Ethel Nobody has her Day
Ethel Nobody wanted something exciting to happen. She prayed for some event in her life, anything. Every morning and every evening she knelt and asked God for something, some significant moment in her life, to be a somebody. She put her trust in God and knew that one day her prayers would be answered. Of course, ‘Ethel Nobody’ wasn’t her real name, but it may as well have been. She had no friends, no relations, she never went out. She was a nobody.
Her life had been very dull and drab, a nobody’s kind of life. Her early childhood had been lonely and loveless. Her parents had died when she was five, catching a tropical disease when taking a missionary tour of Eastern Mongolia and that was that. She was left in the care of her Mother’s sister, her Aunt Mabel and husband Fred. They had no children of their own and had resented the intrusion of having their niece thrust upon them in such macabre and disagreeable fashion. As soon as it had been possible Mabel and Fred had sent Ethel to a boarding school, a very austere and dreary place but quite economical on the pocket.
She did not really mind being sent away, having hardly seen her Aunt and Uncle during the years spent at their home, a large Victorian building that smelled of damp, even in the summer.
Ethel was a mousy, quiet, unattractive girl. The unfortunate kind picked upon by other girls and never the teacher’s pet. Her limp hair would never hold a curl like the other girls and she was tall for her age and quite clumsy. At first she had been a novelty, a freak, someone to be bullied and teased in the playground, but Ethel never retaliated, she never spoke harshly back to the other girls, and the games soon grew boring and Ethel was left alone. Ethel was left alone in her own world.
She knew that one day something would happen. Her mother had told her so it must be true. If she was a good girl and said her prayers, Jesus would answer them. Her prayers were concerned with one topic, that she, Ethel Nobody, a tall, gangly, mousy girl would one day have her day. Like the heroines in the picture books, the princess awaiting her Prince, the orphan adopted by a rich old kindly gentleman, the ugly duckling that grew to a beautiful swan. Yes, one day Ethel’s prayers would be answered. Her Mother had said so.
And so Ethel travelled through life in a dull grey way, keeping hope, like Pandora, contained in a box hidden deep inside her and far away from the hurt and pain of the world.
Having left school at 15 she went straight into employment, working as both housekeeper and part time governess to a large and balding mill owner and his spoilt daughter. Rather than turning into a Charlotte Bronte heroin, Ethel became a skivvy of the lowest order, scrubbing and cleaning, making and serving meals from dawn until dusk, pausing only to try and educate young Beatrice in the rudiments of the three R’s. Her reward was a meagre wage and harsh words.
Beatrice had been a petulant child, hissing and spitting when she did not get her own way. Ethel endured all through patient and gentle eyes for she was certain in the hope that one day salvation would be hers and that her life would change. One day!
There had been several jobs after the mill owner. She had tried her hand at being a governess again, but children did not seem to warm to her. It was during this period, on her afternoon off, when, reading a newly purchased copy of The Lady magazine Ethel came across the following advert: “Wanted: Female wanted for exciting opportunity - no qualifications required: Live in - permanent position: Solid, mature plain woman preferred with no family obligations. Some travel involved. Please enclose small photograph with details of height, weight and age. Photograph– non returnable”
Ethel was drawn to the advert. At 55 she was definitely mature, and most definitely plain. The only daunting thing about the advert had been the photograph. Ethel had a few pictures of herself as a child, creased and sepia toned in the back of a drawer somewhere. She just hadn’t needed a photograph of herself, why would she? If she had been a great beauty, even mildly attractive, it might have been pleasant having a small photograph of herself, a keepsake for the next generation, but that wasn’t the case, and anyway, there wouldn’t be a ‘next generation’. When Ethel died there would be no-one to carry on the blood line.
But not to be deterred, Ethel woke early the next morning, washed her thinning hair and dusted powder on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. She had pulled her hair back into a bun, making her face seem rather severe. The powder clumped in the lines around her eyes making her look older and ghoulish. Still it was an improvement she thought and set off on the brisk three mile walk into town to Mr Ambrose’ Photographic Studio. The process did not take long and soon she was in possession of a small head and shoulder image that had cost 1 shilling. Mr Ambrose had been worried that Ethel would not be pleased with the finished result as he had handed over the unflattering portrait, but Ethel had come to terms with her features and was quite happy that the picture did not show all of her wrinkles.
On returning home she quickly wrote back to the post box number quoted in the advertisement, slipping the photograph between the folded reply. This might be it; she thought excitedly, this could be my time!
Ethel prayed hard that night. Although she still had hope, the years of hardship meant that she sometimes found it hard to keep believing something exciting would happen in her life, something that would make people sit up and notice.
Even with all her hope and praying Ethel could not have expected such a timely response. By the next day post she had received a letter asking for an interview. She was to call the next day at the address mentioned at 2 pm sharp.
Ethel was all of a dither. The hope within her now flickered into a glowing certainty. This was it.
She could hardly sleep that night. Laying under her thin blankets her heart beat with childish excitement. The words of the advertisement whirled round and round in her mind....”exciting opportunity; some travel” Travel! Ethel had never traversed farther than 10 miles from her place of birth, not counting the 25 miles she had travelled to school. She might see the sea! She might even travel abroad. Ethel could hardly think of the possibilities opening up before her. Uttering an extra special heartfelt prayer that night she hoped that after all of these years she would not be disappointed.
The following day she rose early, even though the appointment was not until the afternoon. She dressed in her best skirt and blouse and put on her coat. She was rather ashamed of her coat, two of the buttons didn’t match and it was rather threadbare on one sleeve. Still it was all she had and the advert had stated a ‘plain’ woman was required. She looked at herself in the small crazed mirror she kept on a set of drawers and sighed, yes, she was certainly plain. But she was about to become a ‘somebody’ of that she was certain
The clock struck 12:45. Ethel had been ready and sat in her coat and hat for an hour. It would take her an hour to walk to the address. The day was fine and after the expense of the photograph, Ethel didn’t want the added cost of a tram ticket. Besides, she was so excited, she didn’t want to wait a second longer and the walk would calm her nerves. Grabbing her gloves and bag, with a new lightness in her feet she danced out of the doorway into the street beyond. Her feet didn’t touch the pavement; she was walking on air. Even the neighbours gave Ethel a second glance as she skipped down the drab grey street. The sun shone weakly through the November skies, the day was bitterly cold but Ethel hardly noticed, the thought of a new life was keeping her warm. Part of the journey took her through the great park, a magnificent legacy of a past king, once preserved for Royal shoots, but now the splendid oaks and limes served the general populous when needing to escape their dreary hollows.
Ethel kicked her away amongst the fallen leaves, delighting as a child as they scrunched under foot. Her heart thudded, a trapped bird escaping confinement. This was it, this was it.
She finally arrived at the street shown on the address. A quiet, neat street just off the main road, consisting of several modest two storey terraced houses with steps leading up to the front door. She counted down the row, 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, number 10 that was the place. A pleasant looking house, well cared for, she thought, a black door with a brass knocker and nets up on the window. Ethel smiled to herself; this could be her new home.
Her watch said five minutes to two and taking a deep breath she began to climb the steps of number 10. Pausing for a moment outside of the door, on the threshold of her new life a wave of mixed emotions flooded her mind; excitement and apprehension of all that lay beyond. She carefully lifted her hand to raise the knocker.
Inside number 10, Mr Taylor was in an upstairs room. He looked at himself in the mirror and adjusted his tie. Five to 2, nearly time for his appointment. He examined his face peering closely at the mirror through small round spectacles, his balding head reflecting the light from the window, his brow beaded slightly with sweat. He was very excited about his latest venture. His hands twitched with excitement, his stubby fingers drumming the long table in front of him. Everything was in place. Edward liked to keep a tight ship, everything neat and tidy.
He stopped to adjust a row of surgical knives, lining them up neatly, all newly sharpened and gleaming.
Looking through the net curtain briefly he caught sight of a woman across the way. Surely that must be her, Ethel. He hoped so. A fine specimen; so tall; the skeleton would be tremendous, just what Dr Tremayne was looking for to aid his latest European tour.
Now, he had better put the kettle on. A nice cup of tea was required.
Copyright M. M. Wake 2011
This story can be downloaded as a free e-book @ http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/21221/ethel-nobody-has-her-day
Her life had been very dull and drab, a nobody’s kind of life. Her early childhood had been lonely and loveless. Her parents had died when she was five, catching a tropical disease when taking a missionary tour of Eastern Mongolia and that was that. She was left in the care of her Mother’s sister, her Aunt Mabel and husband Fred. They had no children of their own and had resented the intrusion of having their niece thrust upon them in such macabre and disagreeable fashion. As soon as it had been possible Mabel and Fred had sent Ethel to a boarding school, a very austere and dreary place but quite economical on the pocket.
She did not really mind being sent away, having hardly seen her Aunt and Uncle during the years spent at their home, a large Victorian building that smelled of damp, even in the summer.
Ethel was a mousy, quiet, unattractive girl. The unfortunate kind picked upon by other girls and never the teacher’s pet. Her limp hair would never hold a curl like the other girls and she was tall for her age and quite clumsy. At first she had been a novelty, a freak, someone to be bullied and teased in the playground, but Ethel never retaliated, she never spoke harshly back to the other girls, and the games soon grew boring and Ethel was left alone. Ethel was left alone in her own world.
She knew that one day something would happen. Her mother had told her so it must be true. If she was a good girl and said her prayers, Jesus would answer them. Her prayers were concerned with one topic, that she, Ethel Nobody, a tall, gangly, mousy girl would one day have her day. Like the heroines in the picture books, the princess awaiting her Prince, the orphan adopted by a rich old kindly gentleman, the ugly duckling that grew to a beautiful swan. Yes, one day Ethel’s prayers would be answered. Her Mother had said so.
And so Ethel travelled through life in a dull grey way, keeping hope, like Pandora, contained in a box hidden deep inside her and far away from the hurt and pain of the world.
Having left school at 15 she went straight into employment, working as both housekeeper and part time governess to a large and balding mill owner and his spoilt daughter. Rather than turning into a Charlotte Bronte heroin, Ethel became a skivvy of the lowest order, scrubbing and cleaning, making and serving meals from dawn until dusk, pausing only to try and educate young Beatrice in the rudiments of the three R’s. Her reward was a meagre wage and harsh words.
Beatrice had been a petulant child, hissing and spitting when she did not get her own way. Ethel endured all through patient and gentle eyes for she was certain in the hope that one day salvation would be hers and that her life would change. One day!
There had been several jobs after the mill owner. She had tried her hand at being a governess again, but children did not seem to warm to her. It was during this period, on her afternoon off, when, reading a newly purchased copy of The Lady magazine Ethel came across the following advert: “Wanted: Female wanted for exciting opportunity - no qualifications required: Live in - permanent position: Solid, mature plain woman preferred with no family obligations. Some travel involved. Please enclose small photograph with details of height, weight and age. Photograph– non returnable”
Ethel was drawn to the advert. At 55 she was definitely mature, and most definitely plain. The only daunting thing about the advert had been the photograph. Ethel had a few pictures of herself as a child, creased and sepia toned in the back of a drawer somewhere. She just hadn’t needed a photograph of herself, why would she? If she had been a great beauty, even mildly attractive, it might have been pleasant having a small photograph of herself, a keepsake for the next generation, but that wasn’t the case, and anyway, there wouldn’t be a ‘next generation’. When Ethel died there would be no-one to carry on the blood line.
But not to be deterred, Ethel woke early the next morning, washed her thinning hair and dusted powder on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. She had pulled her hair back into a bun, making her face seem rather severe. The powder clumped in the lines around her eyes making her look older and ghoulish. Still it was an improvement she thought and set off on the brisk three mile walk into town to Mr Ambrose’ Photographic Studio. The process did not take long and soon she was in possession of a small head and shoulder image that had cost 1 shilling. Mr Ambrose had been worried that Ethel would not be pleased with the finished result as he had handed over the unflattering portrait, but Ethel had come to terms with her features and was quite happy that the picture did not show all of her wrinkles.
On returning home she quickly wrote back to the post box number quoted in the advertisement, slipping the photograph between the folded reply. This might be it; she thought excitedly, this could be my time!
Ethel prayed hard that night. Although she still had hope, the years of hardship meant that she sometimes found it hard to keep believing something exciting would happen in her life, something that would make people sit up and notice.
Even with all her hope and praying Ethel could not have expected such a timely response. By the next day post she had received a letter asking for an interview. She was to call the next day at the address mentioned at 2 pm sharp.
Ethel was all of a dither. The hope within her now flickered into a glowing certainty. This was it.
She could hardly sleep that night. Laying under her thin blankets her heart beat with childish excitement. The words of the advertisement whirled round and round in her mind....”exciting opportunity; some travel” Travel! Ethel had never traversed farther than 10 miles from her place of birth, not counting the 25 miles she had travelled to school. She might see the sea! She might even travel abroad. Ethel could hardly think of the possibilities opening up before her. Uttering an extra special heartfelt prayer that night she hoped that after all of these years she would not be disappointed.
The following day she rose early, even though the appointment was not until the afternoon. She dressed in her best skirt and blouse and put on her coat. She was rather ashamed of her coat, two of the buttons didn’t match and it was rather threadbare on one sleeve. Still it was all she had and the advert had stated a ‘plain’ woman was required. She looked at herself in the small crazed mirror she kept on a set of drawers and sighed, yes, she was certainly plain. But she was about to become a ‘somebody’ of that she was certain
The clock struck 12:45. Ethel had been ready and sat in her coat and hat for an hour. It would take her an hour to walk to the address. The day was fine and after the expense of the photograph, Ethel didn’t want the added cost of a tram ticket. Besides, she was so excited, she didn’t want to wait a second longer and the walk would calm her nerves. Grabbing her gloves and bag, with a new lightness in her feet she danced out of the doorway into the street beyond. Her feet didn’t touch the pavement; she was walking on air. Even the neighbours gave Ethel a second glance as she skipped down the drab grey street. The sun shone weakly through the November skies, the day was bitterly cold but Ethel hardly noticed, the thought of a new life was keeping her warm. Part of the journey took her through the great park, a magnificent legacy of a past king, once preserved for Royal shoots, but now the splendid oaks and limes served the general populous when needing to escape their dreary hollows.
Ethel kicked her away amongst the fallen leaves, delighting as a child as they scrunched under foot. Her heart thudded, a trapped bird escaping confinement. This was it, this was it.
She finally arrived at the street shown on the address. A quiet, neat street just off the main road, consisting of several modest two storey terraced houses with steps leading up to the front door. She counted down the row, 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, number 10 that was the place. A pleasant looking house, well cared for, she thought, a black door with a brass knocker and nets up on the window. Ethel smiled to herself; this could be her new home.
Her watch said five minutes to two and taking a deep breath she began to climb the steps of number 10. Pausing for a moment outside of the door, on the threshold of her new life a wave of mixed emotions flooded her mind; excitement and apprehension of all that lay beyond. She carefully lifted her hand to raise the knocker.
Inside number 10, Mr Taylor was in an upstairs room. He looked at himself in the mirror and adjusted his tie. Five to 2, nearly time for his appointment. He examined his face peering closely at the mirror through small round spectacles, his balding head reflecting the light from the window, his brow beaded slightly with sweat. He was very excited about his latest venture. His hands twitched with excitement, his stubby fingers drumming the long table in front of him. Everything was in place. Edward liked to keep a tight ship, everything neat and tidy.
He stopped to adjust a row of surgical knives, lining them up neatly, all newly sharpened and gleaming.
Looking through the net curtain briefly he caught sight of a woman across the way. Surely that must be her, Ethel. He hoped so. A fine specimen; so tall; the skeleton would be tremendous, just what Dr Tremayne was looking for to aid his latest European tour.
Now, he had better put the kettle on. A nice cup of tea was required.
Copyright M. M. Wake 2011
This story can be downloaded as a free e-book @ http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/21221/ethel-nobody-has-her-day