When Morwena couldn’t dry the cloths because of the driving rain from the South Westerly coming in from St Agnes head,she was crestfallen.She was newly married,carrying the first child of Vernon Penpraise,and of the Penpraise family of Illogan.Morwena was a proud young married woman,and her station as the mining foreman’s wife meant that she had to act properly.It beloved her to keep a clean house,a well stocked larder with home cooking,and it meant that washing had to be done on a Monday.
Unfortunately,that South Westerly storm didn’t quite read her life plot,and there were slates coming off of the roofs of the adjoining terrace houses.As she stood in the Parlour ,willing the storm to abate,she began a conversation with herself.At first ,she asked herself questions that were easy to answer like,is Vernon a good provider,is he attentive around the house,is he well respected in their town,and to all these questions ,the answers were a resounding yes.Now,if she could have seen the back of the storm,and thus continue with her washing,then this mental questioning would have seized,but the storm raged on.As it did,she then gave up on her mangle,sat down,put the kettle on the range,and made herself a cup of tea.
As she poured the cup of rosey lea into her cup,which she decided would be her favourite bone China cup she reflected.In our minds resides all our secrets don’t they,all the things we might have hoped for in life,but really don’t ever feel comfortable in telling others about for fear of rejection,judgement,or just that they might laugh at us.So Morwena sat and thought,and in this extremely rare state,meteorites came to her,and thoughts about Pierre from before she had married Vernon.You see,Morwena ,although,on the surface,was an accomplished housewife to Vernon and was a model woman in the working class traditions of her roots,she had deep seated dreams and memories of LOVE.
It wasn’t that Vernon wasn’t a good man to her,it was that she had known the love,a forbidden love of another and couldn’t get him out of her head.She just thought of him ,her Pierre ,her Claude Monet,with brush in hand painting down in Newlyn in his world of colour,light,shade,subject and perspective.She had been transfixed by his softness,his hands his words,his ……Although she knew that it was forbidden,she still thought about him,wondering how he was,hoping,hoping.But,alas,it wasn’t to be,Pierre was a dreamer,and not true husband stock,not reliable and her parents would never have approved,and the village ,oh the village,definitely would shunned them.
As her thoughts ,although inward drew a tear from her emotional heart,she found herself unable to stop.She knew that her coldness towards Vernon couldn’t continue,but she found herself distracted to the point of obsession with why she treated Pierre so badly and wouldn’t go with him.She had been sharp,and cutting with him,truth be told,and this had hurt Pierre,who was sensitive,and headstrong to the point of embaressment,but she loved Pierre,and always would.Only recently,she had found herself feigning headaches when Vernon had demanded his marital rights:Vernon would say “Come here Morwena,and he would pull her nighty up,treating her roughly,and she would always think of her favourite woman of her time,Emily Pankhurst as an example of a strong woman,and one who would want to be treated well by her man,and she now resented Vernon,By now,as they had been married a while,people would be asking her that horrible question that she despised:”Have he got a bun in the oven yet then Morwena”,and she had started avoiding people in the village because of it.Vernon’s family were putting pressure too,and it was just all too much,and it just ………and she ached to see Pierre,but she had driven him away,and it was such a huge mess.
Oh hell,if only it hadn’t had been such a terrible day for her ,because she would have busied herself in the labour intensive things that we have to do and must do.Morwena,decided to read the Pamplet that Mrs Graham had given her on “Votes for women”,written by her idol and long distance mentor Emily.Pierre had always encouraged her with her interest in the movement,he had been like that ,and she missed him oh so much,
Outside,quite unbeknown to here because of the power of the mind,she had forgotten that the roar of the South Westerly had subsided,but the turmoil of her mind,her aching to be respected for what she was ,a separate human being,raged on.