As an added bonus - the boiler in our flat is broken, so there was been no hot water or heat since Friday morning. Jolly Good!
I thankfully have the gym to shower at - as unclean as a shower there is. My flatmate's however have resorted to several trips to the kitchen to warm water in the kettle and dumping into a tub to draw a bath. It's just like the olden days.
I only got 4 hours of sleep Sunday night, was woken up at 7am by the plumber who failed to the fix the boiler, and then endured an hour-long, particularly excruciating total body conditioning class taught by a trainer who I refer to as the polish pain-inducer. When I walked outside hoping to find sunshine and daffodils, I instead stepped into a giant puddle that throughly soaked my little, black oxford and promptly turned my 5 left toes into popsicles.
That all would be enough to send most people right home, into bed, to curl up with their hot water bottle and drink tea for the rest of day. But I am not most people.
I grabbed my umbrella, shook out my shoe and headed for the tube.
I had realized yesterday was the first Sunday of the month. And, on the first Sunday of the month, and only the first Sunday of the month - I found out it is possible to go back in time. Back to 1882 to be exact. The Victorian Age of London.
Back to the age of Dickens and Darwin and Gothic Revival architecture. Back to an age of bustles, and riding habits, and gaiters. Of prudery, strict moral conduct, and debauchery. In London - Queen Victoria was leading what would be the longest reign of a monarch in history, and in Paris Gustave Eiffel was getting ready to whip up the Eiffel tower! So I figured it was worth battling the rain out to Bethnal Green, to the historical little building called the Ragged School Museum.
The school opened in 1877 after a wealthy doctor named Thomas Barnardo, saw a need to help the poor children in the East End of London who were working as chimney sweeps and matchbox girls. So, he opened this "ragged school" where children could get a free basic education. The school functioned for 31 years before it closed and educated thousands of children, giving them a chance for a better life until government schools finally opened in the area.
The buildings that were the school were turned into a museum in 1990. Today, you can visit the museum and for a mere £2, travel back to 1882 for Victorian-style lesson in the classroom at the Ragged School.
I was the only person that was not under the age of 5, or accompanying someone under the age of 5, in the class. But that didn't stop me from taking a front row seat at the worn, wooden desk and taking in the perfect details of the room around me.
Creeky floorboards, an abacus in front of the yellowing map of Britain, a portrait of Queen Victoria on the wall, and large blackboards framing the podium-like desk where the teacher, Miss Perkins, stood in full, Victorian costume.
We were to be Victorian-age children. Chimney sweeps and matchbox girls, too poor for any food but the pea soup and bread we got for lunch at school, with tattered clothes and a thick layer of dirt under our fingernails. Thankfully, I took high school drama.
Class began with attendance, each person standing and clearly stating their name and receiving a compliant about their untidy appearance, followed by an inspection of everyone's hands to check for cleanliness.
"Cleanliness is next to Godliness" we repeated aloud after Miss Perkins.
Though I was freshly manicured - my Essie polished nails got disapproving stares.
"It must be removed by tomorrow - along with the finery. No finery in school," barked Miss Perkins in my face.
"Yes Miss, " I replied, eyes downcast in shame.
Many other students got in similar trouble for their finery (jewelry) as well - so I felt better.
Class proceeded with a posture check, and the passing out of pencils, boards, and rags for our writing lesson.
After reciting the alphabet forwards and backwards, we had to copy it exactly as it was written on the board. I was quite pleased with my copying of her curvy letters, assured I would be praised - but Miss Perkins did not approve.
"Were you so pleased with yourself when you got to the end that you decided to make the Zed enormous," she asked me through pursed lips?
The adults all had a laugh in between each of her snippy remarks, but it was so cute to see the little children, sitting with their backs perfectly straight, staring forward, and visibly terrified to talk, even though they knew it was all a game.
Miss Perkins continued about the room with her short wooden stick, slapping it suddenly on the desks she passed as she reprimanded us.
"No Fidgeting"
"Back Straight"
"No frivolity"
After reading and writing, we worked on our speech by repeating some phrases....
"Silence is Golden"
"There is no fun like work"
"Procrastination is a thief of time."
And our spelling, by spelling aloud items of clothing...
"SASH. S-A-S-H"
"SHAWL. S-H-A-W-L"
We ended with a short arithmetic lesson, and a review of the Sterling Money Chart.
We were encouraged that should we learn our arithmetic, we could have a chance to become a clerk, which is far better than sweeping chimneys.
The lesson was a full 30 minutes, and Miss Perkins did not break character for a moment.
I was melting inside it was all so cute.
I have always had a serious case of the golden-age syndrome. I've always wished I could live in a different time, and thought how much more charming life would have been back then in the days of perfect manners and fancy outfits. But I left class quite thankful for growing up in Ohio in the 1990s instead of Bethnal Green in the 1880s.
Although I thought I left 1882 when I left the Ragged School, I came home to find my flatmates bundled in scarves, hats, and thermal vests because of the total lack of heating, and found the same thing tonight when I got back from the gym. I literally don't need to put my perishables in the fridge because the house is the same temperature, and the part needed to fix our boiler is on order so there is no end in sight.
So the four of us are cuddled up on the couches in our common room, wearing several pairs of socks, coats, sharing blankets, and clutching our hot water bottles, shivering. We've all made space-heaters out of our hairdryers by putting them sideways on a book and aiming the nozzle at our faces while we sip tea. We also all haven't been able to use the shower since Friday, so we're a sorry sight to see and stinky bunch to smell, to say the least.
I'm so close to my office, I briefly considered taking some blankets over and sleeping at my desk, but decided instead is just to take some sleeping pills and keep the hairdryer on until they kick in. Hopefully they will knock me out for the duration of the night so I don't wake up because of the sound of my own teeth chattering.
Sweet, frosty dreams everyone.
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