, Nurse Browne, I believe your mother is coming to visit you at the weekend. You had better tidy the place up before she comes.”
    “Oh, but we have just had a thumping good tidy up for you, Sister.” Chummy was not offended, simply puzzled.
    Trixie gave a shrill laugh and was about to speak, but Cynthia, the peacemaker, retorted, “We’ll get out the Hoover, the polish and the dusters before the weekend, Sister.”
    Sister Evangelina snorted her disapproval and opened her workbox. Everyone did the same except Trixie and me. Neither of us owned a workbox; we did not sew or knit for recreation.
    Sister Julienne was concerned. “Oh, my dears, perhaps you could each make a little tea cosy for the Christmas Fayre. Tea cosies always go down well. People buy them for Christmas presents.”
    Material, stuffing, scissors, needles and cotton were provided and conversation centred on the desirability of a large number of tea cosies to boost the convent’s finances for the coming year. As well as everything else, the Sisters not only organised and ran a sale each year, but made a large number of the items to be sold. For many decades the finance for supporting the midwifery practice had, to some extent, depended on the monies collected at the Christmas Fayre.
    The Sisters were making many small items considered to be useful or necessary in those days, such as handkerchief sachets, glove folders, pincushions, cushion covers, tray cloths, tablecloths, pillowcases and virtually anything else onto which a bird or a daisy-chain could be embroidered. Conversation centred on the saleability of each item for the Christmas Fayre. The need for a large number of chair-back covers puzzled me and, even more, the name by which they were called – ‘antimacassars’ – until I learned that they were intended to protect the back of a chair from the grease on men’s hair. Many men plastered their hair with Brylcreem in those days and the oil used in Victorian times was Macassar.
    I looked around me with pleasure. It was all very genteel and sweet; it could have been a scene from any period in history when ladies had almost nothing else to do. Sister Julienne was making rag dolls with great speed and efficiency, creating tiny waistcoats and shoes, fixing button eyes and snipping wool hair. Sister Bernadette was an expert in golliwogs. Children are not allowed to have such toys today, nor even to use the word, but in those days they were all the fashion. Sister Evangelina was hemming handkerchiefs, and Novice Ruth – what on earth was she doing? Novice Ruth had a wooden object rather like a large cotton reel. Four nails, without heads, had been hammered into the top. The Novice was plying heavy linen thread round and round the nails with a small blunt instrument and pulling the thread over the nails at each turn. Through the centre of the wooden reel a woven band emerged. It was already a yard or two long, but still Novice Ruth continued plying the thread and weaving.
    What on earth was it? I watched, fascinated. She must have read my mind because she laughed and said, “You wonder what I am doing. This will be my girdle. I am approaching the time of my first profession, when I shall take my first vows. A Sister wears a woven girdle wound three times around her waist and, at the end, we tie three knots. This is a constant reminder of our three vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.”
    She had such a beautiful face and such a radiant smile. Her vocation clearly filled her with joy.
    Conversation continued about the Christmas Fayre and who should attend the stalls. Mrs B as usual, was in charge of the cake stall, and Fred, the boiler man, always managed a very good stall selling second-hand tools, which attracted men to the Fayre. It was Fred’s proud boast that he could sell anything. Give him a bag of bent, rusty nails and he would sell them for you.
    The doorbell rang.
    “Now who can that be?” said Sister. “We’re not expecting