Taking the Biscuit!

One of my oldest friends (in every sense of the word as she’s just celebrated her 89^th birthday) is Kath.  We were talking about what kids did in the days before TV.

Well, according to Kath, one of the odder things that kids got up to was to go and look at corpses.

Nowadays, when someone dies, it’s almost de rigueur that the undertaker scoops them up and takes them to a Chapel of Rest, but that wasn’t always the case.

I can remember Grandma laid out in her coffin in the front room (lid off) and the neighbours coming to pay their respects, but although I might very well have seen other people’s deceased relatives, I can’t honestly say I remember it.

Kath, however, led by her pal Aileen, made an absolute hobby of it.

Now, before you think this is too morbid for words, I should explain that although Kath and Aileen were perfectly well fed, this was about 1933 and treats such as sweets and biscuits were rare.  So Kath was a willing listener when Aileen came up with A Plan.

“Have you noticed,” said Aileen, “that when there’s a corpse laid out in the house, everyone who comes to see it gets a biscuit or a piece of cake?  Why don’t we,” continued Aileen, getting down to brass tacks, “go and look at corpses and then we’ll get a biscuit too?”

It was dead easy (if you’ll excuse the expression) to spot the house with a corpse in it because the curtains were drawn at the front of the house.

So those two little girls went round knocking at doors to offer to “say a prayer,” (Kath’s exact words) “over the corpse”, upon which they were ushered into the parlour and, having admired how beatifully laid-out the corpse was, they’d get cracking.

Usually one Hail Mary would do the trick, but sometimes they had to throw in an Our Father as well before the biscuits were produced, while the householder looked on, sometimes moved to tears by this display of infant piety.  There was one occasion, however, where Aileen decided to cut and run when, after a whole decade of the Rosary (!) no biscuits were forthcoming.  “All that praying,” said Aileen in disgust when they were out on the street again, “for nothing!”

It came to an end, however, as all good things do, when the Headmistress of the school, a ferocious nun of the old-fashioned type, wise to any form of rannygazoo, called them into her office.  “I hear,” she said, “that you’ve got a new hobby.”

Kath and Aileen looked at each other for moral support and Kath demurely said, “We’re only saying prayers.”

Even the most clued-up nun couldn’t actually object to that, but she wasn’t fooled.  “In future, I think you should restrict your payers to church.”

So that’s what they did