Pain, Eliza Getting On

Barry Pain, from Eliza Getting On. London: Cassell 1911

[This extract from Pain’s Eliza stories is obviously derived from the chapter in the Diary dealing with the séances held at The Laurels and takes a similar mocking approach, except that the clerk husband is far more credulous than Mr Pooter.]

[From Chapter 9“Psychic Investigations”]

“These mediums do table-rapping, don’t they?” [said Eliza]

“That might of course come into it.”

“I can do that myself.”

“Really? You surprise me. Why have you never told me?”

“Might have done if I’d happened to have thought of it. Why, it’s years and years since I’ve done it. But I could do it when I was a girl and I expect I can do it now.”

“Then you have in you, Eliza, the beginning of a great psychic gift. We must have a demonstration at once. This is most interesting. It must be gone into.”

“I don’t mind,” said Eliza. “Wait till I’ve finished this sock.”

I asked her if she preferred any particular table. She said any old table would do, and it would not be necessary to turn down the lights, or to have a musical-box playing, or to concentrate the mind.

“It’s just a bit of fair heel-and-toe[1]]spiritualism,” said Eliza, which was not at all the kind of language that the gentleman at the vegetarian restaurant had used in discussing the subject.

She spread her hands on the table. “Now, then,” she said, “one rap means “Yes,” and two raps mean “No.” Are there any spirits present?”

There was a loud and decided rap under the table. Yet I could see for myself that Eliza had not moved.

“Wonderful,” I said.

“Will they answer questions?” Eliza went on; and again came one rap for “Yes.”

“Now,” said Eliza to me, “you ask any questions you like.”

“Have I,” I said, “any great psychical gifts unknown to myself?”

There came two sharp raps in quick succession, and then Eliza jumped up and burst out laughing. “Why, you old silly, you needn’t gape like that. It’s just a trick. I learned that when I was working at Butterson’s before I ever met you. It was a girl called Bella Ware taught me, and she got it from her father, who worked for Blackley’s—one of those professional conjurors that they send out for parties. Look here, I’ll show you how it’s done, if you like. It’s easy enough, if you’ve got the right kind of joints for it.” (84-86)

[1] That is, commonplace or simple: Eliza draws her metaphor from darning socks.