THE SUPERIORITY OF SOPHIA SARAH BANKS

Sophia Sarah Banks was a lady of uncertain age who had an opinion on everything  (“and I’m right, you’ll see” she always ended her tirades). While her famous brother, Sir Joseph, was off round the world on his endless search for botanical specimens (“bits of fungus” was her term for them) she herself was a noted collector of ephemera and prints, driving a hard bargain when on the scent of something she wanted. Not that she really wanted it, more that she wanted to deny it to anyone else – such was her nature, a strong desire to be superior. When not turning London upside down for her “treasures” she ruled the roost at the family household with choice cuss words and a sour expression, neither of which you wanted to be in the way of.

    A large woman with a wobbly chin and singularly small feet, she barged about like a ship in full sail. Particularly when mounted on her horse. Every day she galloped across fields of neighboring farms with no regard for livestock or crops on a man’s sized steed, wearing one of her three riding habits which, bizarrely, she had named Hitum, Titum and Scrub. The farmers had long since given up trying to make her stick to the roads and bridle paths (“there’s no entertainment in going where everyone else goes”). When not riding she was accompanied by her pet lapdog, Marmaduke, which followed her round the estate or was otherwise carried under her ample arm.

   She had two servants, both male, (“can’t stand whimpering women”) who loathed her superior ways but were too scared to hand in their notice. There was Mulgrave who was part butler, part cook and Donkin, a simpleton, who did the rest – cleaning, polishing, gardening and looking after the horse and caged song-bird. Mulgrave’s major pre-occupation was drinking, as his grog-blossomed nose bore witness, while Donkin’s was whistling, something he did  subconsciously, which was his normal state.