VICTORIAN POVERTY: Coming to your neighbourhood soon

  "I was one day dealing with a case in which a poor woman was in great distress of mind because she had got some washing to do and had not the money to obtain the necessary materials wherewith to accomplish the work.

    "I shall lose eighteenpence if I can't get it done," she said, with tears in her eyes, "and perhaps lose other work too, for people who have washing to give out won't study you if you have to disappoint them."

"You don't look fit to stand at the wash-tub," I said, noting her weak and hunger-worn appearance.

"I could manage that all right," she exclaimed eagerly. "By working late I could get it done and take it home to-night, and then I could get something to eat out of the pay for it. As to eating, though," she added, " I am thinking more of the children than of myself. It is not often that we are so hard put to it, but this morning they had to go to school without breakfast, poor little things They knew it was my misfortune and not my fault that I had nothing for them to eat, and they tried to be brave and not to cry, but you could see their poor little lips quivering."
   

 I had every reason to believe that the woman was telling a literal and painful truth. Her husband was sober, and steady, and until a year previously had been a strong and capable labourer, able to command tolerably constant employment. But one day when engaged upon some heavy work he had, in labourers phrase, "overlifted" himself. From that time he had been, "off and on," an out-patient of various hospitals, and was practically an invalid.
    

"You had better get something to eat before starting your work," I said, in reference to her last remarks. "Here are two tickets, each for a shilling's worth of goods; they will enable von to get a little food, as well as the washing materials you require."

"Oh, thank you," she exclaimed, her face flushing with pleasure; "won't the little ones be delighted when they come home and find I have got a dinner for them?" - The Pinch of Poverty, by The Riverside Visitor

The iPhone has landed!

As some of you know (see previous blog if you don't) I have recently parted company with a certain media platform, represented by a small winged blue avian. Now, I am NOT the sort of individual to reacts well to be chucked off stuff (also see previous blog), so having tried various return pathways, and being told '*itter says no', it was decided (note the distancing phrase) to buy an iPhone.

It seemed a good idea when suggested. I could join the 99.9% of the population. No more lurking about in the Doro cave. Bright new horizons of communication, bathed in the sunshine of up-to-dateness beckoned. I was seduced. My only stipulation was that the new phone had to be RED.

And it arrived. And it was red. And so the nightmare began. Going from the dumbPhone to this phone was like landing on a new planet without a Lonely Planet travel guide. In the past few days I have reached levels of incompetence so low you couldn't limbo under them.

1. I thought ALL these devices were called iPhones. Yup. Only was abused of this when I met a friend for coffee and was told that her phone was a Samsung.

2. You know that thing where the optician says: 'So, what's the lowest line you can read on the screen?' and your brain goes: 'What line?' That. They don't make these devices for the myopic, do they?

3. It doesn't like my cold finger (if you wish to sing 'Cold Finger' at this point, please don't). 

4. Autocorrect. The typist's worst enema. I bought a lovely jumper for Small in the sale, took a picture and sent it to You Must Be Mad in New York. The jumper was by Boden. NOT BIDEN - OK???

5. I have lost 25.8k lovely followers by being chucked off *witter. Given my lack of competence, I will probably never get them all back.

But. Rome wasn't burned in a day. And in 3 weeks, Little G (and Small) are coming to the UK for a visit, so I shall pick her brain, because even an 8 year old has to be more savvy than I am right now. Meanwhile it's a case of onward through the fog. Or  'frog' as autocorreect would probably say.

Places I've Been Banned From ~ An Odyssey

                                              

As the dust slowly settles on my Twitter ban, I am thinking about all the places I am or was not persona grata over the past 71 years. There are quite few. I am shocked.

1. The American Embassy 1966 : I only found out about this in retrospect. It came about as a result of an anti-Vietnam War demo a few of us organised on Welwyn Garden City Campus (that hotbed of revolution and radicalism). We were all banned for 10 years from entering the US. 'Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland' (Paul Simon.)

2. O Level Geography Class : Quote from Miss Walker: "I'm not having you in my class, you're disruptive." I have NO IDEA what she meant, other than I did get sent out of her class a couple of times, and used to hang from the window frame above the door, wiggling my fingers. She clearly didn't appreciate this impromptu gesture. But this is why, dear reader, I am unable to read a map without turning it round the way I am going, and I lose my car in multi-story carparks. All attributable to Miss Walker.

3. My family: It's what happens to Jews who 'marry out', especially if they didn't get on with their parents to begin with. This momentous event happened when I was 26. Apparently a rabbi was brought in, at the instigation of my Orthodox brother, and prayers were said over the dead. As in me. Their loss ~  my 'ex-parents' never got to meet my wonderful daughter.

4. Bits of the Parliamentary Estate: Post Brexit, the Met Police don't like us standing too close to the House of Commons etc. Or shouting. Whilst not technically a 'ban', I have been told off for chalking on the pavement outside the Cabinet Office too.

5. Harpenden Parents' Network Facebook Page: for daring to criticise posts by my Tory MP. Many of these 'local' pages are run by party loyalists, I gather. Luckily, St Albans still hosts me, so when we had a flood recently, I was able to access help.

6. Twitter: the latest ban. For being rude and hateful to a certain Home Sekertry. Come and say Hi to me on my new Instagram https://www.instagram.com/caroljhedges/ (or should that be Instagran?). I may be working my way back to Twitter, as I miss people, but it will be in another guise ...

7. The UK: Not happened yet ~ but if the Nationality and Borders Bill passes into law with Clause 9 re-inserted, the aforementioned Home Sekertry can take my citizenship away, without telling me or giving me the right of appeal. This is because 1: My parents came here as Jewish refugees, and like Windrush people, were naturalised, so not 'properly' British. 2. As a Jew, I could claim citizenship in Israel.

So there you are. Or in my case, there I'm not. It's pretty disgraceful and I am prepared to bet you can't equal it. Not that you'd want to, would you?

 

BEING A GRANDMOTHER IS THE BEST JOB IN THE WORLD

I clearly remember the day the job started. It was summer. Bright sunshine pouring through the open window of my daughter’s London flat. We were visiting for Sunday lunch and making small talk with her lovely husband while she put the finishing touches to the meal.

Then my daughter walked in from the kitchen, carrying a dish of lasagne. She put it down on the table. She stood up and cleared her throat. ‘We have some news for you,’ she said and paused. ‘We’re expecting a baby.’

And for a second, the world stopped turning.

And then it started turning again.

But it was a new world.

I was the last of my group of friends to become a grandma. I’d congratulated, celebrated, commiserated. I’d cooed over other people’s baby pictures; peered into prams; helped them choose tiny clothes to give as presents; listened to their tales; nodded, smiled, and all the time, a small inner voice was just crying out: ‘When will it be my turn?”

The Job Begins

Ever since she turned one, I have looked after my gorgeous granddaughter two days a week from 7am to 7pm while my daughter returned to work. Currently my daughter is back home on maternity leave, having just given birth to my grandson. So now I mind ‘Little G’ for one day only.

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Looking back over the past fourteen months, I have to say I never worked so hard, loved so hard, or laughed so hard in my life. I have never felt so exhilarated or so exhausted at the same time.

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In the spirit of sisterhood, I offer the following thoughts for those who travel with me through this wonderful experience, or are about to start out on it.

9 Things I Love About Being a Grandma

#1: The overwhelming joy you feel when you first see your new-born grandchild.

#2: Realising that even after all those years you CAN still change a nappy and give a bottle.

#3: Sharing delight in a small stone, a bumble bee, a flower blooming in a crack in the pavement, a yellow school bus, an orange.

#4: Reaching into your bag for your mobile phone and finding:

• Crumbs
• A half-eaten packet of raisins
• A green bottle top
• A post it note with something you can’t read but it says Important at the top
• An empty snail shell
• A packet of crayons with one missing
• A feather
• Two toy cars

#5: Lying awake in the small hours just smiling and smiling over the memory of some funny thing that happened during the day. I started a blog to remember my special times with Little G. You forget so fast.

#6: Watching them enjoy eating the food you prepared for them.

#7: Singing the same song over and over because ‘again’ means ‘again’.

#8: Recalling that smile of triumph when they finally reach the top of the climbing frame all on their own for the first time.

#9: And best of all, two chubby little arms round your neck and a little voice whispering: ‘I love you, Grandma.’

So, are you a seasoned grandma or new one? Maybe you’ve just learned that you are about to become one for the first time? Please share your delights and joys of being a grandma in the comments below.