Maudie

“Are you there Mirry?”

Maudie Sargent lived around the corner. She poked her head around the front door. Mam looked up from her embroidery and looped the needle and thread into the fabric for safe keeping.

“Our Bill loved that meat pie that you gave me last week!”

Bill, Maudie’s husband, was a crane driver at Smiths Dock Shipyard.

Mam smiled. “That’s alright, I had one to spare. Glad he liked it.”

There was an awkward silence, then: “I was wondering if you could bake me another one for tomorrow.”

Maudie was renowned for her lack of culinary expertise, but this was a surprising request.

“I told him that I had baked it and he has requested another for dinner tomorrow night!”

Maudie was not only incompetent in the kitchen, she was also clumsy. One day she dropped her accumulator on the way to get it re-charged. Accumulators were batteries, used to power the wireless sets in the few homes that had yet to be connected to the electricity supply and still relied on gas lighting. People took their accumulators to be charged up at Dorell’s electrical shop.

The instant the accumulator dropped, the glass case shattered, spilling an acrid smelling acid across the pavement. When she attempted to clear up the mess, the bristles on her yard brush disintegrated in a cloud of smoke much to the delight of the watching children.

 

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