graslawn
.
hoyw
eirian
serennu
.
Afal
llu
uned
.
nesaf
Teilwng
egniol
gris
arlun
.
ieuanc
Hogyn
uthr
gogoniant
huan
epil
syber!
.
Disglair
addurno
fyny
ynni
digrif
drud
Tirion
eisen
.
gwron
atodiad
ifanc
.
Hadu
unol
golenad
haul
eryr
safon
I am
terrible, Ivy
Now I can every
word you say I am a prisoner in my
self. It is terrible. The movement agonises me.
Let me out, or I shall die
No, I do
not get any
lighter, Ivy,
I in-
tend
not
to get
an y -
thing
any
more
no
mor
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
~ ~ ~
House Mother age 42 marital status divorcée sight 85 % hearing 90 % touch 100 % taste 40 % smell 95 % movement 100 % CQ count 10 pathology mild clap; incipient influenza; dandruff; malignant cerebral carcinoma (dormant)
They are fed, they are my friends. Is that not enough?
And what would be enough? Some of them indeed are not
capable of differentiating between meat and bread — no,
that is not an argument for not giving them meat. A balanced
diet is essential to the health of the aged. I know that.
I know what is best for them. I am a trained House Mother.
Did I not work under Frau Holstein of the House in Basle?
Ah! Sunny days sitting on the slopes of the Moron, or walking
by the green river, with that good, good, woman.
Yes, I know what I am talking about, friend, as regards
diet and everything else to do with the efficient running
of a tidy…. No! You can’t have any more meat, you gutsy greedy
old slobbery cow! The impertinence of it! And what does she
think of next? I can read her like a book — she is after Ron’s
meat, a birdlike eater, Ron, the twitcher will stop her. No!
Three from the twitcher for thieves, Mrs Ridge, one! two! three!
There! That will teach you, Mrs Ridge!
Treat them like children: they are children, aren’t they?
This is truly their second childhood, isn’t it?
Oh, do not think I justify
myself! I have no psychological need to do that, friend, none
at all. Do not deceive yourself: deception is a sin if not a crime.
Now come on, finish up like good second children. There’s
all the treats of our weekly Social Evening to come.
So many of them look beautiful,
manage to keep some beauty, even acquire some beauty. I use
the word advisedly. Even the bearded Stanton lady, in her
way. Come along now! Chivvy chivvy chivvy. Day-
dreaming, most of them, they remember years ago far better
than they remember to change themselves, or ask to be
changed. They admire the past, think so much of the past: why
therefore do they expect treatment any different from that
they would have received in the workhouse of the past?
Ah, you can bet, friend, they prefer at least this aspect of
modern life, do not want to return to the good old workhouse
days! Oh dear me, no, no!
Isn’t that a not unpleasing paradox?
This may be a
charitable institution, that may be the form of words, but
it is as remote from what was known as a workhouse as my
Ralphie is from a
dingo.
Right now! Clear up! Quietly,
if you please, this is not a bandhouse or bothy! What d’you
imagine you’re at? Quietly!
At least we
don’t have washing up to do with these cardboard plates.
Just shoot the lot for pigswill, sell it. Must see if I
can get more off that swine Berry, ha, though he gets
enough off me one way or the other, besides the odd
bit of the other. I give him a good class of swill for
his pigs, they must enjoy the cardboard, I think. Pigs