Packing
The CBB -> Ste Therese's House
#1: Packing Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 4:38 pm

“Your mother is calling you,” the maid, neat in her apron and afternoon dress, addresses her words to the young lady of the house, who is currently sitting in an apple tree. The girl wrinkles her nose, and pushes back a strand of golden-brown hair from her face. “Bother! I didn’t hear!” she announces loudly, precipitating herself from her perch with great rapidity, falling almost at the feet of Ann, who starts a little, instantaneously recovering her dignity and moving back towards the house. The girl, who is perhaps twelve or thirteen, smoothes her crumpled dress as she runs full pelt the length of the garden, then slips in through the side-door and continues more decorously up the stairs.

In her bedroom, light and airy, stands her mother, waiting by the window. A bubble of excitement wells – packing her trunk, to be sent in advance. Almost the end of the holidays, but not quite. Long enough for playing in the garden, for going swimming, for sitting and reading uninterrupted if she wishes. Short enough a time for getting excited, for trying to remember her algebra and deciding it doesn’t matter anyway, for reaching the point of almost-but-not-quite wanting to stay at home, and for feeling like the summer has run away and left her with just a sweet taste in her mouth, like the blackberries she was eating earlier in the afternoon. Her mother turns, the smoothness of her face creasing with laughter as she beholds her daughter – tanned, freckled, and bearing suspicious purple tinges that tell her some of the berries in the garden must be ripe already. “What a mess! Go and wash and I’ll start on your trunk for you.” The bathroom is cool and quiet, the towels white and soft and fluffy, smelling wonderfully of home, which she notices when first she arrives for the holidays, but by this point has forgotten, grown complacent in her home-life.

Helping to pack – a ritual, the list taped neatly to the lid of the trunk, the attempt to ensure she knows where things are when she reaches school. Hockey boots, new this term, their stiff leather shining; up through jumpers, skirts, blouses, tunics, handkerchiefs – layer on layer of a life in a box, packed away as the warm sun spills through the window.

Last edited by Xanthe on Fri Sep 16, 2005 1:15 pm; edited 1 time in total

 

#2:  Author: Liss, Location: Harrow, London PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 4:41 pm

*sighs* Your writing is always so lyrical, Xanthe. Look forward to more.

 

#3:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 5:04 pm

*Caught up in the scent, feel and taste*

Thanks Xanthe

Liz

 

#4:  Author: Rosy, Location: Gloucestershire-London-Aberystwyth PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 5:15 pm

Thankyou Xan. It's lovely. Really involving.

 

#5:  Author: Josie, Location: London PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 5:20 pm

Lovely, Xan, thanks. Looking forward to more.

 

#6:  Author: aitchemelle, Location: West Sussex PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 6:13 pm

Thank you Xanthe! Lovely!
*Patiently waits for more*

 

#7:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 6:14 pm

That was really lovely Xanthe

*joins the patient waiters*

 

#8:  Author: Chair, Location: Rochester, Kent, England PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 6:43 pm

I really enjoyed reading the first part and I look forward to more! Thanks, Xanthe.

 

#9:  Author: Liane, Location: Manchester PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 7:04 pm

Thanks Xanthe, this looks really good.

 

#10:  Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 7:23 pm

“In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.”

A prefect slips into chapel, where the choir is practising; her eyes scanning the faces of the choir. The tall girl walks slowly up towards the stalls where the choir are standing, and converses with the choir-mistress in low tones. Abruptly, she signals for silence, a sign missed by a small soprano who manages to sing “But only His mother,” before being elbowed in the ribs by her neighbour. “Hilda Annersley, you are wanted in the study,” Miss Bennett says, her voice carefully neutral, and the girl slips out from her place, and walks towards the dais, frantically running through everything she has done, all term, that might have resulted in such a summons. She keeps this up for the entire walk to the head’s study, her brain whirling, until, at the door, as the prefect turns to leave, she whispers, “but I haven’t done anything bad.”

The study seems muffled – thick curtains drawn against the gathering dark, and the brightness of the electric light offset by the flickering shadows cast by the fire. Her eyes fix, instantly, firmly, on the carpet – so quickly she does not register the visitor in the room. It is his voice, though, that breaks the silence – a voice cracked and unfamiliar. “I’ve come to take you home,” the voice says, uncomfortable, halting. “But it’s not the end of term,” Hilda replies, automatically “not for another week. It’s the carol service tomorrow. I can’t go home.” A sudden thought strikes her – “am I being expelled?!” she gasps, gripped with fear. Her headmistress rises and crosses the room to her, drawing her over to a chair next to the fire. “Of course not,” Miss Carstairs says, gently, “You’ll be coming back after the holidays, just as normal. But you have to go home now.” Another fear, worse, even, than that of being expelled creeps around her, even as her brother begins to speak again. “Mother’s dead.” Flat words, fateful. “It’s time to go home Hilda,” he says, not knowing what else he can say, and she turns dazed blue-grey eyes to his. “But she can’t be,” Hilda says, her voice strangely hollow, her eyes brimming with tears that begin to trickle gently down her cheeks as she rises. “Please, I need to pack some of my things,” Hilda says, gripping the edge of the chair, and the headmistress nods.

 

#11:  Author: Liss, Location: Harrow, London PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 7:26 pm

Oh, that carol is really moving; it really reflects how she would be feeling. I think your use of the present tense adds to the immediacy - it's mighty fine.

 

#12:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 7:41 pm

This is so vivid Xanthe, you feel as if you are not only there but intimatly involved.

 

#13:  Author: francesn, Location: away with the faeries PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 7:45 pm

Oh thank you Xanthe - the first part is such a contrast to that second scene

 

#14:  Author: Vikki, Location: Sitting on an iceberg, freezing to death!!! PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 8:14 pm

Thank you Xan! This is beautifully written, and has made me all goosebumpy! Poor little Hilda!

 

#15:  Author: Chair, Location: Rochester, Kent, England PostPosted: Thu Sep 15, 2005 8:46 pm

Poor Hilda. Crying or Very sad I feel really choked up after reading that last post. Thanks, Xanthe.

 

#16:  Author: Cath V-P, Location: Newcastle NSW PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 12:04 am

Oh, the poor child. Her world has ended.

 

#17:  Author: keren, Location: Israel PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 4:54 am

This is something that has come up in a number of drabbles.
For us, today, the cruelness of not telling the young girl that her mother was ill, etc, is something that people feel they have to deal with, and talk about.

 

#18:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 7:10 am

Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad

Thanks Xanthe

Liz

 

#19:  Author: Liane, Location: Manchester PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 7:31 am

Thanks Xanthe this is beautifuly written. Crying or Very sad

 

#20:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 9:17 am

Beautifully written and wonderfully emotive. Thank you Xanthe.

 

#21:  Author: Xanthe, Location: London/Cambridge PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 1:14 pm

“The holly bears a bark,
As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
For to redeem us all”

‘Carol singers,’ thinks Hilda wearily, as, curled up on her bed, she turns the pages of her copy of “The Night Before Christmas”. ‘And no “visions of sugar-plums” dance in my head.’ She sighs, and puts the book back in its place. The house seems cold and empty, for all that there are fires and gas lamps flickering throughout, and Hilda, through instinct, trails towards her mother’s room. It smells different – strange – more like the san at school than of the usual mix of lavender soap and her favourite scent. The bed is stripped, and the furniture covered with dust sheets. Crossing the room to the wardrobe, Hilda cautiously opens the door, to discover all her mother’s dresses are gone. Shaking, she pushes the door to, and moves to the dressing table, the chest of drawers, in her desperation crawling under the bed for some sign her mother had, until recently, inhabited the room. Nothing. The room is empty – blank, and comfortless.

In search of a place to hide, to allow her conflicting emotions – rage and grief and pain – to tear her apart, Hilda moves blindly, with none of her usual grace, to the attics – a perfect place for hide and seek. Things have been moved since last she played up here, but the smell, cool, and slightly fusty, remains the same. Sitting atop a trunk she cries until she can cry no more, sliding from the trunk to the floor, and lying in a heap. The trunk, she registers, as she sits up again, is new. Curiosity sparks in her, briefly, and she opens the trunk, which breathes a sweet familiar smell of her mother’s scent. Hilda looks down at the trunk – the layers and layers of life in a box, imperceptible in the gloom of the attic, but there nonetheless, and gently strokes the lid as she closes it.

 

#22:  Author: Chair, Location: Rochester, Kent, England PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 1:32 pm

Thanks, Xanthe. I really want to stretch out and give Hilda a great big hug.

 

#23:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 1:44 pm

Thank you Xanthe. Beautiful, poor Hilda but I'm pleased she found the trunk and the 'layers and layers of life in a box'.

 

#24:  Author: Josie, Location: London PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 1:50 pm

Thanks Xan. Lovely.

 

#25:  Author: Liss, Location: Harrow, London PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 1:50 pm

Oh, that was truly moving, Xanthe - just lovely! Am trying not to cry because people would look at me funny (self included in a weird contortiony way).

 

#26:  Author: MaryR, Location: Sale Cheshire PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 2:15 pm

A delicate image of grief. Crying or Very sad

Thank you, Xanthe

 

#27:  Author: Bookwormsarah, Location: Cambridge, UK PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 3:29 pm

Xanthe wrote:
It smells different – strange – more like the san at school than of the usual mix of lavender soap and her favourite scent. The bed is stripped, and the furniture covered with dust sheets. Crossing the room to the wardrobe, Hilda cautiously opens the door, to discover all her mother’s dresses are gone. Shaking, she pushes the door to, and moves to the dressing table, the chest of drawers, in her desperation crawling under the bed for some sign her mother had, until recently, inhabited the room.


Oh - this reminded me so strongly of the way I felt after my Nan died, ten years ago on Sunday. I remember finding a coat of hers and wrapping myself in it, burying my face in the sleeves because I could just catch the scent, searching nooks and crannies for a lost comb or hanky, and crying over a shopping list I came across accidently. I still catch her scent sometimes. It feels like she's watching me.

Achingly sad, but strangely comforting. Thank you.

 

#28:  Author: joelle, Location: lancashire, england PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 6:01 pm

Oh thats so well written! Thank you, I feel so sad for little Hilda now.

 

#29:  Author: Helen P, Location: Crewe, Cheshire PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 8:27 pm

So sad Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad

And so beautifully written. Thankyou Xanthe.

 

#30:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Fri Sep 16, 2005 9:54 pm

*blinking back the tears*

Thanks Xanthe Kiss

Liz

 

#31:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Sat Sep 17, 2005 10:48 am

Thankks Xanthe that was beautiful

 

#32:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Sat Sep 17, 2005 2:26 pm

That was really moving. Thanks Xanthe.

 

#33:  Author: Mia, Location: London PostPosted: Tue Sep 20, 2005 9:37 am

Really excellent, thanks Xanthe

 

#34:  Author: Ann, Location: Newcastle upon Tyne, England PostPosted: Tue Sep 20, 2005 10:08 am

That was beautiful. Thank you Xanthe.

 

#35:  Author: Kat, Location: Swansea PostPosted: Tue Sep 20, 2005 2:42 pm

Crying or Very sad Poor Hilly Crying or Very sad

Thank you Xannikins Kiss

 

#36:  Author: RuthY, Location: Anyone's guess PostPosted: Tue Sep 20, 2005 8:22 pm

Sad so sad Sad

Thanks Xanthe.

Ruth

 

#37:  Author: dackel, Location: Wolfenbuettel, Germany/Cambridge, England PostPosted: Tue Sep 20, 2005 8:35 pm

That was beautiful, Xanthe, very emotional, and involving all the senses, too. Poor Hilda.

 

#38:  Author: francesn, Location: away with the faeries PostPosted: Fri Sep 23, 2005 12:12 am

Crying or Very sad poor poor Hilda, running to her mother's room for comfort and finding that all traces of her have been erased.

 

#39:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Sun Sep 25, 2005 1:54 am

Beautiful, Xanthe!

The symmetry of the trunks makes it all the more poignant.

 

#40:  Author: Tiffany,  PostPosted: Thu Sep 29, 2005 6:41 pm

Wow, Xanthe. Your writing is amazing; so vivid. Poor Hilda Crying or Very sad

 

#41:  Author: Gem, Location: Saltash/Aberystwyth PostPosted: Mon Oct 03, 2005 8:17 am

*cries*

Poor Hilda Sad

Thank you, Xanthe.

 

The CBB -> Ste Therese's House


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