Muriel stood up and brushed the crumbs from her apron. She had just finished her tea and was dreading the moment when her charge would wake up. But today felt different.
It seemed that Muriel had always been in service but now that her charge‘s finances had all but diminished she had become mistress of all trades in the enormous house that had once seen such splendour.
Muriel could remember the very first day she had arrived there. She was sixteen years old and her eyes were wide with wonder and fear. She had never seen a house that big or furnishings that expensive. She pulled herself into herself and scarcely heard her mother talking to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hawkins. She was petrified. She had just come out of the minimal schooling that her parents could afford and she was forced into work to help support her family. Her father was not well. He had worked in the coal mines in Johannesburg and had been taken over by “miner’s sickness”. He sat in a huddle in the tiny kitchen coughing until Muriel was sure he would either cough his lungs out or die of a stroke or heart attack. She didn’t really know her father – he had left for work before the household got up and came home dirty and tired and could not be bothered with the many children he had fathered.
Muriel was very scared. She clutched her little cotton bag that held all her worldly possessions close to her chest.
“Now Muriel, I want you to be a good girl and show Mrs. Hawkins that even though we are poor, you were brought up to have manners. Remember I told you that you would sleep in and be home on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning?”
“Yes mommy,” she had replied biting back the tears.
It had been virtually unknown for a white girl to enter “service” in Johannesburg but the lady of the house was from England and looked disparagingly at any who did not share her skin colour. Muriel found this odd and yes, distasteful. Surely we are all the same? The aspect of apartheid had never made sense to her.
Well, the years had rolled by and yes she had been a good girl and had slowly risen through the ranks and as the money diminished newer members of staff had lost their jobs until only Muriel was left.
Mrs. Abbot, the boss lady, was now very old, fragile and forgetful and her son, Colin, had been trying to get her to realise that she could no longer stay in this mammoth of a house. It was too much to expect Muriel to care for her and the house so he had instructed Muriel to close up and not worry about cleaning any room that was not essential.
He was something very big in the world of finance, Muriel did not understand all that but knew that his job took him all over the world and he and his family had been forced to relocate to Switzerland as the main part of his company functioned there.
Muriel knew how to get hold of him at any given moment and she knew how to get hold of the doctor and Mr. Smithy who was a friend of the now deceased Mr. Abbott and she thought that he was a lawyer but couldn’t be sure.
So day in and day out Muriel would wake up wash, dress and start preparations for Mrs. Abbott's breakfast which she insisted on eating in the huge dining room. She would then go up to the only bedroom that was not shut off and help Mrs. Abbot to bathe and dress. She would then help the old lady down the stairs, seat her at the table, rush into the kitchen put the finishing touches to the breakfast, wait for the tinkle of the little bell that Mrs. Abbott still insisted on using. She would stand behind the chair while madam ate her breakfast. She would then whisk the dishes away and help Mrs. Abbott on her walk around the garden, listening politely to the old lady’s chatter.
Once she had settled her in the drawing room with her newspaper, Muriel would then rush upstairs tidy and clean the bedroom and bathroom, rush downstairs and prepare the morning tea which had to be served on a tray with a delicate tray cloth. She would again stand unobtrusively while Mrs. Abbott finished her tea. She would then bring her her needlepoint before taking the tray to the kitchen where she would wash the breakfast and tea things and tidy the kitchen. She would then have a brief respite before starting on the lunch preparations which had to be eaten in the dining room at the huge table which could seat 16. After lunch, she would help Mrs. Abbott up the stairs again and settle her for her afternoon nap.
Once she was settled it was skedaddle to the drawing room and give it a clean and then to the dining room for a clean-up. Mrs. Abbott had sharp eyes for all her years. Everything had to be just so. Then and only then could Muriel sit down and have her tea. This was a meal which bundled lunch, tea and a bit of dinner. Tidy the kitchen again and start dinner preparations.
The days seemed to stretch to infinity following the same procedure day after day, week after week, year after year.
Mrs. Abbott was a kind but exacting mistress. When she had finished her nap she would ring for Muriel to come up and help her down for afternoon tea which was followed by a little bit of television viewing and then dinner – almost the same procedure as the other two meals.
After dinner Mrs. Abbott would either read, watch TV or play solitaire before being helped up and helped to get ready for bed.
Muriel would then go down, set the house to rights, clean the kitchen again, sit down to a late supper and crash into bed.
But somehow Muriel felt that today was different. She felt it while having her tea. Somehow she knew she had to keep the phone handy, somehow she knew that she had to have doctor’s number ready to activate and so Muriel stood up, brushed the crumbs from her apron, picked up the phone and activated the doctor’s number. Her last thoughts were “49 year’s old! Where did my life go? Surely this is not it….”
* * * *
The doctor grew agitated as he heard nothing on the other side. Mrs. Abbott’s bell was tinkling and Muriel was greeting her father and mother as they waited to welcome her to the other side.
© Vera Alexander
© Vera Alexander
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