All my creative pursuits.
Following the chart to 52 drawings this year.
In English folklore, Mab is queen of the fairies. As per Mercutio’s speech in Romeo and Juliet, Queen Mab is also described as a midwife who delivers the wishes of men in their dreams. She is sometimes mischievous, but never evil, at least in folklore. In modern film and television, she has been depicted as villainous, but that is not her original persona. Here is my mythical Queen Mab:
To find links to all parts of this story, please visit the Small Cuts Page. Here is Genevieve:
Dark. Warm. Safe. The dark never frightened but comforted. In nature, being visible is a threat to one’s existence, but invisibility is a defense against predators. They can’t eat you if they can’t find you. In the dark I could be myself, because no one would see anyway. It was a relief. Maybe I should sleep. I was so very tired.
If only the birds would be quiet. Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
The old nursery rhyme went through my head. It reminded me of my Nana. When I was little, Mom and Dad would leave us kids with her when they traveled. I was always afraid to sleep over, even with my older sister and little brother in the same room with me. I’d lay awake for hours, imagining all sorts of terrors. The nightlight Nana left on only made things worse. That little bit of illumination would help the monsters find me. The shadows cast by a dim light are far more sinister than the absolute dark. You can see the monsters just like they can see you. Most nights, I’d run to Nana’s room and crawl in beside her. To try and soothe me to sleep, she would sing. Nursery songs, old church hymns, anything that she knew by heart. Funny how gruesome most of those nursery rhymes were. No wonder we were frightened as children.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing—
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
Dainty. No one used words like that anymore. Language was so crass these days. I suppose it was just a reflection of the world. The harsh, mean, cruel world. What was it I’d seen on the news this morning? Morning. The last thing I remembered: checking the time on TV. Could I have lost time again? The darkness made it seem like night, but I wasn’t sure. Then again, I was so sleepy it must be late. What had happened? Where was I? I tried to reach out, to see if Oliver was next to me, but I couldn’t move my arm, couldn’t feel anything with my fingers. Oliver? Are you there?
The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey,
Oliver had gone somewhere. I needed to find him. It was very, very important that I find him. I just couldn’t remember why. Was Oliver the king? Was I his queen? Was there someone else?
The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.
Someone else. Someone else. Someone else was in the room with me. I could hear the whispering, murmuring. Blood. Bruises. Broken bones. Brain damage. Whisper, whisper, shhhhh…
Along came a blackbird
The flapping of wings. Thousands and thousands of wings. Monstrous, evil birds. Just like that Hitchcock movie.
And snipped off her nose.
Could they see me? Had they found me? Run! I couldn’t run, couldn’t move, couldn’t see. I could only hear those infernal birds chirping their monotonous song. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Wait, keep still and they can’t find you. Breathe slowly and they won’t hear you. There. The sounds were fading. They were leaving. I was alone again. Safe. Warm. Dark.
Header Image via Google Images. And the nursery rhyme is “Sing a Song of Sixpence” by Mother Goose.
My current work in progress is a historical novel partially set during World War One. To write the story accurately, I’ve been reading about all things war related. This is not really about The Great War, but it is about the time period. As with the details of the conflict, the Spanish Flu epidemic and other events that would impact the lives of my historical characters, I want to make sure I write everything authentically. That includes the way they would have worked, eaten, dressed and housed themselves.
My central character in the 1910’s timeline, Gladys Henry, is a young woman who, although would have been considered fairly middle class –her father is a clerk at the bank in their town in the west of England– has had to take on a job when the family falls on hard times. Her father becomes too ill to work and of course, without work there is no pay. In those days, the options for women to work were limited. Without some sort of training in a profession like teaching or nursing, women would likely have to find work as domestic help. This is the case with Gladys. She spends her days as a maid in the services of a wealthy family in the town, cleaning the manor house in which they live.
Now, this all probably sounds very Downton Abby, but I absolutely refuse to rely on another work of fiction as a source for information. (Besides, I really wasn’t a fan after they killed off Matthew. Ugh.) Anyway, in my internet search, I came across an article titled “Home Duties” from a periodical of the time which describes the tasks involved in keeping house in those days.
In cleaning the bedrooms for example, windows would be opened wide, no matter the season. Curtains or draperies would be taken from their rods and shaken out, carpets would be rolled up and removed to the outdoors to have the dust beaten out. The now bare windows would be washed as would all the mirrors. Upholstered furniture would be brushed and leather furniture wiped down with damp, flannel cloths.
Sheets would be stripped from the beds and taken to the laundry where they would be washed and scrubbed by hand and then hung on lines to dry, after-which they would be ironed by a fire-heated iron. The rest of the bedding: blankets, quilts, coverlets, etc. would also be shaken out and left to air on the outside clotheslines. As you can imagine, the weather would have a huge impact on the housekeepers’ ability to perform these duties!
When furniture needed to be polished, a home made polishing agent was concocted. I found this recipe for one in the article:
When all was cleaned, dried and removed of wrinkles, everything would be put back in place, and if the rooms would not be in use till guests once again visited, everything would be covered with dust sheets.
Whew…. makes me grateful for my Shark vacuum and my Maytag washing machine. This might seem like research ovrkill, and in truth not all of that will make it into the story. However, just knowing how they performed their duties helps keep mistakes from creeping in. For example, erroneously describing the use of a commercial product which may not have existed in those days. It’s the small things that can make or break a story sometimes. I just wish I had a couple of Victorian ladies to beta read this book for me!
Meg Sorick, Author/Artist 