The Ideal Houswife!

I saw this interesting little test over on Raindrops to Rainbows. Thank you Lindsay!

52 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

It seems I'm only an "average" 1930's wife! It must be that "cooking in pajamas!" question....you'll see what I mean if you take the test. Or perhaps because I did not check the box that said "Can carry on an interesting conversation." Well I suppose I could have done worse! In any case, the test was an interesting insight into the qualifications for being "the perfect wife" of the 1930's!

And speaking of being perfect, here's a little book along similar lines that I found last week at the One Dollar Book Store: The Perfect Hostess.

First published in 1931 in Great Britain by Methuen & Co., Ltd., this little volume was authored by Rose Henniker Heaton, whose photograph is provided for us.


She was on the far edge of my grandparents' generation. My two sets of grandparents were married in 1920 and 1921, so my grandmothers were, of course, housewives during this period; I doubt if they came across this particular book, as it was printed in England, but I'm sure there were many other such instructive missives for the housewives of the day.

Rose Henniker Heaton's version, however, is a bit "tongue-in-cheek" I think. For example, these two poems on pages 1 and 2:

The Perfect Guest

She answered by return of post
The invitation of her host.
She caught the train she said she would,
And changed at junctions as she should.
She brought a light and smallish box
And keys belonging to the locks.
Food, strange and rare, she did not beg,
But ate the homely scrambled egg.
When offered lukewarm tea she drank it.
She did not crave an extra blanket,
Nor extra pillows for her head;
She seemed to like the spare-room bed.
She never came downstairs till ten.
She brought her own self-filling pen,
Nor once by look or word of blame
Exposed her host to open shame.
She left no little things behind,
Excepting . . . loving thoughts and kind.

Rose Henniker Heaton

* * *

The Perfect Pest

She merely sent a wire to say
That she was coming down to stay.
She brought a maid of minxsome look
Who promptly quarrelled with the cook.
She smoked and dropped with ruthless hand
Hot ashes on the Steinway grand.
She strode across the parquet floors
In hobnailed boots from out of doors.
She said the water wasn't hot,
And Jane gave notice on the spot.
She snubbed the wealthy dull relations
From whom my wife had expectations.
She kept her bell in constant peals,
She never was in time for meals.
And when at last with joyful heart
We thrust her in the luggage-cart,
In half an hour she came again,
And said . . . "My dear, I've missed the train!"

Adrian Porter


And perhaps you might enjoy this recipe for "The Famous Lone Lodge Punch" found on page 57. I don't understand the directions, but that's okay; I will not be attempting to make this punch.

Take two Seville oranges and one lemon—
rub the yellow off with a quarter of a pound of sugar,
add the juice and pulp and a very little hot water (just enough
to make the mixture amalgamate),
then add a claret glass of maraschino,
half a pint of strong green tea,
two sherry glasses of liquid sunshine rhum,
half a pint of pineapple syrup,
a pint of pale brandy,
and a bottle of champagne.

(The author adds this note):
The author will be grateful to any reader who will kindly write to her
describing the effect of this punch
(or instruct the executors to do so).

And I add this question: How do you rub the yellow off two oranges and a lemon with a quarter pound of sugar??