To all,

I am reading

Thomas Turner The Diary of a Village Shopkeeper:
1754-1765, published by the Folio Society, 1998

(Jane Austen's life dates are 1775-1817.) The village in question was East Hoathly, in Sussex. Like Woodforde's, this diary is a goldmine.  One small point that I have noticed is the use of Christian names that one would never suspect were in circulation, from reading English fiction of the time.  The Rev. Woodforde, for instance, has a sister called Sobieski, and a maid called Sukey, while my good shopkeeper has a brother called Moses, and an acquaintance also called Sukey.  Where have all the Marias and Elizabeths gone?  Another interesting thing: did you know that shopkeepers commonly acted as undertakers?  Makes one wonder about their storerooms!

This Diary of an Village Shopkeeper is absolutely fascinating.  This man had enough standing in his village to be elected churchwarden, and expended endless time and trouble compiling window taxes, and all sorts of things, but mostly it is striking how much of his valuable time was spent riding or walking the miles of his parish, endeavouring to make the fathers of bastard children support their offspring.  He often is sent to interview maidservants, on the suspicion that they might be pregnant, and, at less than a third of the way into the book, I have already read of three weddings forcibly executed (?) by the parish officials.  One servant girl interviewed gave a classic reply: 'No, she hoped she was not with child, but would own that she had deserved it on more than one or two occasions!'  What interests me is the fact that the women do not seem to be blamed, or lose their employment, or whatever, but rather effort is expended to make the father responsible for the financial maintenance of his child.  One woman with a child acknowledged by both parents, subsequently married, and the parish exacted a sum of 18 pennies per week from the father, until the child was capable of earning itself. The problem seemed to be that of allocating poor to their designated parish, which was then obliged to support them, if they could not do so themselves. This is really one very interesting document.

And guess what else the average village shopkeeper had to do?  My diarist relates an unmarried mother, in the last two weeks of pregnancy, and in foal (sorry, my terms) to a married man with a pregnant wife and at least one other acknowledged bastard in the parish, who meets her lover, walks home all calm and collected, and then goes into vomiting and diarrhoea fits that kill her within twenty-four hours.  It was decided to 'open her' in order to exclude foul play, and my diarist calmly records how he and other church officials find a surgeon and a male midwife, thread cotton and needles, find strong smelling herbs, and then witness the whole deal - right down to testifying that the condition of foetus and uterus indicated that the mother was not in labour, i.e., that an abortificient had not been used.  Then, apparently, he goes tranquilly back to measuring out rice, flour, and potatoes.

O.K., Ray, here's another:  What is 'poke salad'?  It may be 'pork salad', as I've only heard the term and not seen it written.  Also 'truck patch'?  I'm assuming it can't be a car park, as that would ruin the context, but I suppose anything's possible.  It really is a dialect, isn't it? Many, many years ago, I remember a teacher playing us tapes of different accents.  One was from very deep South U.S., and it actually came with spoken subtitles!  For the life of me, I couldn't understand a word that was said, but there was an attractive, lilting tone to the voice (female, and I suspect, rustic).
Julie

To all,

I've since read further into the shopkeeper's diaries, and my mind is boggling at what people must have put up with!  For instance, the diarist, who is under thirty and in good health, has a artery(!) opened in his temple, with a view to improving his eyesight, and at one point, because of what sounds like an eye infection, actually has blisters raised on his eyelid, and is put on a diet of nothing but toast and water for days.  No wonder they were tough - had to be, to survive the medical treatment of the time.

It is sad that the issue of illegitimate babies recurs over and over.  "Hetty Sorrel" (George Eliot's Adam Bede) pops up at every turning.  I'm also reading still the very detailed and valuable biography of the Brontes by Juliet Barker, who gives a much more balanced view of the family's life, and is especially interested in Patrick Bronte's professional life, which was most active indeed.  Just prior to Charlotte's marriage, Patrick was involved in the case of a newborn baby's body which was found buried in a ploughed field;  the mother was found, and had concealed her pregnancy so well that she only missed half a day's work at the mill, on the day the child was born.   As they couldn't prove that the baby was not stillborn, she was only charged with concealing the body .........  whatever I read, this sad scenario is repeated over and over.

My shopkeeper diarist also notes down the family meals, though he doesn't seem to have eaten as well as Woodforde: at one period, he notes 'dined on the remains of yesterday's dinner' for nine consecutive days!

More exciting snippets as they come to hand.
Julie

[ A posting in which Ray continues to answer our Australian friend's
questions about food items mentioned in To Kill a Mockingbird. ]

Dear Julie,

As bad as collards are, poke salad is worse. Poke salad is made from a green, which grows wild. There was a popular song some years ago about "Poke Salad Annie". I’m just glad I never knew her. Truck patch is a term with which I am not familiar but it sounds like a small patch of ground given over to growing crops which will be transported to a farmer’s market by pickup truck as in "truck farming".

All this talk about food and my hope that Jane Austen never ate any such thing led me to read What Jane Austen Ate and What Charles Dickens Knew. Actually most of the talk about food in the book seemed to be more about the food that Dickens would have eaten. About all the book had to say about food in the time of Jane Austen was that it was heavy on mutton and vegetables. So, are you getting any idea from the tale of the busybody shopkeeper as to what he ate?

From what I read I can only guess that a McDonald’s (or MacDonald’s as Ash would no doubt have it) would have been a wild success.

Dear Ray,

Ashton once said to me

"I am enjoying the Parson Woodsforde diary very much. You didn't warn me that he was such a gourmand. Does that part of his diaries make you laugh? I love it. I told my wife about it and she came up with the 'Epicurean Parson'."

Everybody complains that Woodforde liked his food, but I think there is more to it than that.  His home was really a small community of people, which produced much of its own food, and his diary was also a domestic and financial record.  It seems to me quite normal that he would record what was made and consumed; of course, if he had had a wife, most of that stuff would have been in her household journals.  Anyway, it still gives us a good look at what people ate!  I'm quite fond of the smugglers' donations to the common good, dropped off mysteriously in the depths of the night. Don't forget that Jane Austen's letters have been criticised for their domestic flavour, and she often mentions household matters.  I also record such things as milk produced, carcass weight of cattle I have reared, number of roosters in the freezer, and all that sort of thing, simply because it provides me with a record of how the farm is doing.  I was much more fascinated by the amount of shenanigans going on in the parish and, it would seem, in the parsonage!  To say nothing of Woodforde's 'private connections'!

I had read that Wollstonecraft had met a "Hetty Sorrel", but only recently found out that Charlotte Bronte did, as well, when she requested and obtained permission to visit one of the large prisons of London, during a visit there.  It seems that "Hettys" were not that hard to find.  Shakespeare mentions similar doings, via the witches, in 'Macbeth';  remember?  Poor little sods; - nobody thought to enquire where the child had come from, and I suppose immaculate conception is about as common now as it was then.

Dear Folks,

I can contribute to this lugubrious topic. My quote describes a Norwegian "Hetty Sorrel" mentioned by Mary Wollstonecraft in her travelogue [Travels]. In particular, she mentions the Danish prince royal during his procession though Norway in 1788 (Jane Austen would have been about twelve).

"In the year 1788 he traveled through Norway; and acts of mercy gave dignity to the parade, and interest to the joy, his presence inspired. At this town, he pardoned a girl condemned to die for murdering an illegitimate child, a crime seldom committed in this country. She is since married, and become the careful mother of a family. This might be given as an instance, that a desperate act is not always a proof of an incorrigible depravity of character; the only plausible excuse that has been brought forward to justify the infliction of capital punishments."

Dear Heather,

No, we don't have it.  Polenta has become popular here in recent years, as a trendy food item, and that is made from cornmeal.  It is an Italian dish, and a fair sod to make, because of all the stirring involved.  I have made it once or twice, and the result is a spongy-textured, yellow bready thing, which is quite nice, but not worth the trouble it took to make it.  Our bread is made from wheat, with any number of variations.  Even in bread specialty shops, I have never seen anything marketed as 'corn bread'.  The most popular form of corn here is sweet corn, eaten with more butter than can possibly be good for anybody.  I do remember trying a recipe once that called for 'corn syrup', and it was impossible to find anywhere.  My husband is very fond of chilli, though.
Julie

Dear Julie,

I think you discount Australian cuisine more than you know.  Lamingtons are very exotic here in the U.S. -- I've never found a bakery that makes them.  Of course the ones from the Exmouth (WA) bakery were the best anywhere.  And unless McDonald's has corrupted the entire country, the french fries there are to die for.  Of course there's the hassle of having to carry a bottle of ketchup around when one is on vacation, but it's a small price to pay.  Grilled ripe tomatoes with breakfast have become a "comfort" food in our house.  Now if we could just find a U.S. supplier for Tim Tams, our lives would be complete.

Strictly speaking, a "biscuit" is equivalent to a scone, not really a bread roll.  And "pot liquor" once was used exclusively to describe the broth left from cooking greens.  Back in the 70's a study discovered that rural black southerners were less likely to suffer from certain vitamin deficiencies than rural white southerners.  Studies were done.  The conclusion?  Blacks routinely ate the "pot liquor" with their greens, while whites did not. In The Habit of Being Flannery O'Connor mentions "pot liquor with corn bread broke up in it" numerous times (tongue in cheek) as the local cure-all for adults and an ideal food for fattening up new babies.

Have you read Sacred Cow, Abomidable Pig or Food In History?
Cheryl

Dear Julie,

One must move at the speed of light if one wishes to answer any questions about the south posted on this board, so I am hurrying to get "trot-line" explained before I find my answer trumped by somebody else. I am in such a hurry that I do not even have time to be clever, So, here it is; a "trot-line" is a fishing line which is strung across a stream from a tree, post, rock or other stationary object and tied to another stationary object. Onto the line are attached at interval of a foot or so, lines with baited hooks. The line is left for a period of time and then checked to see what has been caught. Sometimes corks are placed on the lines so that it is easy to see when you have a fish on the line. On any stream with boat traffic there is of course the danger that a passing boat will snag the line, so it is the usual case that trot-lines are used at night and taken out during the day but not always.

There, was I fast enough or have I been beaten to the punch again? I was beaten badly on "What is cornbread?" So, how do I tie this to Jane Austen? I don't have time to even think about it.

Dear Sir,

In that phrase you identify one of the most common criticisms of Jane Austen, made often, I suspect, by people who find her clear-sightedness a trifle uncomfortable.  Who was it who accused her of sounding like 'the braying of harpies?'  Twit.

Though I am a psychiatric nurse, I in no way subscribe to the 'Californian theory' (sorry) that holds that everything that one does is someone else's fault.  Neither did Jane Austen.  When she said that Mrs Bennet was 'mean-spirited and illiberal', she jolly well meant it, and she also meant it when she said that Mrs Bennet was largely responsible for Lydia's behaviour.  When she said in Northanger Abbey of Mrs Allen, 'she belonged to that large class of women that arouse no other emotion but surprise that there can be men in the world that like them well enough to marry them', she meant that, too.  I think that comment is a classic, by the way. Jane Austen makes some people nervous, I think, because reading her novels, it becomes apparent that she is WATCHING - watching people  and not afraid to make judgements on what she finds. Remember Basil Fawlty and the psychiatrist?  That is the effect that Jane Austen has on some people.  Other authors are judgemental, but few are capable of Jane Austen's lacerating astuteness.  I am reminded here of a quote made by somebody or other about Nancy Mitford, when describing the best kind of friends: 'hearts and minds that are generous and kind, and tongues that are neither, make the best company.'  Is this and English trait in humour?  There was a line in Four Weddings and a Funeral -'Where is Freddy?' - 'Torturing Americans.' - 'How thoughtful of him!'  And said Freddy, to some blue-haired American dowager, 'No, I don't know Oscar Wilde personally, but I do know somebody who has his fax number!'  Love it, love it, love it!

Do your worst, sir.
Julie

How would that feel?  How would my knee feel in her face?  I always go armed and ready for battle to the dentist. I am notorious for not remembering actors' names.  We have long, painfully long, discussions at home:  'Who is he?  I've seen him in something.' 'You know, he's Joe Bloggs from such-and-such'.  'Joe who?'  'Just shut up and watch, can't you?'  I only know Hugh Grant's name because of his subsequent divine activities.
Julie

Dear Heather,

Your posting is excellent, uniformly excellent from beginning to end. Your comments about all three heroines are useful for all us and incontrovertible. Skookum!

I have been sitting here, chomping at the bit, waiting for BKB to reply; but, politeness is an unnatural state for me and I can stand it no longer. (How do you polite people live with yourselves?) I would like to read your reaction to the following passage. This is from Chapter XI of the second volume in which Anne and Captain Wentworth are in discussion and conciliation. Anne says this in regard to Lady Russell:

" 'I have been thinking over the past, and trying impartially to judge of the right and wrong, I mean with regard to myself; and I believe that I was right, much as I suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in being guided by the friend that you will love better than you do now. To me she was in the place of a parent. Do not mistake me however. I am not saying that she did not err in her advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides; and for myself, I certainly never should, in any circumstance of tolerable similarity, give such advice. But I mean, that I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done otherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement that I did even in giving it up, because I should have suffered more in my conscience. I have now, as far as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, nothing to reproach myself with; and if I mistake not, a strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's portion.' "

To All,

Forgive me for not replying sooner. I can only reply briefly now. First, let me say that I agree with Ashton as to the excellence of Heather's reply to my flight of testy bombast. I had eaten too much sugar that morning and am afraid my energy cells overflowed. I certainly did not mean to be rude. Of course we may react differently, and with literature, a serious reader cannot be wrong. So Heather, I do apologize. Perhaps it had something to do with foolish pride. Call me Darcy.

Ashton, you have just presented the very passage in Persuasion that helped me to form the opinion that I hold, i.e. that Anne's original decision to follow Lady Russell's advice was a matter of informed choice. This passage, clearly, to my mind, expressing the Authorial Voice, sums up the novel's intent. I am not saying that the shadings are anything less than myriad, only that, at the last, I must be the good pupil and listen to Jane, for who is more the expert than she? It seems that she wanted us to come through Persuasion with an Answer, and generously supplied one.

I must leave you now, until next time. Regards to all.

Dear Heather and Ashton,

I will not comment on the passages relevant to Persuasion per se, but I do feel it my duty(!) to point out that the comments on woman's duty are the very cornerstone of Jane Austen's philosophy of right female behaviour.  It recurs over and over again, in all of her works, from Elinor's exhortations to Marianne in Sense and Sensibility, Mrs Morland's talks with Catherine after she returns from Bath, Mr Knightley to Emma, Emma to Harriet Smith - there is no end to it.  The basis of Jane Austen's belief, as I understand it, is that woman has a duty to those people she lives with, to consider their comfort and spare them pain by 'exerting oneself' for their sake, and making the effort to overcome feelings of personal grief, or at least to keep them private. One is likely to overcome them, genuinely, all the sooner; thus, by doing one's duty to others, one will be rewarded oneself.  This philosophy is also prominent in Jane Austen's private correspondence, especially to Fanny Knight after her mother's sudden death.

The duty of women was also much discussed by other female authors, in the period after Jane Austen's death: Anne Bronte had the Tenant of Wildfell Hall dragged back, to nurse her dying husband, out of duty. Jane Eyre leaves Mr Rochester out of duty to the vision of her dead mother (George Eliot commented, on this point, 'all self-sacrifice is good, but one would rather see it exercised in a more worthy manner than that which sees a man chained for life to a rotting corpse').

Mrs Gaskell has a bit on duty in her novels, but also in her correspondence, when she speaks of the daily life of a woman novelist:  constant distractions are no more than 'woman's simple duty.'

This notion of duty, and feminine duty in particular, is such a strong subtext to each of Jane Austen's novels that it is hard to find a passage that does not reflect some part of the concept.

Anne Elliot longs to make some pertinent points to her father about indigent widows, but her 'sense of personal respect' towards her father prevents her.  Elizabeth Bennet is conscious and critical of her father's failure in his duty towards his wife, that 'breaching of conjugal decorum which, in exposing his wife to the ridicule of her own children, was so reprehensible.' My problem here is that I am in danger of drowning us all in quotations on the subject, so I will stop, but this concept has to be understood, if the novels are to be understood themselves.

Hey, Ray, perhaps we could substitute 'duty' questions for 'irony' questions in the school syllabus?
Julie

Dear BKB, Ash, and Julie,

BKB, there is no need to apologize for having a strong opinion about Austen’s novels, that’s why we’re here.  I am sometimes crushed by opposition, but rarely disappointed by it. This medium is a direct request for people’s opinions. Fire away.  And to Ash, thank you so much for your encouragement, and may I add with the most sarcastic tone that I can create in typeface, "Thank you so much for turning up that passage".  Though I note, in your defence, BKB would have come up with it eventually anyway.

The text went straight to your hearts and minds and skipped mine altogether. Obviously, I do not have that photographic memory some seem to have with regard to Austen (if not with regard to movie stars).  The passage definitely controverts my suggestion that Anne could have been happier had she accepted Wentworth earlier.  I agree that Austen appears to be underscoring her opinion here in that regard.  What can I say to redeem myself?

As Julie puts it in her excellent posting about Austen’s opinion of a woman’s duty, which rings so true, I can only agree with it: "[In] making the effort to overcome feelings of personal grief,... One is likely to overcome them genuinely, all the sooner  thus, by doing one’s duty to others, one will be rewarded oneself" which is really the essence of S&S. However, despite Julie’s argument that the message runs through all of Austen’s works, and it does, I’m not at all sure it applies with as much force here.  After all, Anne’s feelings for Wentworth have been buried so well for so long that no one else, including their object, seems to think they exist, or ever did.  Years pass and those feelings are never overcome, genuinely or otherwise, and Anne remains unrewarded, except for a clear conscience.  Never having had one of those in recent memory, I cannot say how much of a reward it would be.

Moreover, it seems to me that the question of why Anne would disregard Lady Russell’s advice now is not answered in the passage in question, and I have not taken the trouble to read it again in context.  Perhaps others can assist here.  In what way has Anne’s duty to friends and family changed to the extent that she can now disregard their hopes and desires?  If nothing has changed, then is she failing in her womanly duty? Perhaps Austen is once again turning about an idea on itself, the way she did with that other passage from Persuasion,  recently posted here, in which Ash argued that Anne’s statements about gender stereotypes is held up as "poor thinking" when Wentworth proves her wrong.

Well, there’s simply nothing for it. I’m going to have to read the novel over again.  Since my entire reading time consists of the twenty minutes on the bus between work and back every morning and again in the afternoon, and I am just finishing off Sons & Lovers, it’s going to take me a while to have the ammunition I need to finish this argument, if indeed the ammo exists.

Julie:  I love the entries on your Shopkeeper.  Keep ‘em coming. Historical evidence shows that promiscuity and prostitution were not as much a woman’s undoing (socially) as novels would have us believe, esp. among the serving classes.  I was surprised to learn that many young working women took up prostitution temporarily at one point in their lives or another, with every real hope of marrying comfortably, whenever.  I’ll have to dig up my source on that, if I can find it.  I think it’s more Victorian than Regency, but I’ll have a look.  Your Shopkeeper’s village seems populated more by the "out of wedlock" types than the "supplement my income" types.  The common occurrence of possible abortion/infanticide is a somewhat unsettling side effect, though, isn’t it?

From the Meister: Stop thinking of my posting as a counter-punch
and see it for what it is, a sincere question. I point to something
that does disturb your excellent analysis, but it disturbed mine as
well - I promise you. I think something important is happening here
but I am still trying to understand just what. The main things that
have changed are that Anne is now an adult and Wentworth can now
support an aristocrat's daughter as his wife. But I think there is
something more to be understood. Maybe Julie has put her finger on
it and maybe our flame-haired friend has not.

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