B. S. Johnson
House Mother Normal
A NOTE ON THE ELECTRONIC EDITION:
In this incredible book, B. S. Johnson experimented with formatting to represent the mental decay (and rich inner lives) of his characters. Though care has been taken to remain faithful to his vision, inconsistencies across digital reading systems mean that this e-book's layout will vary by platform.
We have taken Johnson's line breaks as intentional and treated them as poetry, applying hanging indents when a line breaks over the edge of the device screen. If many lines in the text break in this way, consider reading in landscape mode or lowering your device's font-size setting.
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House Mother Introduces
Friend (I may call you friend?), these are also
our friends. We no longer refer to them as
inmates, cases, patients, or even as clients.
These particular friends are also known as NERs,
since they have no effective relatives, are
orphans in reverse, it is often said.
You may if you wish join our Social Evening,
friend. You shall see into the minds of our
eight old friends, and you shall see into my
mind. You shall follow our Social Evening
through nine different minds!
Before entering each of our old friends’ minds
you will find a few details which may be of
interest to you. A CQ count, for instance, is
given: that is, the total of correct answers
which were given in response to the ten classic
questions (Where are you now? What is this
place? What day is this? What month is it?
What year is it? How old are you? What is
your birthday? In what year were you born?
Who is on the throne now — king or queen?
Who was on the throne before?) for senile
dementia.
You find our friends dining, first, and later
singing, working, playing, travelling,
competing, discussing, and finally being
entertained.
~ ~ ~
Sarah Lamson age 74 marital status widow sight 60 % hearing 75 % touch 70 % taste 85 % smell 50 % movement 85 % CQ count 10 pathology contractures; incipient hallux valgus; osteo-arthritis; suspected late paraphrenia; among others.
… not like this muck, they give us muck, here, I made him
a proper dinner, gave his belly a treat after all that Gas,
but he could hardly eat, the poor boy, what I put before him
was faggots in a lovely gravy, it was something special I
made, for him, just for him, then, not like this slimy brown
muck they slosh on everything here, can’t think why they do
it, what the point is, not on my life, no. And
I could see his eyes light up as he saw it, it was really
like being at home for him, that’s when he realised it, for
the first time that first day, I think.
But then he couldn’t eat it, the first mouthful and he
was sick, he had to rush out the yard to the carsey and I was
left — Now what’s she done wrong? Mrs Ridge
in trouble again, she asks for it, she must like the twitcher,
really. I could hear him in there, standing
at the door as I was, looking at them faggots and the new peas
I’d shelled that morning, and thinking of the butter I’d
mashed his taties with and how little Ronnie had had to go
without for a week, though I gave him his Dad’s later, he
did enjoy it, that day, for his tea.
And when he came in from the yard you could
tell he was that ill, by his colour, and he asked me to come
up and lie on the bed with him, and I did, though it was just
after midday, and he just sort of lie
there, with his eyes shut and his face all
tight,
without bothering to turn down the counterpane to rest
his head on the pillow, and it was greasy with brilliantine
or something suchlike, but I couldn’t say anything could I?
Not that he touched me, he lie there with his hands crossed
across his belly, like he was dead already, not touching me,
just wanting me near him, he said, to feel I was there, and
I don’t think he could have done anything with me anyway,
then, it was months before he was a real husband
to me again, ah.
Clear
up, clear up, it’s all on the hurryup in this place.
Now what’s she
saying, how can you be quiet about clearing up knives and
forks, how can anyone? Though these cardboard plates
can’t make any noise, because if — Here, Ivy, no, I
haven’t finished yet! Last scrapings of this muck,
muck they give us here, but I’m hungry, there’s nothing
else, nothing. There. I’ll walk, at least I can still
walk, though that means she makes me do the running about.
I have to clear up and wait on the others, these bent forks
and knives, the knives not sharp at all, down here, I’m
not washing up today, the sitters can at least do that,
sitters can — Now Mrs Bowen’s knocked her plate down,
now she’ll cop it. Yes.
Her and that
dog, shouldn’t be surprised if House Mothers aren’t
really supposed to keep pets, could write to them about
it, her and that bloody great dog
Get on with it, help Ivy, get on.
She won’t get
it done sooner by shouting at me, I go as fast as I
can, yes I do, can’t go any faster.
Nearly done.
There, at last that’s done, sit down again, next to
Charlie, later I’ll get round him for a cigarette, I
know he’s got some. Oh, not
that song again. What good does it
do?
Better sing, though, don’t
want to cross her again, no.
The joys of life continue strong
Throughout old age, however long:
If only we can cheerful stay
And brightly welcome every day.
Not what we’ve been, not what we’ll be,
What matters most is that we’re free:
The joys of life continue strong
Throughout old age, however long.
The most important thing to do
Is stay alive and see it through:
No matter if the future’s dim,
Just keep straight on and trust in Him:
For He knows best, and brings good cheer,
Oh, lucky us, that we are here!
The most important thing to do
Is stay alive and see it through!
Well, I suppose it
pleases Her, at any rate.
Listen to
her now, work, work, I’ve known nothing else all