Tag: books

The Song Of Cicada Wings

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

Dealing with the bullies

In due course my career will pick up again and J. C. will be knocking on our door. Young George Musgrove seems to be doing well for himself and as you know Nell Stewart is here now in one of his shows.

Speaking of Nell, I must speak to you, on a matter concerning this lovely one here. Mathilde confided, kissing Madoline on the cheek.

Mathilde made sure her husband was seated comfortably on the sofa with a glass of sherry and some savoury treats, brought out from the pantry, including various cheeses, cold meats, jellies, relishes and little home made mince pies. She then proceeded to tell him of all that had happened in his absence and the terrible illness which had again tried to take Madoline. An illness that they could no longer pretend did not exist.

It was decided that Madoline should be sent o Melbourne hospital for checks. She would spend two weeks there under observation. While these tests took place to see if there was anything that could be done for her, poor Madoline would be induced with things she was allergic toin order to monitor responses.

Everything from Friars Balsam for the fevers, to Tincture Of Myrrh, was administered intravenously to stop the spasms. Finally they resorted to potassium bromide which had an immediate effect. The child was pronounced cured. All could go on as planned in the Richardson household. Still, knowing the stigma that others would attribute to his youngest daughter, William Albert resolved to keep her out of the public eye as much as possible. To be sure it was absolutely certain that she was out of danger. It was not until that day four years later when out picking, or stealing, cherries with Rudolpho, that she succumbed again to an epileptic fit. By that time the rest of the family had resolved to keep the incident a secret from the head of the family. They did not want the poor child being sent back to the hospital yet again for more tests. The bright eyed energetic four year old had, that first time, returned from the hospital refusing to speak to anyone and completely lacking in energy. It was not until the first day of the new school term for Rudolpho and Millicent that Maddie, whom Edith had taken along in the pram, spoke again.

I go to school too? Maddie asked.

Maybe darling when you are older, Edith answered, fearing that her baby sister may never be allowed to attend school.

Arriving home, Madoline was all excitement again, at the prospect of going to school and followed her mother around the house eagerly awaiting answers to her questions.

When I go to school mummy?

When you are old enough, Mathilde replied, as she dusted the figurines on either side of the mantelpiece.

How old?

Oh about six or seven I should think. Now go and wash your hands before lunch. Did you take your medicine today?

Yes mummy.
Good girl! Now, off you go.

Mathilde hoped and prayed with all her heart that the day would come when she really could send Madoline to school. Why shouldn’t her daughter have the same chances in life? Why should she be kept out of the public eye? It seemed to Mathilde that this kind of intolerance toward her daughter had no rhyme or reason. People were always too ready to ostracise those who were different and it all started in the playground.

That afternoon, Charles, on his way home, had lost his heart.

He had seen her from the window but had averted his eyes as she boarded the train. He did not want to appear fresh. The last time he had been caught staring at a girl his mother had slapped him with her fan. The humiliation in front of his friends had been complete. He had been way too obvious about it, Mathilde had told him, back then. Still Charles was no coward. With his mother nowhere in sight he could stare as long as he wanted. He decided that the benefits far outweighed the risks. His eyes followed her as she moved down the carriage in search of a seat. She was smarty dressed in a lovely cream fluted skirt and a tightly fitted silken blouse which caressed her figure.Her chestnut hair was swept up under a wide brimmed hat. As she found her seat Charles was ready to make his move and board the train too when there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned half expecting to see the ticket officer. The train closed its doors and moved off the platform. Millicent stood in front of him. The look on her face was strained.

Come quick Charlie! There’s a fight at school. It’s Rudolpho. They’re hurting him!

Reluctantly Charlie pulled himself away. The image of the incredibly stylish creature he had just seen, still disappearing into the distance, under a giant puff of steam.

He followed Millicent to the school gates where there was indeed a fight brewing. The dust was flying as fists were pumping. The voices of the schoolboy rabble were egging their friends on to victory. There in the midst of all the commotion was Rudolpho on the ground with a boy standing over him ready to lay a punch.

So what’s happening Alfonso? You been picking fights again? He said as he walked over to his brother and helped him up whilst at the same time holding back the aggressor with one arm outstretched. As soon as Rudolpho was on his feet Charles had lifted the other boy by the front of his shirt and had turned him round to face him.

What’s all this then eh? Charles asked.

The boy, on seeing Charlies uniform through the dust, was shaking. The others were beginning to file out of the school yard.

Charles looked the boy up and down like he was one of Rudolpho’s worms. Looks like its just you and me. Wanna punch me too? C’mon lets see how good y’are. No?

He turned the boy around and seeing his friends waiting, biffed him one, just for good measure Then slapped him on the rump in clear view. The ogling throng sniggered accordingly. With that he grabbed his brothers hand, winked at his sister, and off they went toward home. Millicent was in complete awe of Charles and grinned back at him as they opened the squeaky gate. Mathilde opened the door to find the dusty threesome and shook her head, dreading the amount of washing she would have to do.

The Song Of Cicada Wings

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

Edith reflects on Eastbourne England

Eastbourne England and Dunedin New Zealand were similar in climate, in natural beauty and in the penchant for topiary. New Zealanders tried so hard to be English in every way. Australians, on the other hand, were not as good at mimicking English ways as their cousins across the ditch. The dry, hot climate was hardly conducive to tea and scones in the garden. Except of course in Melbourne. Perhaps that was why Melbourne was so revered abroad where other cities, equally as refined, didn’t rate a sideways glance. Edith had married Herbert despite his mother’s constant interference. She had tried everything she could to adjust to Dunedin and to win that woman’s favour. Even attended Presbyterian church services. But even though Mrs Hampton had never really accepted her as family, Edith had still hoped she could change.

This return to Australia would be very different to the last. At least Edith knew what lay ahead. On the last voyage home from England she had been just sixteen and very naive. On that voyage she had not been alone. The whole family had been on board including Rudolpho who was actually born in England. The only home he had known was Eastbourne. The English seaside so calm in contrast to the wilds of Australia.

The family had stayed in Eastbourne for five years. All had gone so well for the first three years but in the fourth, Vincent’s voice broke, which meant no more choir. His debut in the choir at The Royal Albert had gone well but The Royal Choral Society was not knocking on the door asking him to join. School had been a haven for him though as he was fairly popular and he wasn’t the only one whose voice had broken. The problem was that William Albert could no longer afford to keep the boys there. Rent had gone up on the house in Carew Road, voice coaching classes had finished and, because he could not find finance for his opera, William Albert could not present it.

Whilst in Eastbourne there had been a second recession and their mother was having great trouble balancing the accounts. They would have to move. Probably into a flat farther away from the sea. The girls too would have to change schools. To make matters even more difficult, Mathilde was again expecting a child. With Millicent now three and her eldest daughters fast approaching their coming of age she really had her hands full. She hoped and prayed for a miracle. A miracle came. Albert secured a position as Music Conductor for The Carl Rosa Opera Company performance of ‘Les Huguenots,’ at The Royal Alexandra Theatre Liverpool. This meant that for the season they were safe and the baby could be born in the house that they had all come to love.

Edith shed a tear for her mother as she remembered back to the time preceding Rudolpho’s birth. The family Fortunes had changed and everyone knew it. She remembered their father being away for months while Mathilde tried to stick to the household routines, sort the family budget, look after Millicent and keep up appearances as her belly grew and grew. Edith, of course had been as helpful as possible and Florence too, in her own way. Monday was market day. Tuesday was washing. Wednesday was the day for cleaning the house, which was referred to as spit and polish day. Thursday was sewing day. Friday was set aside for bills, banking and reconciliation of receipts and dockets. Saturday was a full body wash for all in the bath in preparation for Sunday mass. The children ceased to complain about being obligated to attend mass for their mothers sake. The boys were always on hand when needed. Vincent and Charles would do most of the heavy lifting. Groceries, buckets full of water for the sink and for the bath as well as moving furniture around so that their mother and sisters could clean. Harold was a wiz with the finances and really helped with the budgeting even though he was only ten and little Millicent loved to help with the spit and polish routine. It was often a bone of contention on Sunday mornings though as that was when the steam train, The Brighton Belle, would arrive at Eastbourne Station, sometimes, carrying theatre troupes that travelled to Eastbourne from all over England.

Mathilde would occasionally attend too with calling cards advertising piano lessons for herself and voice coaching on her husband’s behalf. The excitement at meeting stars of the London Theatre was more than special. It was positively exhillerating!

It was very hard for Mathilde in the last three months of her pregnancy as she was frowned upon for showing up anywhere at all in her condition. Particularly at the bank. She could hardly send Harold, and Vincent, who beside being only fourteen, was just like his father. No idea about finances. The girls at sixteen and seventeen could be trusted but she doubted the bank would deal fairly with them. So somehow she dealt with the bank alone, making sure everything was above board and kept records of absolutely every transaction.

As she came closer to term Edith and Florence were removed from school. One day, as the girls were returning from Carlisle Road with bags full of market produce, they came across the two household guards who had rescued them that day on the cliffs. Delighted to see the girls they asked about the family. When Edith told them of the difficulties the family were going through, they offered very politely, to help. Exactly three months later, in the month of March 1886, the two smartly dressed Household Cavalry Lifeguards were sent for, to escort Mathilde Richardson to hospital for all to see. Just like royalty. Within eight hours of being admitted, Mathilde had given birth to her fourth son.

William Albert arrived at the hospital two days later and was overjoyed at being the proud father of yet another boy.

We’ll name him Rudolpho … Rudolpho Alfonso. He declared as he took the baby into his arms.

Why Rudolpho dear?
After the poet in, ‘La Boheme.’ We won’t spell it the Italian way. That way he’ll fit in better.

The children filed in one after the other and the eldest took turns at holding the newborn. When informed by their father of the name that had been chosen for their baby brother they were very surprised.

Rudolpho Alfonso? Vincent remarked, smirking. You cannot be serious father?

It’s a strange choice father. Added Edith.

Well, I think it’s a lovely name. Florence cooed. It’s just different. I think he will be different.

It’s embarrassing to have a brother named Rudolpho Alfonso, father! Vincent protested. It’s hard enough at school already!

Now son! It is a fine name. Just like yours is a fine name. If one wears one’s name with dignity one is always respected. Remember that Vincent.

Not here in Eastbourne it’s not.
Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore. Smiled his father knowingly. I have news.

The Past Tense Of Youth

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

The Charade

A line of carriages arrived bearing the wives of the Sultan. We all ran to the window to see them. It seemed as if all of Topkapi was moving to Yildiz palace that night. As they entered the Great Hall Rana joined them. When the guards had returned almost two hours later they were dismayed to find Rana amongst us. Rana explained in her sultry voic,e which seemed to drive them mad with desire, that she had in fact been feeling out of sorts and had merely retired to her chamber for a rest.

The guards had been constrained because the private chambers of the Sultan’s consorts were off limits to any man other than the Sultan. None would dare tell that they had not found her and when ‘Hamdi Bey’ returned he was informed that Rana had actually fainted backstage and Jamal had taken her to her room. Gurol, who was now once again an officer, had joined the military guards in quarters directly opposite the harem pavilion. He had easily found his way to Rana’s boudoir, managing to sneak through the gardens hiding behind the tall poplar trees. No -one saw him climb through the window and into her bed. The high walls surrounding Yildiz Palace may have been the reason for ‘Hamdi Bey’s’ preference for it as a place to entertain guests. Not only was it away from the prying eyes of his servants but its location would also limit the possibilities of a seaside attack. We did not yet know that there were plans to make this palace our new home.

Yildiz palace overlooked two other palaces down the hill and close to the waters edge. ‘Dolmobache and Ciragen palaces were much grander but maybe not as safe as Yildiz and, though the walls seemed to reach way up to the clouds, there were gaps in the stone work from which we could glimpse the sea. There was also a bridge which connected the palace with Ciragen but this was off limits to us.

Inside the walls there were manicured gardens weaved around pavilions.There were courtyards with pools, greenhouses and aviaries with rare birds such as the Hoopoe, the Blue Parrot, and the Hunkari, a frill pigeon trained for racing. These birds were greatly prized and sought after. I had once overheard a conversation between a buyer and vendor in the marketplace. The buyer described the bird he wanted thus…

“It must have an arched forehead with large, bright, prominent eyes. It’s breast must be broad and well rounded and its body firm and compact. Plumage must be well developed, smooth and even”.
It was sometime before I realised they were speaking of pigeons and not of women. These caged birds symbolised believers eager to be liberated from their mortal coils. Setting them free would earn them points in heaven.
Strange that these believers could not see the parallels between captured birds and captured women.

Copyright By Renee Dallow ( Author )

The Past Tense Of Youth

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

On Rana’s return I was in the process of preparing for bed. She had been gone at least three hours and appeared quite subdued. ” I am now an odalisque” she sighed and then simply turned on her heel and went to her room closing the door behind her. It was not a happy announcement but I did detect a power behind her voice. I was sure that ‘Hamdi Bey’ was smitten with her and hoped that he had reigned in his conquest with a degree of respect.

I sat on my bed , surrounding myself with cushions and pondered the events of the day. The following day would be a sojourn to a new palace and a visiting opera company no less. Perhaps Rana and I could convince members of the company to help us with an escape plan. All sorts of wild ideas were running through my mind. Where was Gurel? Would he find us? I tried to sleep but could not and knocked furtively on Rana’s door.

She came to the door and spoke to me in a whisper as she rubbed her eyes. She had been crying and I have to say the tears in her eyes made her even more beautiful. “Come” she said ” I need someone to confide in this night”. The young servant girl assigned to her entered from the adjoining room. The girl carried a golden tea pot on a tray with two glass tea cups which she set down on the gilded coffee table in front of the sofa. Rana bade me be seated next to her and poured for the both of us. ” Here’s to my victory” she smiled in a tone of cynical charm.

We sat for many hours into the night as I listened with intent fascination to the story.of her life thus far. I told her all I could of Emine’s life from the fragmented pieces I had obtained from others in the harem. Things that I could not have learned from her diary. Of Emine’s arrival at Topkapi after the long sea voyage from Albania. Of her initial fear of the women of the Harem and of the Sultan who ruled them. Of her terrible nightmares and screams in the night for her dead mother.

In telling Rana of Emine’s journey I lived every moment of it myself. Yet I still knew that it was not of my world. How would Rana have taken it if I had told her that I was not of her time ? She had told me that night of her love for Gurol and of their troth to be together for all eternity. When she spoke his name she was lit from within. I too was there.

She showed me the note he had given her just before her carriage had entered the gate. The note had been delivered by pigeon and dropped at her feet as she alighted. In it was a detailed plan of how he planned to find her inside Yildiz palace.

It was strange indeed to be reading this love note . Even stranger because the content was written in a language completely unfamiliar to me. The fact that I was also speaking another language had not fully dawned on me until that very moment. I was as worthy as she and with that realisation came the acknowledgement of my jealousy.

In this note was also a poem which Gurol had written in his perfect script with flowing hand and impassioned thought. Oh that it were written for me.

As the stars reveal their true ambition To light up the skies as one
They are but lost in transit
And their work can be undone Unlike my love whose light will shine Beyond the night and through the dawn Oh shine for me eternal
And wherever you are bound There I shall be
Forever yours.

A novel By Renee Dallow.

Check it out on Good Reads

Available on Amazon, Blurb and Abbeys.