Peppermint, Cloves and Lanolin

The harridan’s sister slept in a horsehair bed, the very same one she fell onto, sluiced out through her mother’s vaginal-cloacae, her tiny head coned and bloodied. Her mother’s grunts and angry protestations were heard far and wide, waking up the rector’s assistant, who promptly woke the rector who in turn shook awake the friar-cook, who was in a deep narcoleptic sleep, who called the constabulary to complain about the awful racket. She thought of working horsehair into the design of the jacket, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to make it subtle enough to accommodate the weave, in keeping with the overall integrity of the design, so sloughed it off as moronic and duplicitous. She did, however, use Popsicle sticks as collar stays, an idea that came to her in a dream, so she claimed. Remember, if you may, I am simply remembering all this for someone else, so I suppose these are really my memories, or things I have made up in lieu of memories, or memories of memories that I had even though clearly imprudent, laughable imprudence.

The midwife who attended the half-sister’s birth smoked Cameo’s and smelt of peppermint and cloves. She arrived in a hansom cab at exactly 12.27am, three minutes before the delivery, sleeveless and dressed in a midwifery smock and sandals. She never wore a blouse with sleeves as placental spoil and blood had a way of working themselves into fabric, and the midwife abhorred scrub-boards, lanolin and lye.