‘Plus ça Change, Plus c’est la Même Chose’: Domesticity

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay
Pot of pink roses, reminding me of my fieldtrips to Rutherglen and Lanark this week

Not long ago, I was bought a copy of The Feminist Art of Walking, by Morag Rose (Pluto Press, 2025). It falls into the category of Gender/Urban Studies, which certainly isn’t in my usual ballpark, but I’m often pleasantly surprised to read something completely different, so I dived in. Did you know that Rose established the Loiterers Resistance Movement (LRM)? You do now.

After my two ‘fieldwork’ outings to Rutherglen and Lanark this week, both entailing a fair bit of walking, it occurred to me that my own walks were a kind of feminist walking, insofar as I was commemorating Rose Smith, a forgotten woman composer who was born in Lanark, grew up and spent her early adulthood in Glasgow, then spent most of her adult life in Rutherglen – and also her mother, the ‘Lanarkshire Poetess’. (Not a bad title for an Englishwoman who had lived in Ireland before the family moved to Lanark!)

Honouring the Trumpet Major

As I walked from the cemetery down to the cenotaph in Rutherglen on Monday, I pondered that Rose would have walked over the same ground – although it would have looked very different. Likewise, her steam train would have traversed essentially the same line between Glasgow and Lanark that I travelled yesterday, and I walked on streets that she, her mother and siblings must have used daily. I even walked past the spot where their house stood. Too late, I realised I could have gone and looked at the Episcopal church that they attended. I glimpsed it, just up the road from the Library, I think, but I was too slow on the uptake and didn’t realise that was it. I was more focused on getting to the cemetery without getting drenched en route! Rose had stood at both those gravesides. Mary-Ann was remembered on the Trumpet Major’s headstone, even though she’d actually died whilst staying with a daughter in England.

Today, however, I’ve stayed at home. It’s not a ‘working’ day, but I didn’t feel inclined to make another expedition. (I need to visit the National Library of Scotland, but I can’t in all honesty justify a trip to Edinburgh when I’m going there next week in any case.)

So, I baked, washed floors and dealt with laundry. (This is the reality of semi-retirement!) I wondered if Mary-Ann or Rose made their own bread, or if they’d have laughed as they informed me that there was a perfectly good baker on the high street? They certainly wouldn’t have had a bread-machine to make the dough for rolls, or a packet-mix for an experimental batch of muffins! (Spoiler alert: they came out fine, but the ones I make from scratch are a nicer texture. And my recipes make more of them!) They’d still have had a ‘pulley’ to dry the laundry – but doing the laundry itself would’ve been much more labour-intensive. The ironing? Yes, that’s easier today, too. I’ve already addressed the question of whether they had paid help – answer, the censuses reveal that they certainly didn’t have anyone living in, apart from when Rose’s children were wee.

So, much has changed – but in my situation, at least, the domestic labour is still entirely, 100% mine. The ironing basket will sit there scowling at me until I deal with it. Nothing will be tidied up or put away unless I do it. And (despite frequently being told to be grateful for the white goods in our kitchen, which ‘do everything’), the business of keeping things going, still seems to be defined as ‘women’s work’. (Don’t condemn me. It’s easier this way. IYKYK.)

However, the relative absence of hard graft today makes me all the more respectful of Mary-Ann and Rose, still writing poetry and music as well as doing all the housework! I suppose their daughters helped them. I bet they didn’t have to be politely asked or cajoled – it was probably accepted that this was what was expected of them.

When I go into town next week, Rose’s ghost may well be hanging around the old Glasgow Athenaeum, too. There’s no denying the School of Music opened doors for her. Come to think of it – the name has changed, the remit is far wider and the reach is now global – but the opening of doors is something else that RCS has continued to faciliate. ‘Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose’, as they say.

Respectful Academic Writing.

Posted on by Dr Karen E McAulay
'RESPECT'

I wrote my conference paper a couple of weeks ago. Timed it, trimmed the word-count, timed it again. (Repeat that a few times!) And then today, something occurred to me. Not all at once, no. In stages, let’s say. To start with, it was just a question of technology: wouldn’t it be better, I mused, if I used the tablet rather than a wad of paper? On went the tablet. And (not that I noticed at first) off again. I eventually realised that it needed charging – it’s ages since I last used it. Whilst I waited for it to become functional again, I looked at my paper one last time, thinking I’d just make sure it was absolutely perfect before I looked at it on a different gadget.

And that’s when I spotted it – I could call it a major faux pas, or I could blame it on my generation.  Well, that’s a cheap excuse, isn’t it? Not acceptable. If I want to be accepted as a scholar who is still on the ball, still at the top of her game, then I can’t lamely whimper that I didn’t realise what I was doing was disrespectful …

Equality

It’s a relatively recent academic writing protocol, and one that was long overdue: men and women should be written about with equal respect. By that, I mean that if you wouldn’t refer to Elgar as Edward, then you can’t justify calling Mary Wollstonecraft, just Mary.  Elgar is Elgar, and Wollstonecraft is Wollstonecraft.  Otherwise, it’s not only disrespectful, but diminishes the woman’s standing.

Mary-Anne Smith, Rose B. Smith, Jane Sillars, Flora Woodman …

Now, in my paper, I’m not talking about big names like Elgar or Wollstonecraft.  But I realised that I’d fallen into the trap. Mary-Anne, Rose, Jane and Flora deserved better. They needed their last names.  So I got stuck in.

It’s just a bit more complex than you’d think, especially when you are not only writing about the women, but are also mentioning their menfolk. You can’t refer to three different Smiths as plain, ‘Smith’. But ‘Mr, Mrs and Miss Smith’ doesn’t work, especially when Miss Smith kept her ‘Smith’ professionally after marriage. 

Then there’s the unmarried mother who identified as ‘a widow’ in at least one official document – but married some years later. At which point her daughter’s name changed. (Had she actually got married another time before the marriage I know about, wouldn’t her daughter’s name have changed then, too? But it didn’t, so I’m taking it that ‘widow’ was being used diplomatically. We’re talking of the Edwardian era.)  In any case, her marital status is of absolutely no concern to me, but I am concerned that she and her daughter are called the right names at the right time!

Need I continue? 

And, grammatically, if two individuals with the same last name get mentioned in the same sentence, then either you need to use first names as well, or rephrase for clarity. ‘Her daughter’ and ‘her mother’ are very useful substitutes!

Sometimes it’s just a question of being pragmatic. I haven’t, indeed I couldn’t excise all stand-alone first names.  But I think I’ve improved it. I’ve shown due respect to all the individuals I’ve written about – most of them women.

I do believe I’ve finished my revisions!