Dear Philippa,

I do rather like the notion of heading off on fantastic adventures. Perhaps I ought to commence gathering gear and checking passage to the Wilds of North America!

In the mean time, I must tell you of the Ramstickles. You see, Mr Ramstickle is a rather dominating sort of character; jovial at first glance, but not so pleasant under the surface. I gather that he likes keeping his sister under thumb. His lady is also one to be avoided. She has a sort of preachy air about her. Leah actually heard Mrs Ramstickle tearing a strip off Joan – that is Miss Ramstickle’s Christian name. Oh dear, I know it is nearly impossible to believe, but I almost feel sorry for the woman. She is clearly unhappy to be in the same house with her brother and his wife, who in return think the Stick is sludge dredged up from the Clyde.

The fact that Mrs Ramstickle feels Joan’s instruction inferior is everyday clear. Oh my, what an awkward turn of phrase, I fear that my mind and my pen are not keeping pace and I am trying ever so hard not to make a complete botch of this letter. I have already scratched up four pieces of paper addressing a letter home and another two trying to start this missive. You see, there was some terrible noise coming from below. I thought at first that one of the Matherson’s had dropped a table or such; my first leaf of paper as I jumped nearly out of my chair. I had thought I was quite alone this afternoon, which incidentally I had off; my room is looking much better for the time too! Anyway, as I started over there came another series of sounds, too much like a row of impressive proportions. I accidentally knocked over a bottle of ink on my way to investigate. Indeed, you may be correct in assessing that I am not suited to delicate apparatuses.

I was attempting to be very stealthy coming down the stair, but to no avail. I tripped just as I reached the landing, stubbing a toe and causing my own thunderous sounds. The noise caught the attention of those in the room. A short and very disagreeable man, with a thick common accent and greasy moustache pocked his head out the door and promptly shouted at me for causing such a racket. Of all the nerve, when clearly he was being much louder than me.

All the training I have had in manners and respect was forgotten. I scowled at the man, desperately trying to think of some cutting comment. All the time I could feel my face flushing red, not with embarrassment, but with anger. Not of course that anyone would know. After cursing me roundly for interrupting, loud man then had the audacity to accuse me of being a little sneak! I was quite enraged by this point. It is one thing to imply that my timing was poor, but to outright accuse a lady of sneaking like a common criminal! Well!

My words were neither brilliant nor well polished, but I did manage to express my displeasure at his choice of words, the tone in which they were spoken and the volume of voice he had used. Which I further pointed out, was the reason for my descending the stair. At this point I demanded to know what was happening, on threat of going to the landlady.

“None of your business Miss! Naught but a wee talk with my daughter,” he replied curtly and turned back into the room.

Of course there was nothing else to be done. He kept the volume down and I returned to my rooms puzzled. For I was quite certain that Frank had mentioned his parents were deceased. But I suppose I could have been wrong. Perhaps it was Mr McDonald or Mr Fergus. I shall try to subtly ask Julianna later. I wonder how one goes about subtly asking very personal and pertinent questions?

Oh yes, I had quite forgotten. With Trongate Place full of its owners and their regular servants, we girls have found ourselves with a couple of afternoons off a week. This will not last long for we are shortly to be placed with families for ‘practical training’. They call it thus so we need not earn a wage! I am not certain how well I will cope with my weans to be. I have not taken to Mrs Ramstickle’s own three monstrous children. Time will tell, I suppose.

Yours ever affectionately,

Cousin Elizabette

Dear Elizabette,

I am afraid that this will not be a long epistle as I am writing after curfew. As this activity is Strictly Prohibited I shall be forced to leave off in a hurry if I hear Matron coming. So, consider yourself warned.

I do hope that you survived Mr. Ramstickle and all has returned to normal again in that house. How unfortunate that you should have to listen to such a silly woman as Miss Ramstickle sounds. I think you ought to find something else to occupy your time. If your mother is so insistent upon your learning something useful, perhaps you could suggest apprenticing to an Explorer? There is plenty to do in the New World I am sure and I doubt that men in such climes require women of their acquaintance to be proficient in three languages. However, upon reflection, perhaps men in such climes are not at all suitable company for a young lady of quality. Oh! I have hit on the perfect scheme! You must disguise yourself as a boy and go to sea, have complicated and hair raising adventures involving rats and some kind of tangled love triangle (which somehow works itself out), be kidnapped, meet savages (do you think Aubrey counts?), find New Lands and return home triumphant and established. It is perhaps a trifle fantastical, but I feel that even adventures involving rats would be an improvement upon persons responding to such an inelegant name as Ramstickle must be considered.

Or you might take up astronomy and spend your time Gazing at the Stars – though that seems rather less exciting than my first suggestion and I imagine you would not like it quite so well. And I suspect that sciences like astronomy require various delicate apparati and that would not be the thing for you - keeping the Punch Bowl Incident in mind.

A Novelist would be just the thing! You could live in a cottage in a positively Arcadian situation with a sublime prospect (to inspire you) and a large intellectual writing table under the window looking over it. You could write shocking tales under an assumed name and take the Polite World by storm! All would speak of your books! They would decorate every drawing room table! Mystery would surround the famous authoress. All the best Ton would boast of knowing her, though none could be sure who she was! To be sure, I am not at all convinced that this would suit either since you neither familiar with nor very interested in polite society as a rule. And I imagine they would not be at all interested in your shocking novels unless these tales were about them. And it is far more likely that your shocking novels would be about fossils. Perhaps you could be a famous antiquary? I think you would do well gadding all over in search of new discoveries-

Dash it – Matron is coming!

Tuesday morning:
I was going to add to this, but seeing as it reached a perfectly respectable length, and I have nothing further to add, I shall send it as it is. I shall hope to hear from you soon.

Your affectionate cousin,
Pippa

My Own Philippa

My Own Philippa

Saturday, December 09, 2006

I feel I ought to serve you the same turn and make you wait an age for a letter, but instead I shall feel morally superior and reply promptly!

Though, I do fear this will turn out to be the most disorganized missive to date. You see, I had started to write you on three separate occasions, but instead have managed to loose all three sheets of paper. My room is a very sad state at present, worse then ever before.

Miss Ramstickle has been driving us poor girls rather hard of late. You see, the house that she occupies is really her bothers. He is some sort of wealthy merchant, tobacco I suspect. In short he is due home soon and so all must be made ready. Of course, with the exacting standards of Miss Ramstickle, nothing is perfect and must be done over and over again. It is most fatiguing.

Though, I must say that Little Lucy is quite the worst off. She is a simple, stupid girl that actually wants to please The Stick! The little goose works ever so hard, running nearly mad with worry that nothing will be ready. This is utter nonsense, as the place looks remarkably well.

The one fortunate circumstance is the short reprieve we are to enjoy from The Stick’s incessant demands. As her bother is expected tomorrow, we are to have the next two days off! If I wasn’t quite so tired, I would be over come with enthusiasm. For now I am simply looking forward to some rest.

I must say, I am quite envious after your adventures at University. Oh, why I couldn’t I be there enjoying a lovely romp! However, as to your particular situation, what can I possibly advise? It is not an area I am particularly well versed in. Though, the thought of it has cheered me immensely, I laugh just thinking of being is such a situation myself as it would be truly absurd. Still, I suppose one must try to be firm and full of resolve with Andrew. You could try completely repulsing him if you wish to cut his acquaintance completely.

Oh, dear this letter is certainly lacking! I shall try to improve tomorrow, when perhaps something has occurred.

The days certainly seem shorter here than they are at home at this time of year. Despite this deficiency of daylight hours, I was able to enjoy a rare dry and sunny day. I spent my time in town with Molly McGregor, another girl under Miss Ramstickle’s guidance.

Molly is from Glasgow and has a Glaswegian accent, even when she is speaking in her best polished tones. She has even managed to teach me a few new words as we enjoyed tea in the Willow Tea Rooms. My vocabulary now includes ‘weans’ for those whose charge I will soon have and ‘Lairds’ instead of Lords. There were others, but I can no longer remember.

We had a charming time abusing The Stick and making elaborate plans for running away. One plan had us moving to Edinburgh and becoming famous on the stage. Though, as neither of us is accomplished in music or drama, besides being a complete scandal, that plan had to be discarded. Similarly any prospect of contracting a quick and eligible match was forgotten as neither of us is the position to meet such a person. Also, my idea of an eligible parti is slightly different than Molly’s.

My evening has also been quite relaxing, though I am sure that putting my room to rights would have been the better employment of my energies, I simply could not be bothered. In stead, it is still a shambles with not but a wee path from my door to my desk to my rumpled bed. Tomorrow, perhaps I will be productive. Until that point,

I send you my very best.

Yours in recovering spirits (yeah for days off!)

Bitsy

Friday, December 08, 2006

My Dear Elizabette,

I am sorry that this missive has taken so long to write; a great deal has happened since I last wrote and I do not think that I can recount it all. However, I shall do my best. I dare say you have been dying to know, and yes, I did climb into All Souls and see the Boy Bishop elected. But first more conventional adventures – I have been to London!

It was not more exciting than usual. Papa called me down for Great Aunt Honora’s 90th birthday on the grounds that any old woman, no matter how crotchety, who reached her ninetieth year deserved to have anyone she wished attend to her. Mama kindly requested I appear as Great Aunt is so fond of me. Aunt wrote to inform me that I was to come at once and not to skip out since Honora asked for me particularly, and Aubrey wrote to inform me that under no circumstances was I to leave him to face ‘that irritable old rattlepate’ on his own. I should quite like to see Aubrey deal with Great Aunt’s spasms and fidgets but I fear it would be cruel for both of them. In any case, with my dear parents and fond brother so earnestly (and forcefully) requesting my presence, I posted down to Ashworth House on Monday. Though why I should like to spend several days being informed that I am the very image of Great Aunt Honora in her youth by everyone (except Great Aunt who is a sensible woman) several times over I cannot think. Obviously my dear family could not think either and resorted to imperatives.

In the event it was not as tedious as I had anticipated. On Monday evening G.A. Nora had a small party at Ashworth of perhaps 85 persons. Nora told me she had invited 90 to mark her year, but that several Un-named Reprobates had not after all come, putting out her numbers. Other than this rather minor set back, the evening was quite pleasant. There was dancing in the ballroom, cards in the library, and a v. fine spread in the dining room. The syllabubs were my favourite. I was invited to stand up with several personable young men, but none of note. They were all of them v. poor dancers and my poor toes were trod on so often I was forced to claim fatigue later in the evening to save them further trampling. My slippers are quite ruined and I shall have to get new ones. The Misses Finch, Miss Heythrope, and Miss Darmoth were all in attendance and wished to be remembered to you. Edwd Bridges was there also and begs me add his entreaties to my own in wishing your speedy return to us.

Tuesday was a rather lazy day. I did not rise until close on ten and then spent and extremely relaxing afternoon in the library finishing some work Dr. Montrose set me a fortnight ago. In the evening Aubrey, Mr. Frank Worthing, the elder Miss Finch and I made up a party and went to the opera. It was quite nice, though I felt Russian an unlovely language for singing in and would have preferred French. Wednesday I convinced Aubrey to take me to the British Library and so spent a lovely afternoon wandering about. Aubrey was quite interested in the Egyptian Rooms though he tried hard not to show it. It is fortunate that I like Great Aunt Honora since Mother and Papa travelled back to Lynd early Wednesday morning with Aubrey and left me with her. We spent some convivial hours stitching and talking on various topics. G.A. Nora is v. much more interesting and intelligent than others (Aubrey) allow for. I returned to Lennox on Thursday afternoon.

On Tuesday morning Ellen did indeed show me how to climb into All Souls and I was able to watch them elect the Boy Bishop. They boys seem to me to have a great deal more fun at All Souls than we have at Lennox. I suspect they are given a great deal more license not being such delicate creatures as we Lennox girls. Delicate Ellen and Delicate Me managed to get over the gate and onto the Refectory roof in All Souls and so had a perfect hiding place, and view for the election. It was a messy affair involving soap, porridge, water and rather lewd Latin versifying. The rules of what seemed like an grotesque parody of an oration contest were extremely unclear to me, and I suspect to many of the participants, though this in no way diminished their enthusiasm for the game. In the end, a boisterous fellow called James was elected. He is extremely gallant when he wants to be, extremely rude without thinking, extremely irritating generally, but on the whole rather fun, and I expect the month to be more full of mayhem than usual with James at the helm.

Well, since Sarah married Mr. Willm Paxton this summer she hasn’t changed much. She has grown, if possibly slightly more smug (and stouter), and informs me regularly (when I am at Lynd) that married life is Perfect Bliss and it is a Shame that I shall never know it. Which I think is cheek. But there, she was never a nice girl, and was always rather stupid.

Andrew Rathern is becoming particular in his attentions somewhat to my dismay. Advise me, Miss Langdon: what shall I do? I have become friends with Mariah, and through her, have recently made the acquaintance of two charming young men, Nicholas Hales and Thomas Seyton and I do like them. They are most entertaining.

I have received a letter from Margaret Childe! She writes that she is doing v. well and enjoys Japan immensely. She is currently travelling about and promises to bring me a pretty pair of chopsticks from each city she stops in. Lord and Lady Childe enjoy excellent health and do not think to return soon. Mags suspects they will be recalled at the end of the year however. Do you think it would be exciting to have diplomat parents? I am torn between thinking it lovely, and exhausting. Today, being rather tired I think it exhausting. Mags thrives though and will have marvellous tales to tell when she reaches G.A. Honora’s age!

I hope to hear from you soon, and will not accept my own tardiness as excuse for yours!

With best love, &c., I am affectionately yours,
Phillipa

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Dear Pippa

The Scottish winter rains have ceased for the time being and today I can actually see sunshine! It is a novel experience and one I took great advantage of this morning. We have the day off from the delightful Miss Ramstickle, so I have met with several of the other girls in town this morning.

We were a large party of seven girls. Though, one of our numbers will not be returning to Miss Ramstickle’s on the morrow. Lynn has acquired a post as governess to some family in Ayrshire. I am naturally delighted for her, for she really is a sweet, soft spoken girl of excellent breeding. Today we celebrated her escape into freedom. Isn’t odd to imagine that escape comes in the form of work for another family?

That is the fourth girl to leave now. I am not sure where the first two went. I just know that sometime last week I was idly counting our numbers and realized with a shock that there were only 18. I am not even sure the names of those two; neither can I picture what they looked like. The other to leave, Gladys, was a loud, boorish lass of no breeding. I was not sorry to see her go. The rumours are quite certain it was no honourable employment that she has sought.

We are now down to 16 and I imagine that it will not be much longer before several others leave. However, I shall not be one to give up so easily. I know this sound positively foolish after my last letter. But you see I had a lengthy and dull note from Julia. Whose only saving grace was the fact that she forced Margaret to write a couple of lines. My sweat baby sister let slip that the family has bet that I shan’t be able to last more than a month. Naturally I am roused to prove them wrong.

In the mean time I must tell you of our dancing lesson. Miss Ramstickle actually invited a dancing master to Trongate Place two days past. He was an energetic little man with bright ginger hair. He also had the most delightful Irish accent! With some of the most amusing phrases imaginable. Mr McCory is generally a silent man, saying very few words even when teaching. However, being ever so passionate about his trade, he can become quite vocal when things are not going properly. You know, my dear, that grace and elegance have never been two of my virtues. I must confess that I was particularly awkward that day to such an entertaining end. I managed to step on his toes no few than seven times at which point he would let out lengthy and colourful tirades to the entire room. It was very hilarious!

By the by, whatever did happen to Sarah Paxton? I haven’t thought of her for an age.

My dear I must go and tidy my room now, so that I may appear promptly for a change at Mrs Murphy’s table. I am quite determined not to be late for I don’t want to ruin my delightful day off with another scolding.

Yours in affection

Elizabette

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Dearest Elizabette

You are being quite lazy I see! Never did I think to hear you lament the loss of so grim an individual as Nancy Taft. But really, it is quite ridiculous to imagine her coming was a possibility since I doubt your mother could cope without her. And I must say, that your describing dried out Taft as a ‘sweet goose of a girl’ put me in whoops. That lemon of a woman must be 50 if a day. What a quiz you are.

We are not allowed our own abigails at Lennox, and must make due sharing the College girls. This is supposed to effect a superior level of understanding as we will not devote ourselves to the intricacies of our toilette. However, I feel that entirely the opposite is achieved since we must each now spend extra time specifying our preferences. How they must hate us in the Lodge! I am fortunate, for I have Ellen (not the same girl who moved my things - she had been moved to Harkness), who also does for Eustacia, and is a dear. We get deal together famously (Ellen and I, Stacy and I do not get on) and she has promised to show me how to climb into the grounds of All Souls to see the Boy Bishop elected on December 6th.

I can sympathise with your desire for a familiar face. I have met only a few girls here and know none well. Eustacia I encounter the most frequently and I cannot like her. We met at High Table and now I cannot be rid of her.

Table is at half seven in Lauder's Hall. There are three long tables and the Head. During the week we are allowed to sit as we please, which is an excellent arrangement. However, on Saturday and Sunday we have Set Sups, which means that we must sit where we are told. Sets are posted on Friday afternoons in the entrance hall. I was down for High Table on Sunday as was Eustacia in what I now perceive to be a misguided but well intended attempt on the part of the Masters to help the new girl settle in by introducing her to her colleagues. Only, sadly for me, they chose Eustacia.

There is nothing particularly objectionable about Stacy. She neither pretty nor ill-favoured. She is slightly taller than I, and has quite a sweet, pert little nose. Unfortunately, it is only pert thing about her. She is kind, though inclined to hang-on. But the worst of her is that she enjoys a peculiar combination of toadeating and moralising. One is never sure if one is going to be gently reprimanded on one’s lack of appropriate decorum, or congratulated on possession of an admirable daring. Most unnerving.

There are three girls on this corridor – Eustacia has the set of rooms nearest the main stairs and can always hear me coming try as I might to be quiet. If they were intent on choosing a companion for me, I do wish they had chosen the other girl on the hall, Mariah Inglis. I do not know her well – she is v. studious girl and does not go out often, but she seems pleasant. And I know she is clever for I have heard her talking with her particular friends. More importantly, she is not Eustacia! I look forward to enlarging my circle of acquaintance.

Bitsy you are funny today! As though Aunt Celia would ever allow you to attend endless parties and balls! She will cite the Punch Bowl Incident as the reason for keeping you in, until you are dead (or married). It is quite tragic really since it meant that I was forced to endure the Hon. Sarah Paxton without you. I must entreat you not to make a habit of breaking the dinnerware of unsuspecting hosts. They cannot be expected to know that you cannot perform a Gavotte without a degree of attrition.

Your day does indeed sound quite exhausting. I don’t know how you can endure it for it sounds ever so demeaning. I must imagine that you are Building Character for it does not seem to have much otherwise to recommend it. Do you amaze and astound your instructors with your remarkable knowledge of science? How dreadful that your mind is made to think of embroidery, and how archaic! I do not think that Miss Ramstickles can properly comprehend that you have already had a ladies education. Well, almost a ladies education since I know you did not do Music, and I dare say Science is rather out of the ordinary. Perhaps you could run away to your Great Aunt?

I see that I have rattled on quite enough for today. I do hope that your situation improves, dearest.

Believe me at all times with sincerity, your faithful and affectionate cousin,
Pippa

Sunday, November 19, 2006

My dear Philippa

What a state of things! For all that I complained about Nancy and insisted that having a maid around at all times was most tiresome I do humbly apologize. I now miss that sweet goose of a girl most sincerely. Not only would it be nice to have a familiar face around the gloom of my small room. But the room itself is beginning to look like a small disaster. I know I am well capable of tidying things, but it is such tedious work and ever so time consuming and constant that I simply can’t be bothered.

Further the schedule I am to keep, leaves me quite fagged to death. Endless parties and balls are nothing to Miss Ramstickles constant criticisms and orders.

I suppose to have this make perfect sense I really must begin with my first day at Trongate Place.

The large Georgian terrace home is in the fashionable area to the west of my own small abode. It is some forty minute rapid walk, or over an hour at a more decorous pace. Either I arrive hot and dishevelled or late it seems. A disastrous beginning for the first task every morning is an inspection of one’s appearance. All twenty girls are to arrive by 7:30 every morning, and wait neatly lined up in the front hall. It is a rather lowering experience and one feels just like a naughty school child about to be punished. Miss Ramstickles exacting standards are never met, so the first twenty minutes or so is spent being scolded. Dress are never clean enough, straight enough, there is a wrinkle here or too many ribbons, ‘the garment must be demure and of great propriety’. We are not to appear better than our employers and above all we are Not to draw attention to our own physical appearance. We should endeavour to blend into the back ground. We are walls and panelling, pieces of furniture to be passed by without a second glance.

After this charming start to our morning, we begin the drilling of chore-work. Every well turned out Governess it seems must also be able to handle all the tasks of every other servant in the household. Apparently Governess’s are supposed to be miracle workers taking care of everything and anything. To aid us in understanding all the different tasks in a fashionable establishment, we are put to work throughout the house.

Lunch serves as another opportunity to criticise us. Split into two groups, the first are responsible for serving and naturally they can do nothing right. The second are to eat the luncheon. However, as no one seems able to carry out this task elegantly, stinging commands are sent flying around the table to those sitting stick straight in their seats. I confess it is actually better to serve the meal than to eat under Miss Ramstickles eye. Those that serve are required to eat in the kitchen and there we have twenty glorious minutes of peace.

Well needed time too, for the afternoon is filled with a lengthy number of tasks. These revolve around the various things we are to teach our charges. Again Miss Ramstickle feels that it is necessary to instruct us first, so that we are all accomplished in the various arts a proper Governess ought to know. Drawing, painting, embroidery, sewing, the piano and harp, singing, French and German and Italian, dancing and I am certain I have forgotten something. Although in all fairness, she does not expect any of to become truly accomplished in any of the above arts, for these of course are accomplishments of Ladies. Still we must try to have some understanding of such things. With ready criticisms and sarcastic comments at hand, there is no fear that any young lady present will ever meet Miss Ramstickles exacting standards. I have giving up trying to do anything better than pathetic.

It is well into the evening when we are finally sent on our way. My stomach is most cantankerous by this point. Unfortunately, I inevitably arrive after Mrs Murphy has served dinner. Thus I am faced with another lecture on timeliness, courtesy and the trials of landladies. Still, at least Mrs Murphy allows me to eat in peace after she has finished her tirade.

For this reason, I have barely seen the other borders at all. As for the other girls with whom I am being trained, I will describe them later. I fear I am by far too exhausted to more than strip off today’s clothing and sleep.

Yours in exhaustion

Elizabette

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Dearest Elizabette,

Patience! I will have nothing to say if I write too often. I am not in the least repentant for I have been shockingly busy.

My room is very pleasant. I have a lovely posted bed which I admire greatly: it is ever so gothic. I also have a hideous wardrobe of dubious provenance, and a matching armchair. I can only imagine they were the height of fashion sometime, but now they seem terribly Baroque. I strongly suspect that Grandmama has something quite like them in the Rose Room, so now you can imagine. I also have a sweet little writing desk, a dressing table and a blue china washstand. I particularly like blue china. There is a window seat built into the bow, and I have already made use of this convenient nook to hide when Eustacia comes to call on me - more about her later. My window looks out over the quad toward the gate, which means that I have an excellent view of those reprobates who climb the gate to get in after curfew when the porter has gone for a short, ah, tipple. I think this an excellent orientation, and I foresee it shall be quite useful.

I have tutorial on Wednesday morning with a most alarming individual, Dr. Montrose. He is very tall, very thin, and very loud. He has very long arms, very long legs and a very untidy office! The effect of these things is to make one feel that all the space in the little room is taken up by his voice or his limbs, leaving very little room indeed for a mere student. I feel I shall have to grow a larger personality to combat this effect. He is accounted to be extremely clever and I am told I am fortunate to have him as my tutor. I found him abrupt but not unkind and have hopes that we shall deal well together. He set me reading on the Heraldic Practices of the 17th century Lion Royal Lord Herald of Albany, with an essay for next week. So you see, I am learning about Scotland! And, since I know nothing about Scottish history, I have been quite taken up with work.

I have not yet made many acquaintances, but I hope to do so soon. I have not yet been here a week and already have much to do. I dare say this (uncharacteristic) devotion to my studies shall soon wear away, and I will be able to devote more time to rather more entertaining activities. And provide more entertaining correspondence.

Yours ever,
Philippa