COMPETITION
Herstory
Jaspistos
I. n Competition No. 1393 you were in- vited to write a feminist account of some incident from the past in which male bias is redressed.
The quaint book I referred to, A Femin- ist Dictionary by Cheris Kramarae and Paula A. Treichler (Pandora Press — getit? they're opening a box of blessings), was amusingly reviewed by Anthony Burgess in last Sunday's Observer. Among other gems, he quoted its definition of the Catholic Church as 'an obscenity — an all-male hierarchy, celibate or not, that presumes to rule on the lives and bodies of millions of women'. Apparently the Indo- Germanic languages, with their gender systems, upset feminists: it occurs to me that the Germans, who haven't in modern history given a very high place to women, should logically be the `wimmin's' favourite people, since they alone, I think, have a masculine moon and a feminine sun. There is a language especially con- structed for women called Laadan, the creation of Suzette Haden Elgin. Some of you made pretty good attempts to use something like it. Mary Holtby described Lady Frances Duck womanfully waiting for the Arpada and rousing the garridaughter when it was sighted. Gerard Benson painted Agincourt, where, to the strains of hautgirls, and under an effullady light, the French heralds (hisalds had been abo- lished) rode across the field on St Christin- e's Day. But the prizes —410 each to those printed below — go not to the gramma- rians but to the simpler humorists. D. A. Prince takes the bonus bottle of Volnay Santenots-du-Milieu 1982 Comte Lafon (the gift of Morris & Verdin, Wine Merchants, 28 Churton St, London SW1) for a nice picture of Mrs Pepys wearing the breeches.
Today to Coffee House with Mistresse Gwynn, muche lamenting these Dutche warres which doe upsett her busynesse, namelye fruit import- ing from hotte countryes. She is like to have Royal Warrante but for these peskye warres. From there to Admiraltye to instruct my Pepys and sundrie fellowes to ende these scrappes, which he sayes he wille, and quicke.
Afterwardds to my Wymmen's Groups to discusse housynge strategy. We are crammed lyke bugges in the stewes in London. Mistress Cooke, a radical pastrye-makyer, verry redde, from Pudding Lane, didde want to bume oute the citye and alle menne with itt, but the vote carryed notte, but onlye by a smalle number. Would it were soe, and some Jennie Wrenne could build newe nestes for our dwellynge!
To bedde after roast beefe, verry merrie, Mr Pepys with a headache soe didde takke the man who bryngs hotte coalle, who wille serve.
(D. A. Prince) 1066 is, of course, one of the most memorable dates in herstory, being the year of manufacture of the Bayeux Tapestry. While their menfolk were busying themselves on the battlefield, a tightknit, dedicated group of women embarked on the weaving of this unique artefact. Through it they both celebrated their own sisterhood and, by choosing as its ostensible subject the Battle of Hastings*, ironically counterpointed the theme of male destructiveness with that of life- enhancing female co-operativeness. The battle scenes are generally portrayed with cool detach- ment, but the underlying rage can be felt in one striking set-piece, in which one of the rival commanders is depicted being pierced in the eye by a knitting-needle.
One of the many obscure territorial conflicts of the 11th century. (Peter Norman) Only the crassest chauvinism would see the Scott/Amundsen South Polar expeditions as void of herstorical interest simply because no
woman actually happened to take part in them. In fact, Scott's failure to achieve priority at the Pole stems directly from the secondary status he accorded women. Nowhere is his fatal distrust of the feminine principle (vide my 'Exploration as Sublimated Homosex', University of Tucson, 1977) more evident than in his spouse-choice Kathleen Bruce — masculine in her dominance, masculine even in her nomenclature! Totally undevoured by the ambition that consumed him, she literally dwarfed him — by about 31/2 inches. No wonder that the pride so repulsively patent in that taut constipated little face could be salved only by immediate attendance on the Great Ice-Mother Antarctica — on whom he then insolently proceeds to inflict statutory incest-
rape by sledge! (Jon Fernside) A fine day late in the sixteenth century. Gabled houses and fleecy clouds were reflected in the many puddles in the street. She stood musing awhile. Fecund showers watered the green land of England and made it beautiful: so had she nurtured and strengthened her people. Their love of her amounted, rightly, to worship. She was not unmindful of the glory of her majesty.
She had been half aware also of a strange change in the background — something like `Swisser Swatter.' Now a dishevelled fellow appeared. Weatherbeaten and of a mean look, he might have been, really, some tobacconist. He was adjusting his dress and his cloak trailed behind him.
No more delay: she was resolved. Queen Elizabeth stepped forward and trampled the offending garment into the mud. (Paul Butler)
He was watching me boil up the kettle for a nice cup of tea. 'Why does that emerging hissing cloud flutter the lid like that?' he said. These young lads, calling themselves men, but full of boyish questions! So I explained to him how when water boiled it gave off steam, vaporised water that is. Then I had to explain that! I told him how powerful it was, how it could lift the lid clean off an iron pot. 'Why,' I said, 'it's so powerful, if someone designed an engine big enough, built a fire fierce enough to boil a whole tank of water, why then, it could pull wagon- loads.' He laughs, calls me a caution, then up and off to his room where he does all that draw- ing and writing. So I just got on with my job. You just can't tell some folk.
(Catherine Benson)
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