House Mother Normal Read online

  Also by B. S. Johnson

  FROM NEW DIRECTIONS

  Albert Angelo

  Christie Malry’s Own Double-Entry

  The Unfortunates

  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 nothin
g else all

  my life, who does she think she’s taking in?

  Good deed indeed, she must make something out

  of all this, though it’s not sweated labour by

  any manner of means, I will say that for her, it’s

  not arduous, and she can’t get much for these

  Christmas crackers they make, wonder who does

  the fillings, the mottoes, we used to enjoy

  crackers that Christmas before he went, there was

  an old-fashioned Christmas if you like, it snowed

  that year it did, very unusual for London to snow

  on Christmas Day, don’t remember any other years

  it happened, in fact, and how it changed the look

  of everything, people started acting differently,

  too, people you knew only to nod at suddenly

  joined in snowballing in the street outside as

  though you’d all been kids together, had grown up

  in the same street. And we had some money for

  a change, had a bird instead of a joint, a capon,

  the baby had some giblet gravy with roast potato

  mashed up in it, very nourishing for him it was.

  Knowing he was for the Front made him

  depressed, then suddenly he’d be so cheerful, such good

  company, he made it a wonderful Christmas for all of

  us, him and his brother, they did a sort of act for

  us, Jim got up as a woman, makeup and all, we ached

  from laughing, they were so comical, the pair of them,

  ached from eating too much, as well, I never – Me?

  Me and Charlie? Trusties, she talks to us

  as though we were doing bird, indeed, one of these

  days I’ll show her how trusty I am!

  What’s Charlie got in them bottles, then?

  Looks like gin, smells like spirits, too – she

  must be at it again, the crafty old chiseller!

  Still, what’s it got to do with me?

  Glad I haven’t got the job, anyway, never could

  stomach the smell of spirits, I told him that before

  we were married, stick to your pint, I said,

  don’t you come home here reeking to high heaven of

  spirits, I won’t have it in my home.

  Yes?

  Little bottles, what are they?

  Soak the labels off, I bet. Use the bowl from

  the sink, I’ll stand them in that, in water, would

  some soap help? Do you want me to keep the labels?

  My nails are broken, have been for years,

  but give the bottles a good old soak and they’ll come off.

  Shall I use a knife?

  Good, this is an

  easy job, I can get on with that, it helps to pass the

  time, I don’t mind, get the bowl, fill it with water.

  What’s in these little bottles? Chloro-benzo. . . .

  Can’t read it properly, whatever it is. No matter, none

  of my business anyway. Charlie, have you got a fag?

  Mean old sod. And

  I know he smokes. Like my Ronnie, always telling

  lies, I’d catch him with the fag in his hand

  and he’d put it behind his back and drop it and

  breathe out the smoke all over the kitchen and

  swear he wasn’t smoking at all.

  And he married a like one, his kind, oh I hated

  that creature, bad as my Ronnie was he didn’t

  deserve her, no, never. Lie, she would

  lie her way black and blue out of anything, you

  could catch her out any number of times and she

  would still deny it. I gave up in the end, you

  just couldn’t rely on anything she said, anything

  at all, anything even as simple as just meeting

  you for shopping, she’d lie about who she’d just

  seen and what she’d just bought and how much

  money she’d won on the bleeding dogs. I’d no time

  for her, it must be twenty years since I saw her,

  fifteen since I last saw my Ronnie, too. He came

  into the pub we had in Strutton Ground then, I

  was so surprised to see him walk in, he had a

  Guinness and no more than a dozen words to say to

  me, a dozen words, and most of them he could

  hardly get out, he was that ashamed, I think,

  ashamed of not going to see his old Mum for all

  that length of time, months it was, perhaps a year.

  Not like Laura’s son, twice a week he used to

  visit her regularly, once for a cup of coffee at

  lunchtime early in the week, and later – There,

  that’s enough soaking, let’s see if these little

  labels will come off now.

  No, tough little customers they are, it’s not

  waterproof paper, is it, can’t be?

  Perhaps it would help if I scratched them a bit,

  to let the water soak in better. A fork would

  do it.

  Yes, that’s easier, let’s try doing that

  to all of them.

  I wonder if

  Ronnie knows I’m here? Not that he’d want

  to visit me, no one gets any visitors here,

  anyway, but I’d like to see him just the once more

  before I pass over, just the once. He

  wouldn’t have to see me if he didn’t want to, no,

  as long as I could see him, out of a window,

  perhaps, going along the road, just the once.

  As long as she wasn’t

  with him, the barren sow, she could never give him

  any kids, and I know he always wanted kids, my

  Ronnie, he was ever so good with them, look how

  he used to go and play football with them until

  he was quite a grown man, used to run a team for

  them as well, he used to get me to wash the team

  shirts each week in the winter, it was a trial

  getting them dry, it was, she wouldn’t wash them,

  I doubt if she washed Ronnie’s own things properly,

  let alone the team’s, she was that lazy, Doris

  was her name, yes, Doris, I wouldn’t want to see

  her again, no, just my Ronnie, once.

  Does he think I’m dead? How could

  he know I’m here? Could I find him? How?

  Could ask House Mother. She’d laugh at the

  idea, brush it aside, take no notice, I’m

  afraid of her

  Not her!

  Now let’s see if they’ll come off Yes,

  nearly there, if I have a good scrape at this one

  then by the time it’s off the others will be even

  more soaked, all ready.

  What does she want with them?

  Yellowy sort of stuff inside, yellowy, runny.

  Nasty-looking stuff.

  In summer there everyone seemed to take life

  easily, so easily, it was as though there were

  no pain, no work either, everyone had time to

  just walk about, go swimming, sunbathing, get

  up boat races, and go dancing. They danced a

  new dance called the gavotte, or it was new to

  me, anyway, being a foreigner. And they danced

  in the streets, too, that was new, the streets

  lit by paper lanterns in their fashion. And the

  sun so hot at midday that the market-women

  put up their red umbrellas for shade, and the

  men went into these sort of cellar pubs that sold

  wine, I never went into one, could only see down

  into them that they were cool and shaded, and there

  was a lot of laughing and the tables had zinc

  tops and so did the bar, a long bar,
the bottles

  kept in holes, no labels, I was so thirsty I

  went to a café down on the promenade with the

  children, little Ronnie was all right but that Clarissa

  was a little bastard to me, she knew she could

  play me up with safety and she took advantage

  of it. I could have been so happy

  there, there was so much sun and the life was easy

  apart from Clarissa, and she was my job, to

  let her parents have some time free, free of her,

  that is, for she was a little bastard to them

  as well as to me. I wonder what she

  could have become, she was already an Hon., I

  think, Clarissa, and it was doing little Ronnie

  so much good, the sea air and three good meals a

  day, the food was good in that hotel, even for

  those in service, and it seemed as though it

  would go on for ever, the summer, the sun, and

  for the first time since the War I really felt

  that things were getting back to normal, though

  all the ones who could remember better than I

  could were saying that things would never be the

  same, never could be, after the War, which I could

  understand in the case of someone like myself,

  who’d lost their husband because of the War, but

  not those who’d not lost their nearest and dearest

  in it. And it was there I

  think I first got over Jim’s death, not got over

  it, exactly, but accepted my lot, that I was a

  young widow with a young kid, like lots of

  others, that this was what my life was, that

  this was what I was. In that seaside town in

  France, France where Jim had got Gassed, though

  not the same place, of course, and I think

  Clarissa’s father may have had something to do

  with it, it was the first time I had seen a

  man’s parts when he tried to get me down on

  my hotel bed, since Jim’s, that is, and I think

  that must have made me realise there were other

  men in the world, seems silly now, though at the

  time it was a frightening thing to happen,

  perhaps if he’d asked me, or gone about it in a

  different way, I’d have let him, though I knew

  it was wrong and I respected his wife, I might

  even have enjoyed it, it was two years since Jim

  had gone, but he was so rough and arrogant with

  it, he seemed to think because I was a servant he

  could order me about in anything, order me to do