Yesterday I reached the year 1914 in my historical experiment. Like anyone who 'time-travels' to the 1910s, there was a dread of World War I — which of course started that year. It was not very cheerful to read via Wikipedia how well prepared countries were to fight the war, or so it seemed: economic measures, military measures, propaganda measures etc. swung into place as if governments had been looking forward to this for a while.
But my experiment was mostly pacific. After tidying the kitchen (and travelling forward in time to do a little 21st-century weekend work), my family and I ate breakfast.
I had the Neue Züricher Zeitung beside my plate, which I'd bought in the Bergmannstraße two weeks ago, and read excerpts of articles — which had an FDP-esque appearance to my half-German eyes — about how little Switzerland is being brutally intimidated by the economic colossi of the world. Papa read its articles online in the early 2000s and maybe later; I presume its editorial politics were less silly-sounding then. Either way, at least it wasn't war news, which would have been a daily obsession once the fighting began in 1914.
I didn't have a pile of paper correspondence to sort through and chat about with the family during and after breakfast, which feels to me like a more early 20th century thing to do and which probably should have been built into the experiment earlier. Instead I checked Facebook, Gmail, Discord and LinkedIn, wrote an email, and filed away a few paper bank statements. Besides I read bits of books, including Beatrix Potter's Tale of Mrs. Moppet.
It was after 1 p.m. when I went shopping at the Turkish street market. It looks like the earliest peaches have arrived; mountains of cherries as well, tons of grapes and watermelons, bell peppers and pepperoni, tomatoes that were being sold cheaply at 2 Euros per carton, etc. What I'm still missing is fresh corn that can be made into corn chowder — which however may be more of an American than a British dish at any point in time.
It isn't clear to me when food restrictions began in Britain during World War I. Panic-buying and hoarding did happen early, according to the Further Back In Time for Dinner television series. But after experiencing and heartily disliking hoarding in 'real life' last year due to Covid-19, it feels needless to emulate that horrid phenomenon again. So while I resisted the temptation of buying fruit that was likely to have been imported to the UK in 1914, I didn't hold back too much otherwise.
And, when I found a large, floppy-brimmed hat in black, blue and white stripes, which I felt matched the pleasantly opulent air of headgear in the early 1900s, I bought it.
For a second shopping trip, I made the rounds of the bank and the organic grocery store. At a knitting store I also bought two balls of sock-knitting yarn. In a 21st-century touch, all the shoppers in the store had to write down their name, address and telephone number for the shop's records, to help with potential Covid-19 contact tracing.
When I returned to the doorstep of our building, my sister T. came up as well. She had ordered burgers and fries on behalf of us all, and was now joining my two youngest brothers and my mother and me to eat lunch together in our apartment.
In the meantime, I was inspired by a few of the Edwardian fine dining menus I've seen, and prepared strawberries and prosecco for the family. I don't think prosecco would have been known much outside Italy in the 1910s; but the organic grocery store didn't have any 'true' champagne. In addition I'd bought lemon sorbet and a watermelon. 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die,' was the subliminal motto.
The burgers and fries themselves I didn't eat, for the sake of the experiment.
Instead, I began knitting a time-appropriate sock 'for the soldiers,' using a four-needle technique for the first time. It was pleasing on a trivial level to become accustomed to it, and I think that many Edwardian upper-middle-class women might have been in the same boat, acquiring new knitting or sewing skills yet not being terribly good at it. At the same time, reflecting on the historical context was not pleasing: the idea of all the men I know between the ages of 18 and 45 going off to war, and of sending them socks and hemmed bedsheets and cookies as a small comfort, was pretty sad.
For next week I'm trying to figure out what to do as 'women's war work' aside from knitting. Probably reading up on First Aid in lieu of nurse's training, or planting a miniature 'Victory Garden' on the windowsill, or beginning to hem bed linen?
Then, in the evening, I departed from the experiment not only by watching two soccer matches on the television and the computer, and by doing more 21st-century weekend work; but also by cycling to Dussmann Kulturkaufhaus to buy books.
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