and now and again ing up to the table to try and cadge a bit of food。 mother ‘didn’t hold with’ eating between meals。 you generally got the same answer： ‘get along with you； now！ i’m not going to have you spoiling your dinner。 your eye’s bigger than your belly。’ very occasionally； however； she’d cut you off a thin strip of candied peel。
i used to like to watch mother rolling pastry。 there’s always a fascination in watching anybody do a job which he really understands。 watch a woman—a woman who really knows how to cook； i mean—rolling dough。 she’s got a peculiar； solemn； indrawn air； a satisfied kind of air； like a priestess celebrating a sacred rite。 and in her own mind； of course； that’s exactly what she is。 mother had thick； pink； strong forearms which were generally mottled with flour。 when she was cooking； all her movements were wonderfully precise and firm。 in her hands egg…whisks and mincers and rolling…pins did exactly what they were meant to do。 when you saw her cooking you knew that she was in a world where she belonged； among things she really understood。 except through the sunday papers and an occasional bit of gossip the outside world didn’t really exist for her。 although she read more easily than father； and unlike him used to read novelettes as well as newspapers； she was unbelievably ignorant。 i realized this even by the time i was ten years old。 she certainly couldn’t have told you whether ireland was east or west of england； and i doubt whether any time up to the outbreak of the great war she could have told you who was prime minister。 moreover she hadn’t the smallest wish to know such things。 later on when i read books about eastern countries where they practise polygamy； and the secret harems where the women are locked up with black eunuchs mounting guard over them； i used to think how shocked mother would have been if she’d heard of it。 i can almost hear her voice—‘well； now！ shutting their wives up like that！ the idea！’ not that she’d have known what a eunuch was。 but in reality she lived her life in a space that must have been as small and almost as private as the average zenana。 even in our own house there were parts where she never set foot。 she never went into the loft behind the yard and very seldom into the shop。 i don’t think i ever remember her serving a customer。 she wouldn’t have known where any of the things were kept； and until they were milled into flour she probably didn’t know the difference between wheat and oats。 why should she？ the shop was father’s business； it was ‘the man’s work’； and even about the money side of it she hadn’t very much curiosity。 her job； ‘the woman’s work’； was to look after the house and the meals and the laundry and the children。 she’d have had a fit if she’d seen father or anyone else of the male sex trying to sew on a button for himself。
so far as the meals and so forth went； ours was one of those houses where everything goes like clockwork。 or no； not like clockwork； which suggests something mechanical。 it was more like some kind of natural process。 you knew that breakfast would be on the table tomorrow morning in much the same way as you knew the sun would rise。 all through her life mother went to bed at nine and got up at five； and she’d have thought it vaguely wicked—sort of decadent and foreign and aristocratic—to keep later hours。 although she didn’t mind paying katie simmons to take joe and me out for walks； she would never tolerate the idea of having a woman in to help with the housework。 it was her firm belief that a hired woman always sweeps the dirt under the dresser。 our meals were always ready on the tick。 enormous meals—boiled beef and dumplings； roast beef and yorkshire； boiled mutton and capers； pig’s head； apple pie； spotted dog； and jam roly…poly—with grace before and after。 the old ideas about bringing up children still held good； though they were going out fast。 in theory children were still thrashed and put to bed on bread and water； and certainly you were liable to be sent away from table if you made too much noise eating； or choked； or refused something that was ‘good for you’； or ‘answered back’。 in practice there wasn’t much discipline in our family； and of the two mother was the firmer。 father； though he was always quoting ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’； was really much too weak with us； especially with joe； who was a hard case from the start。 he was always ‘going to’ give joe a good hiding； and he used to tell us stories； which i now believe were lies； about the frightful thrashings his own father used to give him with a leather strap； but nothing ever came of it。 by the time joe was twelve he was too strong for mother to get him across her knee； and after that there was no doing anything with him。
at that time it was still thought proper for parents to say ‘don’t’ to their children all day long。 you’d often hear a man boasting that he’d ‘thrash the life out of’ his son if he caught him smoking； or stealing apples； or robbing a bird’s nest。 in some families these thrashings actually took place。 old lovegrove； the saddler； caught his two sons； great lumps aged sixteen and fifteen； smoking in the garden shed and walloped them so that you could hear it all over the town。 lovegrove was a very heavy smoker。 the thrashings never seemed to have any effect； all boys stole apples； robbed birds’ nests； and learned to smoke sooner or later； but the idea was still knocking around that children should be treated rough。 practically everything worth doing was forbidden； in theory anyway。 according to mother； everything that a boy ever wants to do was ‘dangerous’。 swimming was dangerous； climbing trees was dangerous； and so were sliding； snowballing； hanging on behind carts； using catapults and squailers； and even fishing。 all animals were dangerous； except nailer； the two cats； and jackie the bullfinch。 every animal had its special recognized methods of attacking you。 horses bit； bats got into your hair； earwigs got into your ears； swans broke your leg with a blow of their wings； bulls tossed you； and snakes ‘stung’。 all snakes stung； according to mother； and when i quoted the penny encyclopedia to the effect that they didn’t sting but bit； she only told me not to answer back。 lizards； slow…worms； toads； frogs； and newts also stung。 all insects stung； except flies and blackbeetles。 practically all kinds of food； except the food you had at meals； were either poisonous or ‘bad for you’。 raw potatoes were deadly poison； and so were mushrooms unless you bought them at the greengrocer’s。 raw gooseberries gave you colic and raw raspberries gave you a skin… rash。 if you had a bath after a meal you died of cramp； if you cut yourself between the thumb and forefinger you got lockjaw； and if you washed your hands in the water eggs were boiled in you got warts。 nearly everything in the shop was poisonous； which was why mother had put the gate in the doorway。 cowcake was poisonous； and so was chicken corn； and so were mustard seed and karswood poultry spice。 sweets were bad for you and eating between meals was bad for you； though curiously enough there were certain kinds of eating between meals that mother always allowed。 when she was making plum jam she used to let us eat the syrupy stuff that was skimmed off the top； and we used to gorge ourselves with it till we were sick。 although nearly everything in the world was either dangerous or poisonous； there were certain things that had mysterious virtues。 raw onions were a cure for almost everything。 a stocking tied round your neck was a cure for a sore throat。 sulphur in a dog’s drinking water acted as a tonic； and old nailer’s bowl behind the back door always had a lump of sulphur in it which stayed there year after year； never dissolving。
we used to have tea at six。 by four mother had generally finished the housework； and between four and sihe used to have a quiet cup of tea and ‘read her paper’； as she called it。 as a matter of fact she didn’t often read the newspaper except on sundays。 the week…day papers only had the day’s news； and it was only occasionally that there was a murder。 but the editors of the sunday papers had grasped that people don’t really mind whether their murders are up to date and when there was no new murder on hand they’d hash up an old one； sometimes going as far back as dr palmer and mrs manning。 i think mother thought of the world outside lower binfleld chiefly as a place where murders were mitted。 murders had a terrible fascination for her； because； as she often said； she just didn’t know how people could be so wicked。 cutting their wives’ throats； burying their fathers under cement floors； throwing babies down wells！ how anyone could do such things！ the jack the ripper scare had happened about the time when father and mother were married； and the big wooden shutters we used to draw over the shop windows every night dated from then。 shutters for shop windows were going out； most of the shops in the high street didn’t have them； but mother felt safe behind them。 all along； she said； she’d had a dreadful feeling that jack the ripper was hiding in lower binfield。 the crippen case—but that was years later