English Language; Writing a Narrative
Part one: Nancy the maid. As the sun rose over the ‘Black quarter’ of the town, its inhabitants awoke to yet another gun shot. You couldn’t walk around Down Town without either seeing somebody walking around with a gun, or someone who has tragically lost a family member. Soon everybody would have lost at least one member of their immediate family dead. Gone. All due to the colour of their skin. As I cross the railway line, on my way to Miss Nicole’s house. I seen a group of innocent white children who came up showing off their new toys to their mothers frustration: “Step away from that Nigger woman. Now!” she shouted to her children like they’ve sinned. I replied: “Sweet children go to your dear mother.”
I remember when I first started being a maid; I used to get really frustrated at this as our lord ‘aint gonna’ judge you, as a heart is neither black nor white. As a maid I spent all my working life bringing their kids up for them whilst they play Bridge and what do we get? Three dollars a week, for thirteen hour days, seven days a week. I foolishly though that Miss Nicole wasn’t like that woman in the street, and that she would raise little Holly properly when I’m gone.
Part two: Miss Nicole
Every day was the same for Miss Nicole; she would awake to Breakfast cooked my Nancy. As Miss Nicole leisurely ate her breakfast Nancy would be attending to all little Hollies needs whilst she laid out Miss Nicole’s clothes on the bed. To every Nigro she was a typical employer, who expects the world for nothing. Nancy was in the Nursery playing ‘Peek-a-boo’ with the baby when Miss Nicole came raging in: “Nancy why on god’s dam Earth did you but the blue pinafore on my bed? You know that I only were white on Tuesday.” “Sorry miss.” replied Nancy, as she continued to play with Holly, but Miss Nicole just stood over Nancy: “Well... aren’t you going to correct your foolish mistake?” “Yes miss, straight after I’ve put young Holly off for her nap.” “So do you want me to waltz around in my dressing robe until you find the time to do your job?”
Miss Nicole snatched Holly, thumped her in her cot and made the child scream. Nancy went over to try and cheer her up
“Holly doesn’t pay you. I do” Miss Nicole scowled.
“But Miss, the baby is upset, she needs her diaper changing.”
I should have known better than to reason with Miss Nicole, as I’ve heard my coloured people talking about her cruelness, but I didn’t believe them. By this time, I could see Miss Nicole was getting frustrated.
“Are you refusing to do as I say Nigger? Are you refusing to do as you’re told ‘ay?”
She was circling me now. You could see the blood pumping through her veins like a raging bull. She wasn’t fit to be a mother, in fact none of the women we look after are. Too add to the ambiance poor, innocent Holly kept crying.
“Bloody Brilliant” I said to myself. “What’s that Nancy? ‘I am sorry Miss Nicole, please forgive my sins and don’t tell the master of the house?” “Yes Miss Nicole, I will fetch your outfit this instance, sorry for the delay it won’t happen again.”
Part 3 Reflecting
On the bus I started to reflect on the day’s events. I’ve never seen Miss Nicole so angry in three years of working there. I am still confused why she got so angry over the colour of a pinafore. I remember when I first took the job at Miss Nicole’s, Mini warned me about her vicious temper and how her last maid was beaten to death by the Police, as Miss Nicole made a horrible lie up how she stole one of her Grandmother’s diamond rings and when she refused to let them search her home they butched her like a piece of meat.
Since then there has been many rumours flying around what she had done. It turned out that all the maid did was use Miss Nicole’s Bathroom instead of the outside porter-loo Miss Nicole...
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