News

A Letter from Mrs Travers

  • Posted on: 28/01/2022

The Artemis website is the home of the Muriel & Jasper blog which is set exactly 60 years from present time. It was begun as an experiment to see if we could engage people in looking at the past in slightly different way and mixes the life of Muriel & Jasper with information about life in the 1960s. There’s lots of humour too, so sit back and enjoy a glimpse into the past.  

Mrs Sloan Visits Jasper’s Shed

“Good morning, Mr Wylie, might I come in? I bring nature’s bounty.”

“Yes of course Mrs Sloan. I generally have something about this time, it’s my 10’Clocks, I find it prepares me for elevenses. What is it a toasted muffin or a  wee pancake and jam?”

“Neither Mr Wylie, it’s a glass of hot Adam’s Ale with a couple of slices of Lake Garda lemons.”

“No scones then?”

“I realise you are addicted to sugar Mr Wylie, so there will be a plain scone at 11 along with coffee. My own recipe, of course, and one very much favoured by my former employers, the Astors at Cliveden House.”

“Muriel did tell me that you were formerly among the social whirl of the rich and famous. I would be interested to hear about that. I believe they entertain the most interesting people.”

“Indeed, they do, but I would rather not talk about it, you see I saw something…”

“You mean something nasty in the woodshed; like Ada Doom in Cold Comfort Farm, one of my favourite characters in that satire of the rural novel.”

“I am familiar with the Stella Gibbons’ novel and her take off of Precious Bane and other novels by Mary Webb. However, if Cliveden had a woodshed, which I am sure it must, it was not there. Forgive me if we do not dwell on this Mr Wylie and anyway I have a soup pot to brillo pad . Now drink up it’s for your own good and then we will wake up your lymphatic system with some simple pummels.”

“Why?”

It helps you greet the day. I have a feeling we do too much sitting if I am not mistaken.”

“Well Mrs Sloan, I am very busy with History Society matters and with great responsibility comes great sitting.”

“No doubt, but too much sitting and not enough water leads to flabby bottoms, turkey necks and skin like a crepe bandage. While I am here, Mrs Wylie tells me that you have several tins containing sweet bites from the broken biscuit counter at Lewis’s Department Store in Argyle Street. Those tins probably need a good wash in soapy water and fortunately I have a nice bowl of soapy suds in the kitchen so if you would be so kind as to just pass them over.”

Lady Pentland-Firth Calls 

“Ah Muriel, I wasn’t sure if you were in this morning. I telephoned earlier and that new woman of yours said she could neither confirm nor deny that you were at home but would pass on a message that I had telephoned. I must say she seems terribly efficient. Anyway, I am on my way to a luncheon for the Orphan Homes and thought I would call on the off chance. I have the figures for the Burns’ Night Country House Concert which I thought you might like to see. Must say they are most encouraging. After taking off costs for catering and the artistes fees, I am happy to report we have a healthy profit, so I should be able to make a start on the restoration of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s bedroom and give a donation to both the Orphan Homes and The Home For Fallen Women.”

“That’s wonderful Patience, I am so pleased. The finger sized haggis bites on bridge rolls were sheer genius on my part and the individual raspberry cranachans in a wine glass were perfect.  The Poosie Nancy dumplings with white sauce need a little more work, however the Scottish cheese cubes on sticks were perfect. I think this is an idea of a bite-sized suppa will catch on, don’t you Patience?

“I do and that was so clever of you to stick them in a half grapefruit covered in tin foil. It looked quite space age and yet honoured the immortal memories “weel’hain’d kebbuck”, (well saved cheese), oh how I love the patois at this time of year. I also liked Jasper’s wee display of all things Scottish, most amusing.”

“Indeed, Patience, but once a year for all of it is enough. Would you like coffee?”

“No thank you Muriel, I must bash on. Where is the lovely Jasper?”

“He is in his Museum in a Shed, there are problems with the Hysterical Society –  nowhere to meet at the moment because of repairs to the roof. Mrs Sloan has taken him  his elevenses and one of her reduced sugar scones. We will see how that goes down!”

“Well do give a big kiss from me, and if he wants to use one’s house for next season’s meetings, he is most welcome. Mind you he will have to warn the members that at any time they might be assaulted by falling Grinling Gibbons’ garlands or Robert Adam Stucco.”

Back to the Shed

“There you are Mr Wylie, coffee, with one sugar and a plain scone with a smear of jam. Mrs Wylie also asked me to bring the post. The usual bills and a letter in an envelope which appears, judging by the envelope and a glass stain, to be from an adult education college and from someone who drinks ginger wine.”

“Thank you, Mrs Sloan, and here is my empty warm water and lemon glass. Did you bring the tins back?”

“They are drying in a warm oven, I am afraid I had to throw out the contents, all had gone soft.”

“What, even the Shortie?”

“Especially the Shortie.  You are if I might say so already improved from that glass of water, I am sensing elasticity. Already I am getting a feeling of you at the molecular level. Lunch will be at one Mr Wylie.”

 A Letter from Mrs Travers who Used to be the Woman What Does Before Mrs Sloan 

Dear Mr and Mrs Wylie,

How are yoose going on?

I hope young Gayle’s well and doin’ fine at the good school. Hairy Mary frae Inveraray wrote to me with her Christmas card an’ said she was gitting on very well wi’ her ballet classes an’ that Mrs Wylie wis keepin’ Margot Fonteyn up to date wi’ her progress. Do tell her that Mrs T sends her best wishes an’ a wee hug.

Talkin’ o’’Christmas cards, I do hope you got mine. Unfortunately yours tae me must have got lost in the post. Talking of’Christmas an’ New Year I hope you an’ yours had a good one.

I can jist imagine all the presents, the parties and the food, the tastes, the smells and the laughs roond they piano! I was even wonderin’ who would be makin’ the dumplin’ in the top loader and hopin’ you’d managed to find the auld pillowcase I keep for the purpose. In case you haven’t it’s on the top shelf of the airing cupboard along with the ones I keep, I mean kept, to cover the half coconuts tied to shoes with which to polish the parquet flooring.

In case you’re wondering, I’m getting on fine. To be honest the college, being of the left leaning kind, does not really go in for Christmas. They say (and they say many things) it’s a bourgeois festival. I did make ma chicken vol au vents, but it seems they prefer a  well fired roll and sausage wi’ brown sauce at any time o’ day or night.

We didn’t have any carols, but there was an evening o’ folk songs an’ poetry dedicated to the British working-class experience. Who’d have thought there were so many songs about railway, mining and shipping disasters? Most interesting and informative, but I couldnae help thinkin’ it would have been a good idea to end the evening on a high note. At least Solidarity Forever (the song which concluded our evening) was sung to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Did you know that the Solidarity song was written at the time o’ the Paint Creek-Cabin Creek Strike of 1912, in Virginia near the USA? I’m quite sure your dear friend Patty in Virginia will know o’ it and the Wobblies? The students here now have to write an essay on ‘Struggle through Song’, which is due before half term.

New Year was more enthusiastically celebrated, it must be said, as was Burns’ Night earlier in the week. Ma individual Burns’ Superettes (you will remember Mr Wylie, a layer o’ haggis topped wi’ a layer o’ nutmeg flavoured champit neeps and then topped with creamy mashed potatoes) was rejected as “effete.” Fortunately, I have to hand the dictionary yoose gave me. The students prefer a more traditional pile of food it seems.

I don’t think I’ll bother suggesting a Candlemas Supper to mark the end of the Yule season, although the traditional football match might be a popular idea if not a candlelight procession. I imagine Mrs Wylie that you and Lady Pentland- Firth probably have something planned to cheer up these dark days?

Mrs Macaulay’s daily woman what does (and certainly more than I did), wrote to me and said that you have had a new woman start and that she seems highly efficient. I expect as I write she is preparing Mr Wylie a tasty luncheon, perhaps a bacon and egg roll or some thick cheese on toast, or a nice bowl o’ homemade broth?

I’m sorry that my daughter-in-law Sharon has not proved to be up to the mark. She’s not had it easy what wi’ they weans and her man, ma boy Billy. detained constantly at her Majesty’s Pleasure. Even I must admit though, wi’ the best will in the world, she is hardly a full tea set. It’s good o’ yoose tae keep her on fur the heavy work. At least she will have the bus fare for Barlinnie once a month and a wee bit fur the bingo.

I hear yoose have new neighbours, I hope they are friendly and suitable for Glasgow’s exclusive, oft’ sought but rarely found West End. Mrs Macaulay’s woman what does says they are certainly splashing the cash on the new place.

Well, I must go. We’re having an artist-led walk through the woods. We take three blank post cards and some colouring in pencils. One has got a window cut in it, through which we stare and connect with nature. We then draw what we see in “My Window on the Woods.” After this we sit still by a stream in silence listening, and write a post card to ourselves stating our ambitions for the future. They collect this and send it back in the post to us 6 months down the line. I canny say I find this easy. I mean one set o’ tree branches withoot leaves looks pretty much like another tae me. And as tae sittin’ by the stream –  well apart from the fact that ah canny sit still or for that matter keep ma mooth shut, the noise o’ the stream jist make me wonder how far the nearest “Ladies” is. There are prizes for the best “window” and the most imaginative postcard to oneself. It’s hardback copies of either Marx or Engles for the runners up and an all expenses paid trip to a Barbara Castle lecture for the overall winner.

If yer Christmas card ever turns up, I’ll let you know. Think I feel like a wee Ginger wine.

Yours sincerely

Esme Travers (Mrs)

Voice from the Kitchen

“Mr Wylie, that’s lunch in 10 minutes. I have a nice healthy clear soup and Swedish crispbread. Plenty of time to wash hands.