POLLY THOMAS
Little Polly Thomas was beaten on her bareback with the cook’s large wooden spoon. If it had been a metal spoon, Polly would have been dead, and the cook’s sadistic pleasure at an end. Mrs Ellis beat the living daylights out of little Polly for the least misdemeanour. She was so afraid of the cook (Mrs Ellis) that she shook every time she was called. Her little hands trembled so much that she would spill the milk, or make a mess of cleaning the range, or slop the vegetables all over the floor; afraid even of wetting herself, her fear was so intense! Of course cook didn’t beat her below stairs where the other members of staff of the Mill owner and his wife lived, oh no, she would wait until the other staff were busy serving the master and mistress and then she would order Polly to go down to the coalbunker and dish out the beatings there. Little Polly would not utter a sound, her large black eyes, underlined with huge dark rings, would register every blow, her thin body would resound with the hollow thumps upon her puny little body. The cook’s eyes were evil little slits that jumped wide, showing the whites of her eyes at every blow: “Look at me!” she screamed, “Look at me, I’ll teach you not to drop everything (Thump!) I’ll teach you not to tremble (Thump!) I’ll teach you not to shake, you little bitch you lazy little bitch (Thump!) I’ll teach you not to wet yourself (Thump!) You can wear those wet clothes until you stink! (Thump!).” Mrs Ellis was getting out of breath, as she was grossly overweight. Three more blows on Polly’s hollow little body and she was done…for now! Like all bullies, like all abusers’ of children, she covered her tracks: ordering the little seven-year-old to put her dress back on so as to cover the welts and purplish bruises. “You tell ‘em you did fall down the coal steps. You HEAR me? If you tell anyone about this I’ll KILL you!” Polly nodded meekly. “She’s naturally clumsy,” Cook told the rest of the staff.
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Little Polly Thomas was taken to the big house on the hill to be taken on as scullery maid by her parents as they couldn’t afford to keep her anymore. Mrs Ellis was kindness itself and put the parents at their ease at once by making them a cup of tea or rather one of the kitchen maids made it at cook’s orders. “I think we can take her on (cook did the hiring and firing for scullery maids and kitchen maids, but the butler, Mr James, hired every body else from servants at table to footmen), I think we can train her up. £5 per year and full board and lodging AND clothing, and every Sunday afternoon off. You can visit her then.”
Her parents left her there and she promptly burst into tears. “It’ll be alright, love,” said her father lovingly. “We can come and visit you; wouldn’t that be nice?” said her mother quietly, keeping back the tears so as to cover her breaking heart, knowing full well that the most they could afford was three times a year. “Yes, now you go with Mrs Ellis now, like a good little girl.” Mrs Ellis held Polly’s hand and led the grieving parents to the back door of the large kitchen. Mrs Ellis held Polly’s hand rather too tight and Polly winced!
Polly was fed bread and dripping only: a slice for breakfast, a slice for lunch and a slice for supper. All she had to drink was water. She was always hungry, but was petrified to secrete any vegetables, or any other food, come to that, under the ever-watchful gaze of cook. Polly’s only friend was the elder scullery maid Daisy who was fifteen. Daisy’s heart went out to the little girl for cook beat her too, though not as much anymore, it appeared that only very young girls were beaten and when cook went for her afternoon nap Daisy would change Polly’s wet clothes, wash them and dry them in front of the ever hot range that was kept going night and day. Polly had another special friend that she told no one about, accept Daisy and her parents, this was an invisible friend that no one else could see except Polly. Victoria had bright, long, golden hair tied up with a light blue ribbon, deep blue eyes and a scattering of freckles over her small, upturned nose, she wore pretty bunched up dresses and little shiny boots and she always smelt of roses. In fact whenever Polly couldn’t see her she could always smell her presence. Victoria always cried when cook beat Polly and turned her back on the ghastly scene, but Polly somehow took strength in just smelling that she was always there and it was Polly who comforted Victoria when the beating was over. Victoria had always been Polly’s friend ever since Polly could remember and had grown up with her. Polly could never understand why her parents could never see her, after a while she didn’t even speak about her special friend. But she was always there. When Polly went to her cupboard to sleep, curled around like a kitten, Polly would speak with her. Cook was slightly hard of hearing so there was no danger in that.
There came a time when cook went too far and the little girl became ill, ill to the extent that even the other staff noticed. She became ever thinner and was always fainting. If the other staff had known that she was sleeping in a cupboard there would have been complaints to the Butler, Mr James. So cook moved her in with Daisy and for the first time – after six months of beatings – cook asked Daisy to fetch her in a bowl of chicken soup. Daisy had to spoon-feed her. Daisy too had been sworn to silence too under threat of death and if the doctor had been called he would have seen the welts and bruising on her poor back and shoulders. “She’s gone too far this time,” whispered Daisy to Polly, “Too far!” Polly was too weak to speak. But the smell of Victoria brought a smile to her face. “What are you smilin’ about, Polly; aint no use smilin’? I’ve got to do somethin’. Got to do somethin’!” Daisy thought awhile. “Your parents, I’ve got to get word to your parents. They’ll know what to do!” Polly, with all her strength sat up and whispered breathlessly: “No, no. They can’t afford to come. They’ve not been…to see me…all the while I’ve been here…because they can’t afford it…all that way from Manchester, besides…besides, my father couldn’t take the time off…off work.” Polly fell back onto the bed exhausted. Daisy left her muttering: “Somethin’ ‘as to be done, just ‘as to be done!” Victoria made herself visible. “All will be well, dear Polly, all will be well.” Polly smiled again, “Yes, all will be well, Victoria.”
Daisy basted the goose as cook had instructed then suddenly she had a plan. If she could pull it off, that is!
Cook came down from her afternoon nap and checked to see that all the vegetables were prepared and then she opened the vast oven door to check the huge goose that had been gently roasting away the best part of the morning and afternoon. The kitchen was always empty this time of day, except for Daisy who was usually pottering about making the gravy. As cook opened the large oven door and bent to see how the goose was cooking she was suddenly and with great force sent head first into the open oven, her face smashed up against the moist, oily, boiling bird. She screamed and tried to get her head out of the oven but appeared to be stuck! Daisy held the struggling, screaming Mrs Ellis against the bird for as long as she could, then when somebody came in she appeared to be helping the cook out of the oven, Mrs Ellis’s face and eyes fused to the roasted birds brown breast: raw flesh against cooked flesh! When the cooks face was ripped from the boiling bird she was near blind with pain, her hands had tried to force herself out of the oven by grasping and pushing the bird but they slipped as her skin melted and came away with the goose flesh. Her screams could be heard all over the house and when the doctor came Daisy said that the cook had slipped on spilt goose fat and that was that, nobody said that it was not so, not least the cook, who, blinded in one eye and scarred for life and confused was not in a position to say otherwise or the truth might escape; Daisy, after all, was just a quiet scullery maid who had done no violence to a living soul!
Polly Thomas died peacefully that night in Daisy’s arms and just for a second or so Daisy could see the golden haired Victoria that Polly had spoken of with so much affection and love. Then she and Polly, standing side by side, smiled a smile that she would remember for the rest of her days, vanished into the ethers and Daisy was left with that poor little wasted body to mourn and bury. But suddenly the room was filled with the perfume of roses and Daisy knew, without even having to prove, that Polly was safe at last! Her parents were called and told the news, also of Mrs Ellis the cook. Daisy prepared the body for burial herself, having had to layout one of the older members of staff, and she did her best to hide the scars that the cook had inflicted but only for the sake of Polly’s parents. The master and mistress of the house paid for the funeral, her mother and father taking her home where she belonged.
The nearly blind Mrs Ellis spent the rest of her days quite comfortably - the master having been kindly disposed toward her, her being quite good looking in her day - with a pension, her face quite hideous now, which she hid behind a veil, and walking with a white stick. The hands that held and wielded that OTHER stick in the shape of a wooden spoon, with such cruelty and pain, were now claw-like and deformed and she lived for a very, very long time!
