Jane was born in 1960. She gazed intently at the pictures in big wooden frames in the shop-window. It was now 1975. Modern times were upon us, and Jane felt a burning desire to be like the girls in the photos. They had won prizes for ballet-dancing and horse-riding. They were adored by everyone. But Jane was a nobody, leading a dull life.

Jane was a dreamer, with a vivid imagination. In her mind she saw her own face in the pictures of these winners in the window. She let out a sigh and walked away, sweeping her long brown hair back and heading down the street.

Jane wore a set of small dark beads around her neck and a casual black stylized “donkey-jacket” type of garment, which had six big light brown “duffle-coat” type buttons, on top of her flared dark-blue flared jeans. As she wistfully walked back to her home in a leafy street she swung her big bulging brown tote-bag back and forth. Her solid and sensible brown shoes clumped on the pavement.

She stopped for a moment and stood across the street from the house where she lived, and pondered. Her home was a small detached bungalow with a built-in garage. A nice house, but modest. In her imagination Jane made the bungalow into a towering four-storey town-house and then into a beautiful thatched-roof Tudor cottage which then became, in her mind, a small castle. She wondered to herself which type of building would be her Dream House to live in.

The images faded away, and with a slight frown on her face, Jane saw just the small bungalow once again. She screwed up her face in resignation and trudged over to the front door, now dragging her bag behind her.

Jane walks through the iron gate and up the path, and through the front door. In the kitchen her mother hears her coming in to the house.

“Is that you Jane?” her mother calls. Jane walks through the hall door and into the kitchen to greet her mother.

“Yes mum” she announces herself.

“Did you get the meat…?”

“Yes mum”.

“Good … and the onions?”

“Yes mum”. Jane’s voice goes up a pitch.

“And that washing-up stuff?”

Jane shakes her head from side to side and looks directly at her mother who is clearing bowls and packets of cornflakes and stuff from the big pine kitchen-table. Jane’s mum is pleasant-looking and in her early-forties. She has longish blonde hair, with a fair bit of grey running through it, and she’s wearing an apron.

“You didn’t say to get washing-up stuff”, says Jane.

“Didn’t I? Where’s … eh … Nick?”

“Search me. eh…” Jane glances out the kitchen window “… in the garden, digging up the lawn, such as it is” Jane informs her mother.

“He’ll be filthy. Look darling, can you ask him to come in and get cleaned up because Aunt Mira and Helen are coming to lunch.”

Jane screws up her face at the thought of this. “Oh, no. Anyway, I thought you were working this afternoon?”

“No, no, that’s tomorrow. And so I thought we could all go out somewhere today and do something nice, all of us”. Jane’s mother says, with a gentle and warm smile.

Jane looks perturbed. “Something nice, with Aunt Mira? I bet”. Jane’s voice is becoming quite shrill now.

Five of them are sitting around the big pine kitchen-table, sitting on their wooden chairs. Jane’s mother is standing up and serving her son Nick with an extra helping of bright yellow custard. Nick is leaning over his older-sister Jane and eagerly holding out his bowl. He is a year or two younger than Jane. Nick has a shock of thick, blonde hair and has a penetrating tone to his voice and an energetic manner. They all have a large tumbler full of a weak-looking diluted orange drink next to their bowls.

Helen, Jane’s friend, sits at the far corner, and is also showing keen interest in more custard. She looks similar to her friend Jane, but perhaps just slightly lighter in build, and maybe her long, straight, dark-brown hair is a bit finer. Helen has refined looks and a pretty face.

Aunt Mira sits next to her daughter Helen, and directly across the table from Jane. She looks about fifty but is probably only forty. Her old-fashioned perm and cardigan put years onto her. Her face is forming a frown and she is licking custard off of her fingers.

At the head of the table, sitting almost underneath Jane’s mother, is James, the husband of Aunt Mira. He has flat straight hair of a non-descript dark colour, and is wearing a cream shirt, tie, and a dark-brown cardigan.

Helen stretches out her bowl, right across the table. Aunt Mira puts out her hand, blocks Helen’s attempt at gaining “extras” and scowls at her daughter.

“You’ve had enough dear”, she scolds Helen. Helen takes her bowl back and puts her head down, resigned.

“Are you joining us this afternoon James?” asks Aunt Mira.

“Afraid not.” James replies with a smug grin on his face, “Duty calls”.

“But we haven’t really decided what we’re going to do yet” Jane’s mother addresses James.

“Well, whatever it is, enjoy yourselves” James says, dismissively. He gets up out of his chair. “I’m off” he declares. Jane’s mother groans in disappointment.

Jane’s mother sits down at the head of the table, in the chair that James has just relinquished. “Well …” she addresses the table with a warm smile. “What shall we do then? What about the zoo?” she says keenly.

“Oh, no, not the zoo again” Nick cuts in, in a strident tone, and with a frown of disapproval on his young face, making him look older. He continues to scoop up the remains of his custard.

“How about the skating rink? Jane’s mother then suggests.

An enthusiastic “yeah” and big smiles from Jane and Helen to this idea.

“Rather chilly, don’t you think?” Aunt Mira states with a serious expression. She gazes around the table and then holds her eyes on her daughter Helen.

Jane’s mother is starting to look a bit fed up. “Well there’s the … playground …” she suggests, but not too convincingly. Nick’s face contorts in anguish. “I’m not six you know”. He shakes his head in disappointment.

“Not the playground” Jane also shakes her head at the thought. Mira sits up a bit on her chair and her eyes get a bit wider-looking.

“I know. What about the museum. I’ve been meaning to go there for a long time“. Jane looks at Mira with appalled disbelief on her face, as if she cannot believe Aunt Mira is being serious.

“Not a horrible, boring, museum” Jane emphasises the word “boring” and shakes her head. Jane then looks directly at her mother in an appeal for help. “I absolutely hate museums” Jane’s face looks petulant.

“Well, that’s just too bad” her mother leans forward forcefully. Nick sits back, says nothing, and smirks away.

“I think the museum is a very good idea” Jane’s mother states with authority. Nick’s face now falls in resignation. He bites his lip a bit.

“Oh, eh …” Nick appears to suddenly wake up out of his dwam. “Quite forgot, I said I’d meet Brian at the football pitch“. He rises up out of his chair and moves quickly out of the kitchen door.

“Hey you!” his mother shouts after him. “You haven’t finished your pudding yet!” Helen laughs at Nick’s rapid escape while sitting very still.

“Why can’t we go skating?” Jane appeals to her mother.

“Because I said so”

“But you suggested skating yourself?” Jane puts on a persuasive face.

“I’ve changed my mind” says Jane’s mother with an embarrassed face.

“No you haven’t, you just …” Jane glares across the table at Aunt Mira.

“That’s quite enough, I don’t want to hear another word. Now you be quiet”.

Aunt Mira has a look of accomplishment on her face. “Well now, that’s all decided. I believe there’s the most awfully-good collection of early costumes. You girls should enjoy that”. Aunt Mira glances at both girls. Jane is not convinced. She slumps forward and supports her chin and cheek in her hand.

It is a lovely bright and breezy day as the group, led by Mira, stride forth along the pavement, then down the steps and through the big iron gates, towards the entrance of the Grand Building. Mira leads the group of four. Jane’s mum, walks beside her, trying to keep up. Jane and Helen trail behind by a few steps.

“I’m so glad we came” Mira says to Jane’s Mum as they reach the entrance. They are all wearing longish trench coats and clumpy shoes. The girls both have flared trousers on. Inside, the four of them clump around in their heavy shoes on the polished wooden floors of the museum. Mira stops in front of a big, and elaborate, Victorian Doll’s House.

“Isn’t that delightful” Mira states with gusto. Helen, Mira and Jane’s mum all lean forward and peer into the house. They look in wonder and show beaming smiles.

“Hey, Jane” say her mum, “Come and have a look at this”. Jane has a bored-face on and is just a few steps behind them.

“It’s got everything,” says Helen. “Look at the tiny books on the shelves, and there’s real pictures …”

“And real inhabitants …” say Jane’s mum.

“Dolls” says Jane, sceptically, with conviction, directly at her mum’s face.

“They’re awfully real-looking though” says Helen.

“Look, there’s a little girl, and her mother and father, and someone terribly stern-looking …” says Jane’s mum.

“The Governess” says Mira. “A lovely old-fashioned household”

“It’s lovely” says Helen with a warm smile. “I wish I lived in a house like that. I’d be the girl playing the piano …”.

“You can’t, I’m her!,” Jane declares, somewhat possessively, and with a look of concern on her face.

“Stop being so bad tempered” Jane’s mum tells her daughter off. “If you’ve got nothing nice to say then keep your thoughts to yourself”.

“All right, I will” Jane retorts back with a sullen face.

Jane stares intently at the little doll playing the piano. It sits there with a music score in front of it. She then looks at the little maids in the kitchen.

“The little picture above the mantelpiece must have been painted specially I suppose” say Mira, but her voice seems distant and somehow disembodied. Jane is becoming transfixed by all the little characters in all the tiny rooms. The hands of the museum wall-clock above her head indicates 3.30pm as they point at the roman numerals on the clock face. We can hear the echoing voice of Aunt Mira harping away in the distance. Jane goes into a day-dream.

In the Victorian kitchen the wall-clock also says 3.30pm and Jane, to her surprise, realises she has now been, somehow, transported into this kitchen, and she is dressed in a kitchen-maid’s outfit with a long, wide, white apron, red top, and a white soft hat. A big woman of about forty years in age, also a maid, is fixing Jane’s attire, making adjustments to the fitting around her shoulders.

“That’s more like it then. You look a bit more like it when you’re turned out proper” says the big-chested lady in the maid’s outfit. She spins Jane around to check all is in order and makes some final adjustments to her garments. “Don’t you know how to put a cap on properly? What’s your name? Jane isn’t it?” Jane looks bewildered at this woman and at her surroundings. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Jane just stands and stares, wide-eyed. “Your Jane Tompkins, recommended by Mrs Sanders, aren’t you?” Jane says nothing, and just looks around, with a confused expression on her face. “Well, Jane Tompkins, you work hard, mind your P’s and Q’s and you’ll get along nice. Had to come from far, have you?”

“Eh … I’m not sure” Jane struggles to answer. She walks a few steps towards the wall and looks at herself in a mirror. She sees that she has a maid’s outfit and cap on. She glances down at herself and realises that she really is dressed in the full garb of a Victorian maid.

“Hey, that’s enough admiring yourself” The big woman says with a stern tone. “Flightiness I will not have. Now you go through to the pantry and start getting the tea-things out”. The big lady gestures with her arms and points towards the pantry. “I want you up in the drawing-room, with the tea-trolley, in five minutes”. The big lady speaks to Jane in a tone, deliberately emphasising her words, as if Jane is perhaps a bit slow or simple. “And no nonsense”.

The big bossy Kitchen Maid turns her back on Jane and starts to arrange the tea-cakes, very neatly, on a tray, which is sitting on the edge of a big pine kitchen table. Behind the bossy woman, against the wall, sits an imposing cast-iron range, with giant iron tea-pots sitting on top of it. There are also huge blue decorative plates sitting on the kitchen cupboards and cabinets, on individual stands.

Jane, still looking completely incredulous, begins to exit the kitchen by waking past a giant iron scale which is resting, prominently, on top of a chest of pine drawers. Jane, pauses, turns around, and glances towards the big maid. The maid carries on with arranging her tea-cakes and does not turn around. Jane walks out of the kitchen, still with an incredulous look on her face.

In the drawing-room the Mistress is lying back on a couch relaxing. A girl in a long frock is playing an upright piano. The sheet of music she is referring to is almost bigger than the piano. The Mistress wears a long baggy dress which reveals only her shoes which are placed up on the couch.

Jane politely knocks on the drawing-room door. “Come in” invites the mistress. “Ah, you must be the new tweenie” she observes. “What is your name?” the mistress enquires. “I was expecting you today”.

Jane looks agog at the Mistress lying there and, pauses for a moment, then gives her name as Jane.

“Well Jane” the mistress says, with a warm smile. “I hope you will be very happy here. And now you may lay the table”. The Mistress waves her arm out and gestures towards the table. Jane gently, and carefully, places the wooden tea-tray down on the table.

Young Helen, who looks remarkably like her friend from 1975, suddenly stops playing the piano, spins around and gets up from her seat. “My fingers are so cold. May I stop playing now Mama?”

The mistress replies, with some concern: “I am so afraid Miss Pursor will be listening and you’ve not played your scales yet”. Helen is now over at the fireplace, heating her hands over the open flames. “I hate Miss Pursor,” Helen states, with some conviction, nodding her head forward at the word “hate”.

“Helen, you must not speak like that,” the mistress says in a gentle tone of concern.

Helen walks over to the couch and speaks directly at the Mistress. “Oh, Mama, may I go to school like Fanny Sykes? Must I stay at home with Miss Pursor for ever and ever? Lot’s of girls go to boarding school?”

Jane is listening in intently to this conversation while diligently pouring out the tea.