The Help - Final Re Write!

May 2 1958

My name is Hilly Jennings, my age is 23, and this is my story.

“Never be caught without red lipstick, high heels are the proper attire when in ones company, to be respected you must be of high class and never trust a Black women” these are the wise words my Grandmomma left me with before she died and I have stuck by them until this day. It’s not hard in the small town of Jackson Mississippi, where Black people are hardly respected and rightfully so, they are lazy, the whole lot of them and this town would be a much better place if they all disappeared, but I will elaborate more on that later. I grew up in a small town called Utica it was beautiful and just on the outskirts of Jackson, My mother was never home, far too busy, so I was stuck with the maid. Let’s just say my childhood was not a happy one.

I remember one day I will never forget as I was walking through the Jackson markets I came across a Black lady hand in hand with a little White girl, so it was obvious that she was their families maid, I remember the little one pointing ever so delicately at the sweets in the window and smiling up at the maid but the Black maid tugged on the little girls arm pulling her away, red marks forming slowly up her small precious arm, the little girl stops abruptly with heartbreaking fear evident in her face, with her bright eyes shining, connecting with mine the image of my own childhood flashes through my mind of the days where bruises and welts were not an unknown occurrence.

March 1 1945 aged 10

I was sitting in the back yard, flipping through one of the new comic strip’s that had just been released after the war, every kid wanted one, and I was lucky enough to swipe Momma’s one after she had her morning coffee and left for work. The minute my Momma shut the front door, Patricia Moyney came storming over to me, may I had who is our horrible family maid, and ripped the comic strip straight out of my hands, I screamed in shock as the paper ripped through my skin, the blood flowing as I watched it with fearful eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Hilly, where did you get this?” she screamed at me, paper shaking in her arms.

I remember forcing myself to look up at her, the hate so evident in her eyes they were dead black, a cold stare planted on her face.

My breath shook, lips trembling as I tried to answer, but no words would come out.

“Hilly, I asked you a question” she shouted, the hand coming out and landing straight on my cheek, I could feel the rush of blood to my cheek and the pulsation starting to form.

“The table, the table” I sobbed.

Present Day, 1958

This was only one of many incidents that happened to me, however it wasn’t this bad at the start when Patricia started working for my Momma. When I first met her I thought she was lovely and to be honest I was rather excited to have someone always there unlike my Momma, but things started to change, it was like the black community were all getting angrier and angrier within their jobs working for white people, when I was young about Nine or Ten, I remember Patricia one day saying to me,

“My child white people think they can control us and treat us like animals, how would they like it if the tables turned?”

I remember just staring back at her, unsure what to say, I guess when I was young I didn’t really understand what was going on as such but now I think how dare she have said that when we give them jobs and a pay cheque each month, we are what keep them living, this is just the rule of society, black people work for the white people it is that simple.

Before we get too far ahead of ourselves let me introduce you to my family and our Negro maid Patricia Moyney. She was hired into our family, I remember when she first arrived she brought along the yummiest chocolate cheesecake I had ever tasted, I would have being about Four or Five when she was brought in to do all the things my Momma had no time to do as she was work crazy, so she was never around, she never knew anything that was going on at home, behind the scenes, never noticed that I was unhappy nothing, I felt as though I was invisible, as for my Father he left when I was born, never meet him and never heard anything about him, apart from he just had to leave, I guess I will never understand or know why. I am an only child and my Grandmomma moved in to live with us, boy was I excited. She moved in when I was about Six years old as she was getting rather sick as she was diagnosed with lung cancer and didn’t want to go into a resting home, she wanted to be with family, I thought it was perfect as I felt she was more of a mother figure in my life and was always there when I needed someone, I always said I want to grow up just like her, she was the leader of a very high elite group within her neighbourhood when she was younger, the things she use to wear were stunning, but when she passed on when I was Nine everything got a lot worse, because it was just me and the Patricia, no one to help protect me.

August 20 1945, age 10, 10 months since Grandmomma passed.

Since the pass 10 months being at home with Patricia is getting worst as anything and everything I did was wrong, I remember last Sunday I was getting ready for Church, and Patricia had laid a dress out for me, but I had worn that dress the previous weekend and didn’t want to re wear it so I picked out another dress, as I was putting the dress on Patricia came into my room,

“Hilly why haven’t you put the dress on that I laid out for you?

I replied nervously,

“I’m Sorry Patricia, but I wore that last weekend to Church and I didn’t want to re wear it”

“You know better than that, you wear what I lay out for you, now get out of the darn dress and put the one on I got out for you” She yelled, you could see the anger go from the top to bottom of her face, and frown lines gradually form across her forehead.

”Fine” I answered “But I am sure Momma wouldn’t want me to wear the same dress again and you know it”

“Is your Momma here? NO” “is your Grandmomma here? “NO, so you listen to me” followed by the door slamming, before I could even get a word in.

I could feel my eyes well up with water and my heart racing, I felt so angry, so upset, so hopeless, so alone.

“Grandmomma, if you can hear me, I wish you were here, I miss you”. I sobbed quietly to myself.

That night I went to bed, blankets pulled over my head, the rain sounding like bullets on the roof thinking to myself, will this end, how can I change and get out of this situation, I needed my Grandmomma, I needed her advice.

I woke up early that morning, thinking I know what may make this all better, I will tell Momma what exactly was going on at home while she was busy at work.

I ran to Momma’s room, but I was too late she had gone to work, so I thought I shall just wait for her to get home, I waited and waited, the day seemed to drag on then it came to night time and I heard

“Come on Hilly get to bed” Patricia said,

“But”

“Hurry up, now” She screeched.

As I was heading to my room I thought to myself just stay awake Hilly until Momma gets home and that’s exactly what I did, as I heard the front door close I ran down stairs pass Patricia, the look of surprise on her face was priceless.

“Momma, Momma” I cried

“Hilly, what are you doing up? it’s very late”

“I know Momma sorry, but I got’s to tell you something important”

“What is it” Momma said with a tone like she wasn’t interested.

Come, come this way” I lead Momma away from Patricia so I could tell her what’s being going on.

“Well Momma, it’s Patricia, she is horrible to me, she beats me, she bosses me around, she, she is just so nasty”

“Really” Momma replied”

“Yes”

“PATRICIA GET HERE NOW”, Momma yelled, I remember thinking, I did, I won’t have to live with this anymore and goodbye Patricia.

“Hilly seems to think you boss her around and beat her is this true?”

“No Mam” Patricia said so certainly.

“She does Momma I swear”, I started to sob

“Well Hilly if this is the case then show me any bruises or anything Patricia has done to you”

I remember thinking, I do have one bruise on my arm from when she hit me with the wooden spoon a few weeks back

“Here”

“Where, I can’t see anything”

I looked at my arm, the bruise had gone, “I swear Momma there was a bruise, right there I swear”

“Well, I can’t see anything, nor have I ever seen Patricia hit you, stop making things up and get to bed”.

“Butt...” Before I could finished Momma cut me off, I remember looking at Patricia’s face she had a nasty smirk.

“Sorry Patricia, I don’t know what has got into Hilly, you may leave now”

“OK, good night Mrs Jennings.

Present Time, 1958

It was moments like this that make me realise why I’m hostile towards coloured people, growing up I should never have been treated like this, as a high class women no less. Who does she think she was, bossing around a child like that and treating her like she was the scum of the earth, instead of the princess that I really was coco channel gowns and all, I guess I made it my mission when I was older to be never treated this way again, just like my Grandmomma did. I needed respect and I demanded it. Some people thought it was rude but its pure determination. Determination to be treated the way I deserve to. However, on the other hand I always wondered why my Grandmomma did have such a hate for Black people, I guess you could say rubbed off on me, it wasn’t until the day that I found a journal stashed hidden away in her top dresser draw that made me realise why. There was entry after entry all about her old maid and the things that use to happen to her. One entry read;

Journal entry 25 April, I couldn’t read what year something had spilt and made it blurry 18 something I think it was.

Isn’t a journal meant to about your secrets? Or things you did that day that were fun? Well by journal is a book about abuse, hatred and unhappiness. So what happened today well Cherlie told me that I had to fold the washing, but as mum taught me Black people work for you, you don’t work for them, so I answered “I’m sorry Cherlie, but the washing isn’t for me to fold” Cherlie replied “you do what your told my girl”, but instead I started to walk off. Then I heard the slamming of the kitchen utensil drawer, “You get back here this second, stop” I stopped in my tracks, facing away from her then a felt a smack hit my body, then I turned and she yanked my hand out and smacked with the wooden spoon on the back of my hand, I could feel the blood rush, all I could do was cry. Yet again another entry of unhappiness if only someone would protect me.

My heart sank after reading this I couldn’t believe it, I felt like I was re living her childhood, but I did have Grandmomma there to help protect me, I wonder if she had anyone to protect her, as her journal entries never said and is this why she made sure I was aware of the coloured people, as she didn’t want me to endure what she did?.

September 4 1946, age 11, 11 months since Grandmomma passed.

I remember grandma always felt strongly against Black people, she thought they were a waste of space, a good for nothing, I remember she once told me that,

“Black people may work for you in your home but they are not a part of your family. They are workers and that is all they will ever be. Them and their coloured skin can take their diseases to their own houses, and not spread it though ours, they are to never use the toilet in your home, White and Blacks are different and ones toilet is sacred”

I use to think, a toilet? Really? You can’t share one, why?

But this is why.

One afternoon Grandmomma was telling me some stories of her childhood, when she suddenly got very serious when she saw the maid walk out of our bathroom, her eyes darkened at the sight and turned to me, placing her cuppa tea down on the side table so roughly, and then grabbing my shoulders forcefully begging me to look into her eyes.

“Hilly, Black people are to never use the same toilet as you or any White person as they carry their own diseases, and how do I know this my child because when I was your around your age we used to have a coloured maid named Cherlie and she used the same toilet as we did, then one day when my Mother used it after her she started to develop a deep rash all over her body, no one could figure it out, by my Momma she was in deep pain, always scratching and screaming until one day we took her to see our local doctor and he told us that it was a rare disease that often homeless people caught by not paying enough attention to their hygiene and could only be caught through skin to skin contact like through the toilet, Momma was furious so ever since that day I believe that Black and White people should not share the same bathroom, promise me Hilly you will listen to what I say”

I will never forgot these keys words, my mission is to make this a rule, that black people are to have their own bathrooms, outside of the houses they are working for, it’s the least I can do, for my Grandmomma and for the White community too otherwise god knows how much disease would spread harming all my friends and family, I could not bear it not knowing I could have prevented this.

July 6 1952, age 17 Six years since Grandmomma passed.

I remember July 6 1955 so clearly, it had now being Six years since Grandmomma had being gone. I was cleaning out some old boxes up in the attic, getting ready to go to College, when I came across an envelope addressed to me, what I couldn’t understand was it had never being opened, and I could tell it was from my Grandmomma as I knew her writing, I could tell it had being there awhile as it had gone brown, like a cup of tea had spilt all over it. The letter read.....

To My Dearest Grandbaby Hilly.

If you are reading this it is because I have passed on, I could already feel the tears start up in my eyes.

I am going to a wonderful place where I can always watch over you.

Now Hilly you must remember everything I have taught you, never let anyone push you around, hurt you or tell you what to do especially that Black maid. You must remember not to ever lower yourself to the coloured person’s standard.

Another thing I want to tell you, now my child is if I have not yet made a Bill about the separate bathrooms that it must be a must thing to have in a White persons home then you can promise me one thing that you will try and try again without failure to make this a must thing to have, it is all I ask.

Lastly remember never be caught without red lipstick, High heels are the proper attire when in ones company, to be respected you must be of high class and never trust a black women.

I will always be watching over you my child.

Love you always and forever your Grandmomma x.

After finding this letter I thought to myself I must put forward a Bill called “The Home Help Sanitation Initiative”, which I intend to do once I have finished College. This Bill will require all Mississippi families to build outdoor bathrooms for their Black employees, to help prevent the spread of diseases, this will be successful as I am going to be a leader of a social elite group and be just like my Grandmomma, I will make sure of it.

February 2 1953, aged 18

Now Hilly Holbrook

Heading off to college, and it couldn’t come sooner as I would do anything to get out of the house and away from Patricia. I went to Belhaven College, which is just South of Jackson, Mississippi, where I meet my husband, he didn’t go to college but I was very good friends with his sister, so I really have her to thank. His name is Mr William Holbrook, I dropped out of college in my second year to be with him as he is the love of my life, and he got offered a really good job, where his pay cheque alone would be plenty, so he suggested I could leave college and become a stay at home mom and work on the social committee which to me sounded like the perfect life and it would allow me to work on the Home Help Sanitation Initiative. I was previously with another man, called Johnny, but he didn’t have the same feelings about social elite group and Black people, but we won’t say much about him.

1859 October 31 aged 24

I have been working very hard on putting together the Bill for the Home Help Sanitation Initiative, it has taken me a few years to really put together a good argument, now I am ready and now is the day. I have my elite social group behind me all the way plus many other white folk in Jackson, the Bill is being put forward today at 3pm where we will hear whether the initiative is a pass or a fail.

3pm Town Hall.

I wait patiently as everyone is gathering together in the Town Hall waiting to hear if this was a success or not, here comes the chairmen.

“We of Jackson Mississippi Board of Committee have read and gone over the Home Help Sanitation Initiative Bill submitted by Hilly Holbrook, and the answer is.....

My heart sinks, the room falls silent.