Telling tales of wives and mothers
Fabric figure of Mrs Emma Micawber holding the twins, DH772.12 © Charles Dickens Museum. Donated to the Charles Dickens Museum in memory of Geoffrey Malcolm Millard-Thompson, by his family.
WARNING: mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage and mental illness.
Catherine Dickens gave birth to her two eldest daughters, Mamie and Katey, here at 48 Doughty Street. She also had a miscarriage here and suffered from postpartum depression after her first two births. Catherine's Lady's Maid, Anne Brown, was particularly important at this time as Catherine's constant companion, helping her to dress and with other daily tasks. But Anne was also used by Dickens as a witness to his and Catherine's increasingly unhappy marriage. How did Anne feel about being brought centre stage as a 'witness'?
These creative pieces have been inspired by stories and objects on this theme from the Charles Dickens Museum collection. They have been written by Rosa Chalfen and local community groups - Mosaic LGBT Young Person’s Trust and St Luke’s Community Centre. Supplementary genealogy research was undertaken by The Gene Genie. This project has been funded by the University of Hertfordshire Coproduction Award.
Patience
This piece is inspired by an item in our collection sewn by Catherine - it's called an overmantel, a decorative covering for the mantel over the fireplace. A typically 'feminine' pastime, but also shows great skill. Catherine was an excellent seamstress, but also an intellectual. The complexities of women's personalities are often forgotten in the retelling of their history.
She preps herself for the task ahead, pull apart the right length of thread.
Dazzles at the blues and greens, ‘these will do nicely when they’re seen’
A labour of love as she pulls it through, planning out each detail she’ll do
A pansy here, a daisy there, a running motif of summer air
She armours for the fight ahead, ‘I won’t shed blood from needle and thread’
And when she’s done she’ll get no thanks. Another job she’ll keep in the bank
Her work will age and fade and fray, a hollowed memory of those days
By Alex-Olyver
A Million Tears for my Mother
This piece is inspired by the separation of Charles and Catherine Dickens in 1858, told from their daughter Katey's point of view.
My dear mother:
At 19 - Engaged.
At 20 - A joyful bride.
At 21 - Birthing Charley.
At 22 - Birthing Mary.
At 24 - Birthing me, Katey
Then Walter, Frank, Alfred, Sydney, Henry, Dora, Plorn.
Thrusting us into the world.
Ten births.
In fifteen years.
Motherhood, her only identity.
As father grew famous and louder, mother became quieter.
His voice, admired by the world, was like icicles.
Each shard struck the soft rose petals of her dignity.
Then, at 43, mother was evicted from her nest by father gone mad with fame, power, and lust.
Charley, being twenty-one, chose to live with mother.
The rest of us, as minors, were trapped in the cruel grip of the law.
The youngest was just 6.
Our world had shattered.
At mealtimes, mother had sat with us for twenty-two years.
The laughter, quarrels, and lullabies had all gone.
Instead, just a painful deafening silence.
The world saw a genius. I saw my father.
The world saw a villain. I saw my mother.
No ordinary woman births ten children, and buries one, in the first seventeen years of marriage.
I have buried father and mother.
And except for Henry, I have buried all my brothers and sisters.
Yet the deepest grief is not death.
The deepest grief is for the pain mother endured, all alone.
A sorrow I have carried all my life.
On her deathbed, she gave me 136 letters she had kept for 40 years.
“Give these to the British Museum, that the world may know he loved me once.”
Mother...
A million tears cannot wash away my pain.
"May history remember not only the hand that held the pen, but also the heart that carried us all."
By Jazz
On Catherine Dickens
This piece is from the viewpoint of Catherine Dickens, alone with her thoughts, reflecting on her situation with Charles.
There fell a strange quietness in the house that day even outside the cobble streets were bereft of hoof and carriage, yet still in the hallway the quiet tick tock of the faithful Grandfather clock tocked like a fragile beating heart.
A woman alone pacing slowly ringing of hands.
This is the sadness of my situation.
I keep going over and over in my head.
What he said was it meant.
What he said.
Over and over in my head spinning out up and down round and around
What he did what he said was it meant
Over and over in my head in my mind
What I felt what he said
WAS IT MEANT!
Over and over in my head
What he said. Yes!
This is the sadness of my situation.
By Hannah K Andrews