The Misses Palmer (in pursuit of education)

If you turned 90 this year, your private schooling in the Montreal of the 1920's would be very English class-system driven indeed. I was seeing Birthday Girl #2 today listening to her reminiscing on those long-ago days.

" I was not going to make it."
"I just didn't fit in. It was a good school and my parents were paying alot of money to send me there. The local High School where I should have gone was scandalised by a *BOY* getting a *GIRL* pregnant and in those days that was a terrific mess. My father would not allow me to attend that school due to it's moral laxitude.

"My new school was populated by the Sons and Daughters of Canada's elite. At Christmas time my Mother sent me with a gift to my teacher of Irish Linen Hankerchiefs that were hand embroidered by the very best Needleworkers. The teacher opened it and said distainfully: "OH more hankerchiefs" and put them to one side. She did not notice nor care to about the quiality. Hankerchiefs just were not anything interesting. Of course she got a gold pocketwatch from the Jewish girls there so why would she get excited about my gift? No, I just didn't fit in.

"Luckily my Mother caught on before I completely vanished from the world and I was sent to The Misses Palmer's School for Girls. It was in an olde Victorian home and two sets of sisters ran it. Miss Jenny and Miss Laura Palmer were among the first women to graduate from McGill University. They had opened this School for girls who were, you know, not doing well in the regular system."

"Hmm, was it a Finishing School?" I asked.

"No dear," she said, "It was for girls who were slightly backward."

"No way!" I couldn't believe it. This woman is very well-read and clever.

"Well dear, I just was not thriving. My mother had to do something!"

She told me it was the "Westmont School for Girls."
She spent 45 minutes telling me how wonderful these women were.
So wonderful that73 years later she can describe them perfectly.

Bless those two long-gone dear souls who took a girl and made her into a woman who married well and lived a long happy life.
Well done the Misses Parker.
I am certain there are a hundred similar stories from their HomeSchool that I will never hear.
I don't need to. I see them in Violet.

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The two Millicents

Names are so different in each generation. Alot of the children born today are named for movie stars and other celebrities; the Jennifers and Pamelas and Brittneys. My clientelle of the older ladies is peppered with Winnifreds and Lillians and Joyces. The Marys and Mays and Dorothys, the Annas and Mildreds and Bettys. Ethels and Frances and Gladys's. Not often you meet a young woman named Ethel these days.

As explained in other posts, my memory, although excellent, is a daisy-chain of associations. Sometime in my murky past I must have made the decision that names just are not worth the trouble to keep in my easily accessible memory. I never ever forget a name BUT can I call it to my lips on demand? No, of course not!

This is the story of two ladies both named Millicent. I met the first Millicent the very first day I worked for my employer. Her middle initial was "M." and her last name also started with M. I never forgot HER name as to me she was always the MMM lady. It made me chuckle.

She was not my regular client however she used to get on my list now and again when someone else was on holidays and I would have her for two or three weeks. The Case manager would warn me every single time how Millicent could be very ornery and not to take it personally.

No need! I never once had any experience with her other than pleasant interaction.
The worst thing that ever happened there to me was seeing a rat run across the room.
Not entirely a peaceful thing but not an isolated occurance either. Other places have rats too.
Alas.

Millicent #2 I met last year. Her last name also started with an "M". My habit with ladies over the age of 60 is to address them as Miss or Mrs.. Each time I left Millicent #2's home she would smile sweetly at me and remind me her last name was NOT Miller. That would be the OTHER Millicents last name. I knew her last name was not Miller. I would remind myself every time I went in there but my lips invariably betrayed me.

"My dear, darling, my name is NOT Miller."

"Oh, Millicent I am so sorry. I cannot seem to say Millicent without the Miller after it."

"That's alright dear, just call me Millicent. Nevermind about my surname."

"Thank you Millicent. That is very gracious of you."

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More about this tomorrow...