Women of History by Women Words

Women of History by Women and Words 2009

Elizabeth of York by Mary Callan * Margaret Bondfield by Gillian Ewing * Just another day by Sue Whittaker * Woman, Will you Come? (Women who were sent for) by Nadine Alvarez * Louisa May Alcott by Carole Cunningham * Alison Hargreaves by Fiona Wynne * Dame Freya Stark by Ann Pugh * Hannah Hauxwell by Jean Wilkinson * Jane Austen by Annie Craven * Yvonne Cormeau by Jackie Abentstern * A Day in the Life of Jinni James, Housemaid 1888 by Jean Clark * Helen Keller by Jenny Sunman

Elizabeth of York by Mary Callan Henry Tudor When from the royal tree the legal shoots Have all been hacked, stout sturdy branches stripped; Even the tender buds from ancient roots, Still blushing into bloom, untimely ripped; Nobles whisper round the scattered timber: Day intrudes, raw, where once the saplings stood: Each suspects his neighbour's plot, does he bear A traitor's heart: take the crown if he could? Unnurtured in the hedge, perhaps unnoticed Sprouts a wild briar, urgent strength the same; Neglected half-breed, heritance dismissed, Free, in the thicket, doubtful, distaff claim; But blood as red, and courage just as high, This briar shall bear roses e'er it die.

Henry, Earl of Richmond, later Henry VII: This gentle princess doth my heart command, Gentle in birth, learnĂ¨d in letters fine. Heiress in grief to half the royal line, Desperate, she writes to pledge her royal hand. Cousin, she calls me, hails me her saviour true; Laments her future, trapped in her uncle's schemes; - And he a murderer, monster! A hero dreams Of such a maid to rescue; then pursue, Denounce and slay the tyrant; free the land From foul usurpers and their gobbling greed. Maiden, I thank thee, called in hour of need From roving exile. Yes! to thy sweet command. This rough young knight shall gather such desperate men, My half the kingdom shall be thine again.

Ballad Oh, they call him the earl of Richmond And he led them a royal dance, Oh, they call him the earl of Richmond Through Brittany and Wales and France There's a mystery surrounds his Grandma, Daughter of the king of France. Her protector was Owen Tudor: Was it marriage or a mere romance? Half-cousin to a murdered Edward, Half-nephew to a murdered king, He was shuffled from castle to castle, Like a puppet on a piece of string. Flitting out of Wales to Brittany And across another border to France, Like the shuttle in a weaver's broadloom, Forward and back in the dance.

The Gap Makes Sense There's a gap in the wall at Bootham Bar. Did you think it was just for the traffic? Broken stonework makes a scar. The reason must be terrific. It dates from the wedding of Lancaster, Henry Tudor, with the house of York: Generations of the Roses' War Ending in lovers' talk. Conservative or Labour? Forget it! Proportional representation? Other ages used stronger methods To win control of the nation. The Romans built ramparts secure and strong. Angles and Vikings still needed them, Strong and sturdy, but not for long Till fiercer foes succeeded them. When York princess married Lancaster, Civil peace still wasn't permanent. Bootham tower shook again with the stir When Royalists fought against Parliament. Now, it's just picturesque history, So, if life feels too intense, Spend a few days musing York's old story, Where even the gap makes sense. 5

Margaret Bondfield 1873 – 1953 by Gillian Ewing It was a dark chilly afternoon and I sat in front of the fire, reading about the days when politics were more idealistic than they are now, and politicians generally seemed to have a credible vocation to serve their constituents to the best of their ability. When they were, most of them, admired, trusted. The good old days. I was about to get up to switch on the light when I felt a presence in the room with me, heard a faint sound like a throat being cleared in preparation for speech.

‘You’re almost right,’ a firm voice said. ‘I would be spinning in my grave if there was anything of me still there. Even my spirit, which was originally kept alive by the progress of my successors, the women who were able to take part in politics in this country much more easily than had been the case for me, that spirit was rapidly snuffed out by indifference and indolence and a lack of interest in history. By my death in 1953 at the age of 80, the extent of my personal advance as a woman in a man’s world was already being forgotten and was soon to be eclipsed by the arrival of brash feminists.

‘Sadder still, the work of my wonderful first sponsor and protector is never acknowledged. How many of today’s liberated young women, most of whom do not even use the vote that was so hardwon for them, have heard of Louisa Martindale? Some may not be sufficiently interested in politics to know the name of Harriet Harman, the current leader of the House of Commons, whose greatgrandfather was the Liberal MP, Albert Spicer, my Mrs Martindale’s brother.’

The voice paused, as if the speaker was lost in thought, perhaps about the shortcomings of so many women MPs nowadays. Perhaps dwelling on memories. It was the latter which her next words seemed to confirm:

‘Yes, in the 1880s, Mrs Martindale kept open house in Brighton for women shop assistants whom she found were oppressed and exploited. I was one of those shop-girls, a 16-year old, given a job only if I agreed to live in the bare, airless dormitory provided by the shop, with no privacy, stringent rules, minimal washing facilities and sharing with all the other shop-girls, including one poor sufferer from advanced consumption who coughed and coughed all night and kept me, tired as I was after long days’ work, awake for hours.

‘Mrs M talked with me, lent me books on social questions, helped me to improve myself, introduced me to the Labour movement and gave me self-confidence. I joined the Shopworkers Union and became active in trying to improve conditions for my fellow workers.

‘Some years later I moved to London becoming thoroughly involved in trade union activities and in the rights of women. A real advance was when a forward-thinking body called the Women’s Industrial Council commissioned me to investigate and write a report on the pay and conditions of shop workers.

‘By 1899 I was a delegate to the Trades Union Congress – the only woman. In 1908 I became secretary of the Women’s Labour League. Progress for women was slow but in 1923 I was elected Labour MP for Northampton and then President of the TUC General Council. Another first.’

The voice was fading and though I listened hard, I could only hear odd words. Ramsay MacDonald, suffragettes. Then nothing more. I shivered and realised the fire was almost out. As the logs I laid on blazed up, I went back to my book, more interested now in the photographs of Margaret Bondfield, the list of her later achievements. 6

1929 - She was appointed Minister of Labour by Ramsay MacDonald becoming the 1st female British cabinet member But in 1931 she was defeated in the general election.

1939-1945 - Bondfield was chair of the Women's Group on Public Welfare.

1949 - She wrote her autobiography "A Life's Work". the last of a number of her books.

She was a pioneering woman politician in this country but how often do we hear of her name and achievements now?

There is a Margaret Bondfield Avenue in London and a Hall of Residence named after her in the University of Northampton, otherwise she is largely forgotten.

Just Another Day (Wife of Wilson Bentley) by Sue Whittaker

A turn of the moon, revolution of a planet, catching the last rings of Saturn, cannot be other than magnetically magic. But Mrs Bentley asks: (she whose husband took snowflake photographs) “And what sort of a day have you had darling? As if she already knew. “Wish I could reduce my work to counting, of two, three, one and a half million. Take away the minus.” He replies: “At the turn of the week winter will be bleak snow. There will be more than a trillion ice crystals to record - unique, just like you and me. And what sort of a day have you had beloved?” She sighed: “Well, for me it just added up nicely, thank you.”

(Wilson Bentley discovered that no two snowflakes are alike.)

Woman, Will You Come by Nadine Alvarez

She’s young and she’s scared She is starting to fret She’s thrashing about Like a fish in a net. Look sharp run for Jennie Ask her to come.

It wasn’t unexpected It’s “all over” for old Tom Go across to Jennie She knows what needs to be done. Ask her if she will help us Ask her to come.

Nameless faceless women Unrecorded and unsung Women who were sent for Women who knew what to do Women who attended If someone asked, will you come?

Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) by Carole Cunningham

Louisa May Alcott, is best known for her book, “Little Women”, written in two parts, in 1868 and 1869, when she was pressed by Thomas Niles to write a “girls’ story”. This book was written by Alcott, in response to her family being in dire financial need. This novel caused her many hours of arduous work, in order to produce a book, “far-flung from her natural desire to write serious adult fiction”.

She was born in Germantown (now part of Philadelphia). Her parents were Abigail May Alcott, and Bronson Alcott. Louisa had three sisters, Anna, Elizabeth and Abbey May the youngest. Louisa being the second born. “Little Women” was based on a reflective account of her family life while living in what is now Orchard House, in Concord, New England.

They were a close family unit, the daughters’ childhood governed by both parents having strong ideals. Bronson, a teacher, was part of a group of Transcendentalists, who devised a new way of teaching, where spiritual other than material aspects were focused upon. Unfortunately, his venture to create the Temple School, and later to form a philosophical Community, named “Fruitlands”, threw the family into debt, bringing about a frugal upbringing for Louisa and her sisters, where mostly they were only fed wholemeal bread, fruit, vegetables and water. Louisa later described her early years in a newspaper sketch as ‘plain living and high thinking’, pronouncing his “Fruitlands” undertaking as ‘Transcendental Wild Oats.’

As a child therefore, Louisa and her family had a difficult existence. It was due to her father’s radical thinking that led the girls to be educated at home, mostly by himself, and colleagues who were writers and educators. The young Louisa loved reading, writing, history and geography. From the time she reached her early teens, she became influenced by Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Goethe and the Brontes.

As a young adult she had to work in order to send home most of her income to the family. Taking jobs as a tutor, governess, seamstress and occasionally as a domestic helper, writing became her chosen resource for maintaining her autonomy and independence. Her first book “Flower Fables” 1855, was written for a friend, whose father had helped her family during her childhood. Having been influenced by her mother on all aspects of women’s emancipation, she began writing articles for journals on matters to support women’s rights. Alongside her reputation for demonstrating sentiment and domesticity, Alcott also explored themes for self-expression and feminism, through her works in adult fiction. She lived and gathered literary fame during the United States “gilded age”, and was part of a famous group of female authors dedicated to writing on the subject of women’s issues in a modern and candid way. Her hardship during early years, and the love and sense of responsibility she felt for her family, seemingly attributed to Alcott’s generous, hard-working and altruistic character.

During the outbreak of the Civil War, Alcott attended antislavery meetings, and gave her services as an abolitionist. Her uncle, Samuel J May, her mother’s brother, a noted abolitionist, had created an impression upon the family, and as part of an initiative to give help in a practical sense, Louisa joined up as a nurse to work in an army hospital in Washington D.C. Unfortunately during her first six weeks, she contracted typhoid fever. The treatment given to relieve the symptoms was a substance named Calomel. This product was derived from mercury, and produced a devastating effect in later years, which led to permanent ill-health. On surviving the attack of typhoid fever, Alcott wrote about her experiences as a nurse, leading to publication of a series of articles, named Hospital Sketches. This work became the first critical recognition for her observations and humour. As her career evolved, giving tremendous variation in the use of literary techniques, she became one the most popular authors of the nineteenth century.

Alcott lived at a crossroads of European history and culture, but in spite of her credibility as a writer, she was forced to pursue a tireless production of work, and writes in her diary, “How detrimental this had been to her health”.

Since her youth, it had seemed her mission to toil for the good of others. Her main interest in promoting women’s rights led to contributions through articles in Women’s Journal, ultimately leading towards production of the Suffrage paper. One instance of her involvement in a Women’s Rights issue was the gathering of 19 women, to vote in Concord town, for election of an educational committee. Alcott had made it her business to rally women together in order to exercise the limited franchise they had been given. The women who attended, mostly accompanied by husbands, fathers and brothers, needed strong encouragement by Alcott to do so. After the vote had been cast, Alcott recorded, “No bolt fell on our audacious heads. No earthquake shook the town”. Life continued as normal. This historic event was however recorded as pivotal to what would eventually bring equal rights for women in 1920. Alcott felt proud of the fact that she had successfully been the first woman to register for the vote. For much of the time that followed, Alcott was to become too busy earning her living to further indulge in interests of her own.

“Little Women” brought Louisa May Alcott the fame she required to bring financial reward. She had worked laboriously as she perfected a style of writing which would satisfy public demand. Living her life as a hardworking spinster, having few female friends other than her family, she has admitted that in some strange way she felt “she was a male soul living within a female body”. From the day Little Women was published, she was able to pay off the family debts, and knew that eventually there would be enough money in order to make her family comfortable. She had acknowledged that in order to complete her task, “she needed to plod away, hoping that what she expressed as the queer plays and experiences which took place during her childhood may prove interesting”. This work has since been documented both as entertainment, art and as a moral instrument, fascinating many eminent writers. The book has been adapted for film and stage, winning the best adapted screenplay for the 1933 version, directed by George Cuker and starring Katherine Hepburn, and since being published the book has never been out of print.

At the age of forty, she bought her parents a house, as she continued to nurture the family spirit. In later years, as her career brought fame and a glowing reputation, she and her sister Anna, assisted her father to form a centre of philosophy. All business management was looked after by both daughters. Sadly her mother had died shortly after moving into the new family home.

In 1880, Louisa’s younger sister May gave birth to a daughter, called Lulu, nick-named after her aunt. May died when the child was young, and Louisa was given young Lulu to care for. Her motherly role, gave her a whole new focus of responsibility, and her delight in writing children’s books, thereafter stemmed from the love, and happiness brought to her through this child.

Alcott made her life one of utmost goodwill. On reaching her mid-fifties, she asked her sister Anna to care for Lulu, as she felt her time was running out. During this time, she formally adopted John, Anna’s older son, willing her copyrights in trust to him, in order for equal shares to be left to her sister Anna, Lulu and both Anna’s sons. Louisa May Alcott died on 6th March,1888, two days after her father. She is buried on Author’s Row, in Sleepy Hollow cemetery in Concorde. Her grave bears a Civil War veteran’s marker.

The Tiger Alison Hargreaves 1963-1995 by Fiona Wynne

I think of her as I walk the dog out in the snow feet weighed down in winter boots my steps laboured within the hour What kept her going ever higher each step a huge effort in the thinning air her tiny frame bulky with kit They say things come in threes like bad news and buses the middle child of three born in nineteen sixty three Alison set out to climb the three highest peaks In her thirty third year three months separated triumph from disaster elation from sorrow pride from rage Seemingly the only parent ever to climb a perilous route in fact three parents were amongst the dead lost descending the Savage Summit in a violent storm Three months earlier sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d climbed Everest without oxygen or sherpa wanting nothing to come between her and the mountain

Nothing did but love for her children to whom she dedicated this first For three sweet months we basked in her glory women everywhere were inspired to climb their own everyday mountains Three months to the day she died on K2 her body never found not the thinnest of breaths can come now between her and her mountain the greatest accolade cannot raise her the cruellest critic will not stir her In kitchens throughout the land women were in one camp or the other to leave her children or not to leave to be true to herself or not be true to choose or not to choose She chose and so I hope will I at every crossroad in every precious minute of my life for surely it is better to live one day as a tiger than a thousand as a sheep

Dame Freya Stark 1893—1983 by Ann Pugh Why Freya Stark? I first came across this extraordinary woman from reading her book ‘The Valleys of the Assassins‘ many years ago in the school library. Who was this woman who gave up her conventional family and home to travel in the mysterious East on her own, at a time when few would choose to journey in such little known, and often inhospitable lands? Reading more about her, and other women travellers as I grew up, I realised what a remarkable person she was. Freya Stark was a romantic with a great sense that the world was a wonderful place to be explored and discovered. She wanted to find out about the people who lived in the lands between the Mediterranean and Baghdad, and the differences between the East and West, however dangerous it might be. Fluent in Arabic, she lived with the Islamic and Arabian people she met in the villages, travelling with guides, often to the exasperation of both local sheiks and warlords, as well as the French, British and Italian authorities in charge of these protectorates at the time. She was born in Paris into a comfortable and well-to-do family with European connections. Her parents were artists but the marriage did not last, and Freya and her sister were taken to live with their mother in Italy, while visiting their father regularly in London and Devon. Their mother was a domineering person and the girls were expected to work at home as their poverty increased. Apart from various governesses, she had an unconventional but wide ranging education. Aged 12, Freya suffered a horrific accident to her face which needed months of treatment, the scars from which would mar her self-esteem all her life. In today’s world the sisters might have qualified for the Children At Risk Register. Freya was largely self taught, read avidly during her growing up, particularly adventure stories about the East, and then spent several years learning Arabic “for pleasure“. This entailed searching out Middle Eastern tutors to teach her in England and when the family were abroad. Spurred on by the thought that speaking Arabic would one day enable her to escape from the expected roles of women, of marriage and motherhood. Their dominating mother could well have nurtured the determined rebel she grew into. She was only 5’1” tall but this never stopped her from charming anyone she met in pursuit of her ambitions and ideals. She knew she had to escape the stranglehold of her family. In 1927, aged 34 and with some inherited money, she took the opportunity to travel to Beirut to see the Middle East and practise her Arabic. Self education in one so determined, combined with an astute eye for detail, fostered a talent for writing, and she kept journals and wrote numerous letters about her adventures. Much of these early writings would become the travel books for which she is known and which earned her an independant living. She was not strong physically, and succumbed to many of the diseases of travel in hot countries, such as dysentery and malaria without the benefits of modern drugs or antibiotics. As I read, I wondered if the word ‘comfort ‘ was ever part of her wide vocabulary. Certainly danger was never a problem for Freya, (the more risk, the greater the excitement.) The reasons why she and her books are of interest to us today are, firstly to learn much about the Middle East of the 1930s and 1940s and to notice the similarities and differences with now, how much has changed and what does not change, particularly the problems that arise between Muslim and Western cultures. And secondly, to see how by befriending local Muslims and Arabs regardless of class, gender or country, extended her knowledge and understanding of different Arab peoples and their beliefs. She always visited the Arab harems first wherever she travelled. She was an excellent listener, and she would listen to and trust her Arab guides who looked after her on the journeys, quite often keeping her alive when she was ill, and she always treated them as friends. She then kept meticulous records of all her experiences. She knew her geography, bought a compass and learnt to read maps. In fact it was one of her later meticulous reports to the Foreign Office, correcting errors made by the earlier surveyors of parts of Arabia that brought her name to the notice of The Royal Geographical Society. This august body with little time for women members, did eventually honour her with the Black Award which was to lead to her writings becoming recognised and fame for herself with the English public. Her first trek was into the lands of the Druze beyond Damascus, land under the protection of France at the time. With no thoughts of permissions or visas from any authorities, she set off with a friend and guides to explore the local culture. The Druze were a people with an ancient history and a reputation for violence to strangers. They were an Islamic sect that had broken away from mainstream Islam several centuries previously but had kept their tribal identity intact. 14

It was not long before that the French Police caught up with the party and kept them in prison for a while, and in some style when it appeared that the two women were only harmless travellers. The powers that be were not too happy at her cheek, but she was able to satisfy enough of her curiosity to plan a return. Freya developed a deep and sympathetic understanding of the Tribes, their chiefs and sheiks, their women and children and their ways of living wherever she went. She never failed to be moved at their hospitality and kindness however poor they were. The desert and mountain landscapes rarely failed to excite her and though she had a camera, it is some of her descriptive writings that really catch the imagination. Freya Stark was not alone in her career choice. There were several intrepid ladies of her period and during the 19th century who embarked on some amazing adventures around the world in their quest for freedom and independence. Not least of these was Gertrude Bell who had ventured all round the Middle East and her writings may have inspired the young Freya, but who was never known to have acknowledged the fact. Gertrude died only a year before Freya first went to Syria in 1929. Unlike Freya, Gertrude was both well educated and well off and had joined the diplomatic scene as an official, and had worked and was friends with Lawrence of Arabia. She was an Oxford graduate and knew her archaeology. There is some evidence that Freya saw her as a rival to her own reputation, as she rarely referred to Gertrude. (This is odd as they seem to have so much in common. Poor Freya was not only conscious of her scar and her small size and often felt she was unattractive, but was aware that her education had been inadequate when compared with those who had a Higher education.) But her reputation as a writer flourished and she eventually ended up in Baghdad where she was employed as a proper journalist for the Baghdad Times. Meanwhile the popularity of her books spread as they became known and still make interesting reading, describing areas now recognisable as some of the war torn places of the 21st century. One of her interests was to find out more about the differing aspects of Islam and how various were the beliefs of the many tribes she came across. She had studied the Koran when learning the language. Her first book ‘The Valleys of the Assassins‘ was written after her pursuit of any remnants of an ancient tribe of terrorists of the Middle Ages who had spread fear and dread for 200 years. Connected with the Druze, their castles could be found from the Yemen to Iraq. Their reputation for rule by violence lives on in many wild stories. They were an offshoot sect of Islam who were determined to rid the whole area of Abbasids and Sunnis by 1273, by mostly foul means and daggers. (During her treks in Luristan’ s valleys she also become more interested in the ruins, ancient graves and artifacts, some bronze from pre-Christian times and soon acquired enough knowledge of archaeology to add more interest to her already detailed reports which were of much interest to historians.) During WW2 she was asked by Field Marshall Wavell to help organise a network or ‘brotherhood’ of people sympathetic to the Allies to quietly spread propaganda that would support them and undermine the other powers anxious to gain control . This she did from Cairo to Baghdad, firstly by getting the women on board, both Arabic and Ex-pats living there, eventually winning thousands to the cause, who were then able to undermine plans of sabotage she had heard about. This scrutiny at the wider implications of ‘war’ from both the physical geography of Arabia to the political manoeuvrings of those in power, both the native and the colonial invaders and military leaders, led her later to question much of what she had achieved with her linguistic skills and creative networking in war threatened regions. Both she and others had, in spite of ‘winning the war’, seen the potential for continuing nationalist problems with violence in the Middle East for many years into the future. Freya Stark seized every opportunity of adventure, to the concern and surprise of the many friends and not a few critics, who she had collected on her travels. She wanted to see and write about all she could of the Arab countries. She had no fear when confronting danger, “passing through fear to the absence of fear” as she said. She acquired many honours, wrote over thirty books and published letters of her exploits and was left with a deep understanding of the Arab character and nature. In old age she continued to travel widely, as far as India, Afghanistan and the Himalayas and remained fit and well into her 90s. She died in 1993. In a comment made in her eighties she said, “Waiting for death, my dear, is very much like being in an old steam train, setting out on a journey. You let down the window by a leather strap, and your friends are on the platform waving goodbye. And then the blasted train doesn't move.”

Too Long a Winter (Hannah Hauxwell) by Jean Wilkinson A story of a lone woman’s survival against the odds. Hannah Hauxwell was living in a deserted corner of the High Pennines. Her father had bought Low Birk Hatt, an 80 acre farm at auction. It was then the 1920s. He had always wanted his own farm,. He didn’t want to be a farm labourer for ever. What he bought was a lifetime of hard work with very little reward. He died at the early age of 35, leaving Hannah and her mother to run the farm. It was a great struggle for them. Hannah’s mother died in the sixties, leaving Hannah and an uncle to run the farm. After her uncle died, Hannah continued to run the farm on her own. It was a solitary life, with only her beasts for company. The only income she had was from the sale of one of her beasts. She lived sometimes on barely £5 a week. Her food had to be put in bags and hung on ropes to prevent the rats getting it. There wasn’t any electricity or gas on the farm. Her only source of water was from a stream that her animals drunk from. The house was barely habitable. She could go for weeks without seeing a soul. She has always stressed that it was her strong faith that kept her going. Always believing that it was God’s will. Hannah was discovered by TV producer Barry Cockroft. A friend of his had been on a walking holiday and had come across Hannah and the farm by chance. Barry Cockroft went to see for himself and the rest, as the saying goes, is history. “Too Long a Winter” was a documentary on Hannah’s life. It went out on national television in 1973. It captured the hearts and imaginations of the general public. It changed Hannah’s life forever. What came through was her complete honesty. There was such a serene quality about her. Having lived such a hard and deprived life, Hannah had no bitterness about her situation, always referring to her faith and God’s will. Throughout all the media attention Hannah has remained herself. Her demeanour might suggest that she is naïve. I think she is quite astute in that area. Nobody can pull the wool over her eyes. A great asset that she has, is her ability to communicate with people from all walks of life. Barry Cockcroft became a friend and kept in touch with Hannah until his death. He wasn’t a brash media person. There was a mutual respect between them. Subsequent programmes have been made, taking Hannah all over the world, though none could have the impact that “Too Long a Winter” could have. One feels that all this adulation should have come earlier for Hannah. Visitors flocked to see the farm and Hannah. All this activity didn’t seem to faze Hannah, she took it in her stride. I fact she appeared to enjoy it. This woman is surely an inspiration to all of us. Her faith gave her the strength to battle on. Living with this unforgiving landscape, yet Hannah found beauty in all things. Her solitary existence seems to have given her determination and grit. There surely must have been times when she felt unable to go on. Soon after the documentary was shown, Hannah sold the farm and went to live in a modest cottage in a nearby village. The cottage has never been modernized. It hasn’t even a garden, yet Hannah seems content. She hasn’t got a washing machine or a television, regarding them as luxuries even though she could afford them. She still lives a very Spartan life. All those years of struggling have never left her. She watches the pennies all the time. Now in her eighties Hannah’s health is failing. Visitors still knock on her door wanting to met her. They may get invited in for a cup of tea. Though what Hannah wants is a quiet life now. This unique lady has become a national treasure.

Jane Austen by Annie Craven

Emily Brontë apparently thought Jane Austen’s work lacked passion. Surely a very unfair critique Jane wrote it in her fashion

Both writers used the age old themes Love, hate, marriage and money. Emily’s all angst - satanic and dark Jane chooses genteel and funny.

Emily tells of sturm and drang Conceived on wind whipped moors. Her anti-heroes are Heathcliffe and Hindley Both such unutterable bores.

Austen’s milieu is different - think Bath She paints the scenario so lightly. Some of her men are bounders it’s true But her heroes are Darcy and Knightly.

Emily’s women all suffer or die Such very depressing reading. Jane’s girls are flighty, feisty or good You can see where her words are leading.

Yvonne Cormeau by Jackie Abendstern Yvonne Cormeau was a clandestine operator in occupied France during the Second World War. Hers was one of the most dangerous tasks undertaken by members of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) since possession of a transmitter would mean certain death for an operator, if discovered, and it would not be difficult for the Germans to determine the area from which she was working. Born Beatrice Yvonne Biesterflelt in Shanghai on December 18th 1909, to a Belgian father (a consular official) and a Scottish mother, Yvonne was educated in Belgium and Scotland and was truly bilingual, speaking both English and French with the same ease. She held a British passport and at the beginning of the war was living in London with her Frenchspeaking husband Charles Cormeau. Having secured the safety of teir child who was evacuated to the country like so many others, Yvonne returned to London where her husband was killed in an air-raid over the city. In the same year, 1941, she joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF). Yvonne wrote, “My husband having been killed, it seemed to me to be my duty to continue his work as best I could. In the WAAF I found the hours on duty difficult to endure. We worked from 6pm until midnight or from midnight until 6am. For each bomber which set off, we had to ensure that all procedures had been correctly followed. At night we waited for their return and had to interrogate the pilots on all aspects of their mission. We got on well with the pilots, mainly young men whom we looked after rather as we would children - consoling, encouraging, comforting, but we did encounter some sexist remarks. “One night as I worked in the office, a mouse came out of its hole and ran across the maps on my desk. Women are reputed to scream at the sight of a mouse, but I started to laugh which earned me the comment by a man in the office, ‘A woman not afraid of mice! Now I’ve seen everything!’ I was not without fear, but I had a certain composure on this and doubtless other occasions.” It may have been one of those other occasions when in 1943 she volunteered to join the SOE, was accepted and parachuted into south-west France in August of the same year. She operated there for thirteen months, sending more than 400 clandestine messages. Posters were displayed, declaring her to be a wanted person, but she remembered with gratitude the warmth and courage of the welcome she received from the people of south-west France. For them, to have be discovered sheltering a British woman with her radio equipment, would have meant torture and certain death. The lack of petrol all over occupied Europe meant that bicycles were in constant use. Yvonne remembered having got through not only numerable tyres, but as many bicycles! Once she was stopped on her bike by German officials, but successfully maintained her cover-story of being a district nurse. Later when the Maquis, the French underground organization, was engaged in guerilla warfare, she was wounded in the leg. After the war, she worked for a time at the Foreign Office, but for many years, she made her living as a translator. She was a frequenter of the Special Forces Club and served on its committee. She spoke on only one occasion at one of the club evenings—”a gentle seeming person, rather like the model for a heroine in a Victorian novel”. These words are those of Patrick Howarth, recalling her on this particular evening in his obituary. He continues, “Placidly and quietly with the precision which characterized all she did, she recreated the conditions of life as a radio operator in occupied territory.” Patrick Howarth informs us also that she was the subject of the television programme “This is your life”. In Britain, official recognition was limited to an MBE. In France, rather more generously, she was awarded the Croix de Guerre and the Resistance Medal. Yvonne Cormeau died on Christmas Day 1997, aged exactly 88 and one week.

A Day in the Life of Jinni James, Housemaid 1888 by Jean Clark Sarah James climbed the stairs slowly, silently, carrying a small stub of candle flickering and spluttering, casting shadows on the bare wall. She entered a room at the top of the house in which four girls and three boys were sleeping in two separate beds. She leaned over and shook one of the sleeping figures, a small girl off 14, Jinni James, domestic servant. She groaned and turned over in her sleep as did the three little girls in bed with her. “Ma, Ma” she protested. “What did you call me?” her mother said. “Mother” she whispered. “We may be poor but we are not entirely ignorant. Hurry up now or you’ll be late. There’s a freezing fog outside” Jinni picked up her clothes from a pile on the floor and ran down the stairs, shivering, into to the scullery where she poured out some cold water into a bowl. She washed herself quickly and scrambled into her clothes. When she came into the kitchen her mother said, “Your brothers followed the coal cart yesterday and managed to fill two small sacks of coal from the road. So, no bread and dripping for supper tonight. I’ll light the stove and make some nice broth from those bones the butcher gave me. Go on now or you’ll be late. It’s nearly 5 o’clock.” As Jinni went to kiss her mother she whispered, “Is father home?” “No,” her mother said “I haven’t seen him for days. I hope to God he’s working but he’s more likely to be out drinking with that fancy woman of his. He’ll be found dead in the gutter one of these days. The sooner the better. I might be able to get some money from the Parish then. Oh, by the way, Mrs Bloom is very pleased with you. She wants you to live in.” Jinni started to cry. “But mother I want to stay with you”. “It’s for the best,” her mother said. It hurt her to see her little daughter so unhappy but she was tired. She’d been up most of the night sewing beads on to a beautiful evening dress for a mere pittance and all she could think about was how she was going to be able to get through the day. “You’ll get one Sunday off in four and you can come and see us then.” Jinni walked up the hill to the Blooms’ house. Slower today, because of the choking fog. It whirled around the street lamps, thick and yellow. She tightened her shawl around her and walked as fast as she could to the Blooms’ house wondering how she would find her way down the steep stone steps to the basement when Cook came out carrying a lantern. “I’ve saved you a nice bit of porridge” she said. It was thick and sticky with just a sprinkling of sugar but Jinni was glad of it. “No need to scrub the steps today. Nor the brass neither. You can give ‘em a good old going over when the fog lifts. Come on now! Time to light the fires and clean the grates. Make sure you give ‘em a good old blacking or the misses will be on your tail.” When she had finished this task she washed and swept the floors and stairs and at exactly 7:30 she took off her dirty overall and cap, washed and changed into a long black dress and crisp white apron and cap. Jinni held the apron close to her cheek and breathed in the clean white freshness. Then she laid the table for breakfast. Such a lot of food! Such a lot of meat! More than her family had for a week. Sometimes she and Cook would have leftovers. “Better than giving it to the pigs,” Cook said. Then she cleared the table and took the post and papers in on a silver tray. After that she made the beds, dusted and cleaned the silver, and did any other household chores that may need doing until it was time to make up the fires in the bedrooms and turn down the sheets on the bed. Exhausted, she would have loved to sit down with Cook for supper in the warm kitchen at the end of the day and was, by now, quite looking forward to living in for she dreaded the long walk home. After she had helped Cook clean up the kitchen, she was allowed to leave, usually at about 10pm. Madam had given her a small packet to post on her way home and she hid it close to her chest underneath her shawl. The street was deserted and she could no longer see the street lights the fog was so dense. As she reached the post box a man appeared out of the gloom. He called after her, “Miss! Miss!” but she felt terrified and ran and ran without stopping until she arrived home. She banged hard on the door not daring to look behind her. When her mother came to the door she called out, “It’s the Ripper mother. The Ripper. He’s following me. Please! Please mother. Let me in and close the door.” Before she had a chance to do so, a tall thin man was standing on the door step. He was holding a small packet. “Your daughter dropped this packet Ma’am and I thought it looked quite important. I called after her but she didn’t hear me.” 19

Helen Keller by Jenny Sunman Helen Keller was born with sight and hearing, but lost both of these due to an illness at 19 months old. Those early months however proved in time to be of great importance in creating the framework from which her imagination sparked. The family was put in touch with Alexander Graham Bell who at the time was working with deaf children in Boston. He told them of a School for the Blind, which arranged for a teacher to live with Helen. The teacher, Anne Sullivan, was the first person to communicate properly with Helen. It’s quite probable that if it weren’t for Anne Sullivan, we would never have heard of Helen Keller. She worked tirelessly as her teacher, mentor and assistant for 49 years. Anne developed a method of making shapes on Helen’s hand. Eventually Helen understood the meaning of the letters. She had begun to learn the manual alphabet. Not satisfied with this, she went on to learn to write, holding a ruler as a guide. At the age of 8 Helen went to the School for the Blind in Boston. She built a strong friendship with the head Michael Anagnos. She describes an event in her autobiography with great sorrow. She wrote her first book at 11 years old, believing it to be entirely from her own imagination. She sent the book to Mr Anagnos for publication, but it turned out to be almost a copy of another book. Helen was accused of plagiarism. Neither Helen nor her teacher recalled reading the original book, and the episode left Helen distraught, especially as Mr Anagnos never quite believed her. At 13, Helen went with Anne to the School for the Deaf in New York. She was the only deaf and blind student. Helen learnt to speak and to lip read by touch. She was now able to communicate with people who didn’t know the manual alphabet. Later she learnt to speak. By placing her fingers simultaneously on Anne’s throat, lips and nose, she was able with much practice to replicate this herself. Helen was determined to fulfill her ambition to be the first deaf and blind student to obtain a degree. She was admitted to Radcliffe College in 1899, the sister college to Harvard University. At the time women were not allowed to attend Harvard. While at university, Helen wrote her autobiography “The Story of my Life”. In it she speaks frankly about her childhood and education, but what comes across most strongly is her love and understanding of the world in which she lived. Her descriptions show such vivid imagination; it’s hard to believe she lived in a dark and silent world. Helen loved reading, and the list of subjects that interested her was immense. As well as English, she studied French, German, Latin and Greek. It may seem surprising but she also had a passion for being outdoors where her sense of touch and smell was used to the full. She loved to ride a horse, guided most of the time. She even learnt to row, and could tell by smell how close she was to the river bank. Her favourite time on the water was on moonlit nights, proving that the tranquility at this time of day must be more than just visual. Helen and Anne toured giving speeches firstly about Helen’s experiences. She was very interested in politics and became a member of the suffragist movement and a socialist. Her speeches then were on a wide range of topics. Many famous people wanted to meet her and work with her. Helen starred in a silent movie, which led to an acting career where she portrayed the story of her life. Helen joined the American Foundation for the Blind, being an ambassador for 44 years. During the Second World War, she travelled all over America supporting blind and wounded veterans, and then after the war toured Europe and Asia in support of war veterans abroad.

Helen wrote fourteen books and many essays and articles. She won many awards; the most distinguished being the U.S Presidential Medal of Freedom. Helen summed up her thoughts on her disability in a poem called Mine to Keep: They took away what should have been my eyes (But I remembered Milton's Paradise) They took away what should have been my ears (Beethoven came and wiped away my tears) They took away what should have been my tongue (But I had talked with God when I was young). He would not let them take away my soul: Possessing that, I still possess the whole. She was a great role model for people with disabilities. The advice she gave to a five-year-old blind child was: "Never bend your head. Always hold it high. Look the world straight in the face." She certainly spent her entire life looking the world straight in the face.