After the previous post on marriage by Sylvia Plath the Thomas Hardy poem ‘The Ruined Maid‘ comes to mind. It is an early poem by Hardy written over hundred years before Plath. It clearly defines the plight of being a young girl in the eighteen-sixties. A sarcastic take on the joy of being ruined. And how to be one-up on a friend who has remained unruined.

Below is the text from the Thomas Hardy Society Website which enhances the Dorset dialect –
Microsoft Word – 5 The Ruined Maid.docx

The voices of the two maids are contrasted. The last line of each stanza are the polished arrogance of the newly refined maid; now a lady going about town in style. The last line by the ruined maid is very interesting those last two words a’int ruined. If she was truly refined in speech she won’t use the word a’int, so she is communicating back to her friend in the local vernacular. So she is not completely ruined perhaps as she reverts to her old self.

The Ruined Maid

‘O ’Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosper-ity?’ –
‘O didn’t you know I’d been ruined?’ said she. –

‘You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers three!’ –
‘Yes: that’s how we dress when we’re ruined,’ said she. –

‘At home in the barton you said “thee” and “thou”,
And “thik oon”, and “theäs oon”, and “t’other”; but now
Your talking quite fits ’ee for high compa-ny!’ –
‘Some polish is gained with one’s ruin,’ said she.

ruined – morally ruined, a prostitute or a kept woman
barton – farmyard
this one, that one, the other –

‘Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I’m bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!’ –
‘We never do work when we’re ruined,’ said she. –

‘You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you’d sigh, and you’d sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!’ –
‘True. One’s pretty lively when ruined,’ said she. –

‘I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!’ –
‘My dear – a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain’t ruined,’ said she.

Westbourne Park Villas, 1866

digging up docks (weeds) with a narrow spade called a spud
hag-ridden – a nightmare
sock – to sigh loudly (Dor dialect)
raw – inexperienced, naive

Thomas Hardy (1840 – 1928)