The Agatha d'Ascoyne Papers

  A 1967 note to Mrs Pilgram, pledging the unwanted bottle of milk that will be left on the doorstep on Tuesday. The things you used to have to worry about while on holiday, when the Ring doorbell was only science fiction. Did you ever dream you would be able to see someone on your doorstep from another country? Note the holiday is taking place in Fleetwood, and home appears to be Blackburn. The same county. Would anybody contemplate holidaying so close to home these days? Download 'What Would Margaret Rutherford Do?(A Guide for Ladies of a Certain Age)

 It was Nora’s birthday. She had tried not to be too expectant, but Harold always bought her a little surprise. He was in good spirits lately too, as he had finally got that promotion at the office. They had more money coming in than they had ever had before – things were looking up. Nora battled with a wish for a delightful little package to open. A new chain necklace to replace the one that she had snapped, perhaps. Or a hairdryer would be nice. She went downstairs to fetch the morning tea. When she returned with the tray, there was a neat, square package resting on her pillow, along with her card. She opened the card first and leaned over to kiss Harold on the cheek. “I wonder what this could be?” She handled the package carefully and could glean no clues as to what was beneath the paper. It was quite thrilling. She peeled off the wrapping and the inner box was revealed. She read out the writing on the label. “Clem Travel Iron.” “It plugs into the light socket.” Haro...

  The Girl on the Witches Hat Lone spinner on the flaking Witches Hat A flashing display of skin flayed from knees On the girl with the dun hair, long and flat That barely flinches in the turning breeze She spies knitted tank tops and patched wide jeans  Proving the skill of women that know how Who look at her and know the way life leans The seeds she emerged with are splitting now Her pleated kilt is stitched tight to her vest By the nerve centre of her unfurling  Bouncing the ball of high fevered unrest Some invade the hat, it begins whirling She emerges unmoved, ready to walk The line of the hedge, bones porous on chalk Download my novella 'Pollywasher' here

The film Child in the House’ (1956) has a fine cast. The child star of the title is Mandy Miller, who so memorably played a deaf child in the film that shared her name. Meanwhile, she is supported by Stanley Baker, Eric Portman, Dora Bryan and Phyllis Calvert. There are also tiny roles for Alfie Bass and Joan Hickson. This roll call alone is enough to send me running to see this film. Young Elizabeth (Mandy) is sent to live with her aunt and uncle (Phyllis and Eric) when her mother is taken into hospital. Meanwhile, her father (Stanley) is on the run from the law for being a wrong ‘un where money is concerned. It’s all heart-wrenching stuff, only lightened by the presence of the huge-hearted maid (Dora). What I found most interesting about this film was Phyllis’ role as the aunt. The story opens with her going to collect Elizabeth from Victoria station and we are treated to an excruciating first meeting between the pair. It is obvious from the outset that the aunt has no experience of ...

A problem and answer from Mrs Jim's page, Home Chat Magazine, July 1939. Husband is playing away. Wife finds out. Many barriers are in the way of wife leaving. She is advised to keep quiet, make herself pretty and be kind to him. Good lord. Unhappy Discovery When tidying my husband's desk the other day I came across a letter in his handwriting starting with the words "my darling". Thinking it was one of his old letters to me, I quite innocently read on, only to discover it was to another woman. This has been a terrible shock. I have never suspected my husband, though he has seemed strange recently and I put it down to business worries and ill health. Should I tell him what I know or shall I await developments? I gather from the letter that they meet in business and often in the evenings. I feel as if the bottom had dropped from my world.  Mrs Jim's answer: My dear, I'm terribly sorry. I gather from your letter that you have been happy together until now, so pl...

Throughout time, both men and women have participated in the art of sewing. But, as usual, when a man sews it's a professional job, something worth paying for. He is a Tailor. The sewing that women carry out has never had the same status. Making clothes for the family came under the heading of domestic duties. A woman who sewed things for others was a jobbing seamstress, earning a bit of pin money. Tapestries, samplers and embroideries dating back centuries were never recognised as an art, despite arguably requiring more skill and talent than some internationally renowned artworks produced by men. Intricate quilts were just blankets, made to use up fabric scraps. Things have changed a little...but not enough and maybe that's because we can just buy anything we want cheap as we like, instead of having to make it - not because of any great strides in feminism. More women are reclaiming the traditional activities that we like to keep alive as a form of witchcraft. Making kitchen r...

Powell & Pressburger's film Black Narcissus is set in a convent in India, and was filmed almost exclusively at Pinewood Studios. Not a great deal of scope there for commentary on the social history of everyday people. It is almost a Film Noir (except for the lavish colouring so typical of P & P) and is quite removed from ordinary life. However, chief nun Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr), does have flashbacks to a life before her vows, where we learn the reason for her dedicating herself to the Order. Sister Clodagh, it turns out, lived in a small village and had a childhood sweetheart that everyone believed she would marry. The man in question however made no promises and decided to emigrate to the US - without her. The shame was so great that she went and took holy orders. This is a totally unfeasible story to a modern woman, but the fact that it was used as a presumably credible storyline then makes me realise that the freedoms that I take for granted are only recently ...

A short story by G.B. Stern appeared in the May 1937 edition of Woman's Journal magazine. It was called 'Alas! Dear Love' and it was a whodunnit tale of a wife who is shot dead in her bed, presumably for the emerald necklace that she had been showing off in company that evening. Green was a colour in demand in those days and emeralds covetable. However it turns out that her husband had done the shooting, because he had recently been told that he had a terminal illness and he just knew that his wife wouldn't be able to live without him. How kind of him to put her out of her misery like that. It beggars belief that a woman's magazine would find this to be an acceptable story to entertain their readers. The 1930s were indeed strange days... Read my story about a gambler...download 'Pollywasher' here

  In January 1930, Mountfield Women’s Institute (Sussex) held an interesting meeting at the local village hall (pictured below). Mrs Egerton presided over a debate entitled “Married Life v Single” I was very disappointed to read that married life took an easy victory, with the single status receiving a paltry two votes. A sign of how difficult it must have been to be single in those days, where one was typecast as sad, lonely and having missed the boat. Strange that this was such a predominant view so soon after the end of the Great War - a time when many had lost husbands, fiancés and boyfriends and when women outnumbered men. The unmarried must have felt disillusioned with life. The freedom of a single status that we take for granted today just did not exist then, we really have come a long way. I would definitely vote single and I know many other women who would too. On a lighter note, Mrs Pike won the competition for the 6 best plain buns. “The meeting terminated with the singi...

I  watched an episode of 'The Good Life' on BBC4 the other night dating from 1975. Margo stars in a local production of 'The Sound of Music'. Cue many jokes about bad amateur dramatics. The nub of the story though is this - because Margo is playing Maria for two nights, she's unable to entertain a client of the business that Jerry works for. As a consequence, Jerry is sacked. Wives of senior businessmen seem to have therefore been seen as an extension of their husband. Margo has no wages for her entertaining duties and seemingly no rights to a day off - or presumably to being sick. She's at the beck and call of Jerry's boss and has no employment contract of her own. What a situation to be in! Yes, Jerry has a good wage and she has an expense account - but none of it in her name despite the work that she puts in. Some people look back at this kind of life with a wistful smile. Ladies who lunch. Ladies of leisure getting their hair done every week. But it was ...

I've recently re-read a most fascinating diary, the legacy of a Derbyshire school teacher called May Smith. 'These Wonderful Rumours' covers the years of the second world war, when May was in her late 20s. As a single girl about town with an income of her own, she spent quite a lot of time and money on clothes. Her frequent mentions of the various components of her outfits offer a glimpse into how lower middle class women obtained clothes in the 1930s and 1940s.  Early diary entries, before the declaration of war in September 1939, see May frequently bobbing off to Burton-on-Trent or Derby to visit clothing shops. Although later diaries show that she does possess some needlework skills, May does not make her own clothes. She has a full time job teaching young children which was no doubt tiring. So she used her earnings to purchase ready made off the peg clothes.  April 6th 1939 "Mother, Auntie Nell and I go to Derby in search of a new coat. Go to Bracegirdles. [try on]...

  Sadly this one is undated but it is certainly from the age of the postcard, the age of Empire. Early 1900s at a guess. Being able to send a note that would arrive the same day, within hours, must have been like the invention of the text message in my lifetime. In the times when all young ladies had to do was take tea together, postcard notes will have been a revelation.