The Chalet School at Peace
The CBB -> St Agnes's House
#1: The Chalet School at Peace Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 11:57 am

Please note: this was very much a first draft. It contains numerous errors, the occasional EBDism, etc. There are also many differences from the finished product. Please do not expect answers to all questions you may have about how this differs from the real thing. Thank you! Kiss

Chapter I – The Problem of the Head Girl

“I don’t know what to do,” Madge Russell, the school’s owner, groaned. “It’s so complicated that I’m almost tempted to leave Marilyn to finish her year and just let the school go on as it is.”
The wiry woman sitting in the corner shook her head. “Definitely not, if you want my opinion,” Matron Lloyd said firmly. “It was bad enough last term – why, I had to call Marilyn away from her books five times in the course of the term to tidy her bedroom properly, and that’s something that just shouldn’t have to happen to the Head Girl! – but this is exam term. Goodness only knows what will happen if she’s allowed to continue.”
“But you do have to admit that it’s rather unfair for Marilyn to be demoted in that way,” Joey remarked. “I know she didn’t always have the school’s best interest at heart, but…”
She trailed off, and there was an uncomfortable silence.
The cause of this meeting was the behaviour of Marilyn Evans, the school’s Head Girl, during the previous term. A feeling, shared by both Heads, was that Marilyn ought to stand down from that post. She was a very ambitious girl, who had allowed her desire for high marks get in the way of her duties as Head Girl. The school had suffered as a result, with other prefects being forced to take on increased workloads, and the Middles and Juniors getting away with things that had brought severe punishments down upon them in the past: a direct result of Marilyn being too inattentive to haul those who deserved it over the proverbial coals.
If this were a normal term, it was possible that the Heads would have simply added another prefect to take on those neglected duties and let things ride, but this was the term in which the Senior girls would sit the School Certificate, and it was felt that her desire to do well in it would result in Marilyn ignoring her role as Head Girl completely.
“Well,” Madge Russell offered after a moment, “if we did ask her to stand aside, who is there to replace her? Most of those I would suggest are already in Special Sixth and would have the same pressures as Marilyn herself.”
“We certainly won’t have another member of Special Sixth as Head Girl,” Hilda said, her tone full of determination. “In fact, I’m tempted to suggest that we demote all members of that form and select new prefects from among the Sixth forms.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Nell said warningly. “It would cause a great deal of resentment among those girls, and they could cause problems for the new prefects. I suggest we retain as many of last term’s prefects as wish to continue, and simply select a new Head Girl and new prefects to replace them. Marilyn is a sensible girl and will see the benefit of having the extra time for her own studies.”
Madge sighed, and then repeated her question. “Who could we choose, though?”
“Gillian Culver seems like a natural choice to me,” Hilda replied quietly.
“But she has another two years at the school, doesn’t she?” Jo protested. “Unless you mean for her to have a year as Head Girl and then stand aside, as Robin did …”
“Or for her to continue for two years,” Nell interrupted, struck by an idea. “Why not? After all, the school has been very disrupted in terms of Head Girls in the previous few years. Perhaps, if we make Gillian Head Girl now, it will stabilise things a little. Most of this year’s Sixth form aren’t planning to specialise next year, so they could remain, too, with a few of the current Fifths. In fact, I believe it’s time we considered increasing our number of prefects – perhaps to twelve full prefects and three sub-prefects. The school is growing so quickly that the prefects have a lot to take care of, which could be part of the reason for Marilyn’s behaviour.”
“It certainly has been a little disturbed,” Hilda mused. “Beth Chester had to fill in for a term after Jesanne Gellibrand left suddenly . Then Daisy had only a term because of Primula coming down with that bout of ‘flu, which developed into pneumonia.” She glanced at Madge. “How is she recovering from that?”
“As well as can be expected,” Madge replied. “But Jem wants her to stay home for this term, too. She was quite ill for a while, and we don’t want run any risks. And we’ve decided that Daisy will also not return to school this term. Prim has been inclined to fret when Daisy leaves, and we can’t try her strength any more at present.”
“I understand.” Hilda nodded, before returning to the task at hand. “I thought Marilyn would do well for the rest of this year, but her own behaviour has prevented that. However, if Gillian takes it on, she will at least be Head Girl for the next few terms, and hopefully longer. It will give the school a chance to settle back into a routine that we really haven’t had since we left the Tyrol.”
“That’s all due to this hateful war,” Jo said passionately, her fingers suddenly tightening around her teacup. “How much longer will it go on?”
“Until Hitler and all his supporters are defeated,” Nell replied softly. “Have faith, Jo. It will happen, and it can’t be that much longer.”
“And then we can begin to find out the fate of the people who had to stay behind,” Madge said longingly. “Goodness only knows what they must have suffered.”
“At least some of them have managed to escape,” Hilda offered, thinking of the two Linders sisters, and their brother, Karl, a very willing British prisoner of war, as well as Frieda von Ahlen, her husband, Bruno, and their friend, Friedel von Glück, who had managed to escape from Austria not long after the start of the war, now six long years earlier.
“Yes, we do have things to be thankful for,” Madge agreed. “But this isn’t solving the problem of what to do about the school. I’m inclined to think that Gillian will make a good Head Girl, and Jacynth, of course, will remain Second Prefect. She is excellent, but too young to be Head Girl yet. Perhaps, in a year or two, if she’s still at the school, we can promote her then.”
“Provided she isn’t in Special Sixth,” Hilda added. “I don’t think we should try that experiment again. If those in Special Sixth are there because they hope to do well in their chosen areas, they are unlikely to want to devote their time to the duties of the Head Girl.”
“Besides which, Jacynth herself begged not to have to take on that post, and that was why I was so eager for Daisy to take it on,” Nell stated. “I doubt Jacynth’s feelings will have changed much in that respect, making Gillian the obvious choice.”
“That’s true,” Matron remarked. “Gillian has a great deal of common sense, and she’s both fair and stern, when she has to be.”
“Very well, then I agree, too,” Madge sighed. “I feel very sorry for Marilyn, but, really, she has brought this upon herself and it is damaging the school.”
“The many must not suffer for the one,” Jo stated softly.
“Precisely,” Hilda said crisply. “I’m also sorry for Marilyn, but we have to put the welfare of the school first, and it doesn’t seem to me that continuing with Marilyn as Head Girl will be doing that.”
Nell glanced at her co-Head. “I think we should speak to Marilyn before the term begins.”
“I’ll call Mr. Evans tomorrow and see if they have time to speak to us,” Hilda replied, setting down her cup. “Well, now that’s settled, shall we call an end to this meeting, or was there more to be discussed?”
“Do we have any new girls this term?” Madge asked curiously, and Nell shook her head.
“No, not this term. However, we are having a new mistress next term. Her name is Nesta Davidson, and she will be teaching Junior Art. We have so many in the Junior school now that it’s beyond Gillian Linton and the others to take those classes, so we’re bringing in Nesta for that position.”
“What’s she like?” Jo asked. “Will she suit ‘this ‘ere hestablishment’?”
“Joey,” Hilda groaned. “Your language!”
Joey merely grinned, and Madge rolled here eyes. “You fell for it? Really, Hilda, after all this time, how can you let her catch you out like that?”
“Oh, never mind all that nonsense,” Nell put in hurriedly. “To answer your first question, Joey, we think she will fit in very well. She has had three years’ experience at a kindergarten in London, and she seems to work well with young girls, so we have agreed to give her a trial for next term and see whether she fits into the school.”
Madge smiled. “Experience has made us all wiser in that respect, thankfully, even if it did have some nasty consequences at the time.”
“You mean Matron Webb and Miss Bubb ?” Nell remarked, after drinking the last of the tea in her cup. “Yes, we certainly have had our share of problems in the past, but hopefully now we are settled, at least for the next few years.”
“I wouldn’t want to prophesise,” Jo remarked gloomily. She had had a bad night with baby Charles, who was recovering from an ear infection, and was inclined to be somewhat pessimistic as a result. “We might find ourselves immersed in another war before this one ends, if Russia decides to be obstinate.”
“Well, let’s not worry about that until it happens,” Matron said crisply, anxiously eyeing Jo’s white face and large eyes, which were always a sign that she was overtired. “In the meantime, I have things to do this evening to prepare for the term, so perhaps, if we’ve finished, we can end this meeting.”
“I agree.” Nell stood up. “Madge, do you need a lift home, too?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Mrs. Russell replied as she and the others left the pretty salon. “Jem’s at the San for a consultation, so goodness only knows when he’ll get home.”
While Jo, Nell and Madge shrugged into light evening coats, Gwladys the maid came in to clear away the crockery, Matron headed for the San to begin sorting the linen and Hilda turned into her own quarters to make the unpleasant but necessary call to the Evans’.
As a result of that call, the following day found Hilda and Nell sitting in the living room of the large Evans mansion just outside Brighton. Mr. Evans was a wealthy man, something that was evident in his choice of lifestyle, and it was obvious that he was very ambitious for Marilyn, his only child.
“Well, Miss Annersley,” he said heartily, once the women were sitting on the satin-covered lounges in the tastefully decorated room and had been served by the maid, who unobtrusively left the room, “Miss Wilson, what can we do for you?”
Hilda put down her teacup, casting a sideways glance at Marilyn, before turning back to her father. “Mr. Evans, we need to talk about your daughter. There’s no problem with her work or her general manner,” she added quickly, seeing that Marilyn’s face had fallen and her father was clearly about to interrupt. “It has to do with her behaviour as Head Girl.”
“Well,” Mr. Evans demanded, after a moment of silence, “what has that to do with anything? The important thing is her education and her career, not some minor position that the school has created to set some girls above others. I remember when I was at school,” he went on, as Hilda tried to control her rising temper. “We had a Head Boy and prefects then, too, and all they were good for was thrashing the younger boys when they got out of hand. As you don’t have regular beatings at your school, I don’t see what use you could possibly have for prefects.”
“Indeed,” bleated his wife, a small, blond woman who obviously lived in the shadow of her husband. “No use at all.”
“Our view on the matter is a little different,” Nell said quietly.
“Well, of course it would be,” the man blared. “It’s your school.”
“As I was saying,” Nell went on, her tone making Marilyn redden, although her father didn’t seem affected by it, “at the Chalet School, prefects, and particularly the Head Girl, have a great deal of responsibility. They are expected to take charge of the girls and help keep the younger ones within bounds.”
“Well?” Mr. Evans burst out. “What about it?”
“The job of Head Girl generally takes up a great deal of the chosen girl’s time,” Hilda stated, choosing her words carefully. “We feel that Marilyn would find it beneficial to surrender that post and devote her time solely to her studies.”
“Of course she would,” the girl’s father blustered. “I always thought it was a dashed cheek of you to expect her to give up her time to that sort of nonsense in the first place!”
Ignoring this, Hilda turned to Marilyn. “My dear, we are very grateful for the way you stepped into the breach when Daisy was unable to continue, due to her sister’s ill health, but we know you found it difficult to balance your duties as Head Girl and your work. We would ask you to consider yielding that post so that you may have the time for your studies.”
Marilyn reddened yet again and studied the carpet. She was a proud girl who hated to fail at anything, but she was honest enough to admit to herself that the Head was right. During the previous term, she had fought many internal battles over her duties, knowing that she was letting the school down by not carrying them out as well as she ought, and yet she had felt unable to tear herself away from her books.
“I know it’s difficult,” Miss Wilson put in gently, “but we would ask you to think as much of the school as yourself. Is it fair on either them or you to agree to take it on for another term?”
This turned the tide, as the Head knew it would. Marilyn was a generous girl at heart, and she had absorbed enough of the school’s atmosphere in her time there to feel guilty about the way she had been letting it down. Sometimes, when she knew she ought to have been paying attention to the school, she could almost have believed that, like Margot Maynard, one of the youngest Juniors, she had ‘a devil’ that persuaded her to spend more time on her studies instead of her other duties.
She looked up, and the shadow that had appeared in her eyes during the previous term had vanished as if by magic as she smiled at the two Heads.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll stand aside, and concentrate on the Higher Cert. Exams.”
Hilda smiled in return. “That’s very kind of you, my dear,” she said in her lovely voice. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.”
An hour later, the two Heads were on the train and heading back to Armishire.
“Thank goodness that’s settled,” Nell sighed as she arranged her travelling bag on the vacant seat beside her and extracted a book and a box of sweets, offering the latter to her co-Head. “I don’t mind telling you, Hilda, that I was a little worried about Marilyn’s reaction.”
“Oh, I knew she’d see sense. It was her parents I was concerned about,” Hilda retorted as she dug out her knitting: an angora scarf in pale Samanthac. “I can certainly see where Marilyn gets her ambition from.”
Nell nodded as the train pulled out of the station. “Of course, you were still non est when Mr. and Mrs. Evans came to the school to see about us having Marilyn as a pupil.”
“Yes, I was,” Hilda agreed, carefully undoing a knot that had somehow formed in her wool. “If I remember rightly, that was the term after that bus smash we were involved in .”
“Yes, it was,” Nell agreed, settling comfortably into her seat and pleased that the carriage had remained empty apart from themselves. Both women abhorred discussing private matters when there were other people around to hear. “So that’s over. What next?”
Hilda finished counting her stitches and then looked up. “Well, the term, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. “We’ve only a week before the rest of the staff arrive, and after that we never have a minute to call our own until the girls arrive.”
“And none too much time after that, at least for the first few weeks,” Nell chuckled. “And this term, we might not have any as it is.”
“Why on earth?” Hilda looked startled. “We have no new girls or new mistresses. The new prefects will settle down after a week or two. I’d think it could almost be boring.”
“Hilda Annersley!” Nell exclaimed in astonishment. “Have you forgotten that we have the Sale this term, thanks to the ceiling in the storeroom collapsing all over everything, less than two weeks before we were supposed to hold it last term? And we also have the Sports Day, and even a Garden Party, if the weather holds up.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Hilda replied placidly. “How could I? Either you or Joey or Madge have shrieked about it with almost monotonous regularity every second day since I got back from my week in London. But the Sale is organised, apart from the new items that have to be made to replace the ones that we couldn’t save, the Sports has to do with the Games people – Hilary Burn and Gay Lambert, this term – and the Garden Party, if we have one, arranges itself most of the time.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Nell grumbled, opening her book and selecting a sweet, before pushing the box in Hilda’s direction. “Here. Have one?”
“Thank you.” Hilda took a caramel and slipped it into her mouth, waiting to see if her friend had more to say. When she remained silent, Hilda picked up her knitting again, looking up sharply as Nell spluttered. However, her friend’s face was expressionless and in the end she returned her gaze to her work. “Goodness, what a mess!”
Miss Wilson’s eyes sparkled, but she forced her expression to remain neutral, although she was secretly dying to laugh. Miss Annersley cast a suspicious glance at her before focusing on her work. The cause of that tear had been a particularly funny incident that would have rejoiced the hearts of any of the school’s pupils and would have provided Jo with a wonderful chapter for her latest book, had they only been fortunate enough to witness it.
Two days previously, Miss Wilson arrived back from a holiday she had been spending at a cottage owned by the Maynards, Russells and Bettanys in Yorkshire, driving through the gates to see her friend trimming back some long arms of the rosebushes that grew along one side of the drive, and on which an early bloom or two could be seen. Miss Wilson hesitated momentarily, eyeing the scene, before temptation became too much. She suddenly accelerated and, with a rush of gravel, sent the car bowling up the long drive, stopping abruptly only a short distance from where Miss Annersley had been standing. That woman, having heard the sound of the motor and also the rattle of the stones, and thinking that the car wouldn’t stop, had leapt backwards – right into the bush she had been trimming.
It was unfortunate for her dignity that she was unable to free herself at once, but even while Miss Wilson was loosening her from the thorns, which clutched lovingly at their victim, Miss Annersley told her co-Head what she thought of her in no uncertain terms. The most lurid threats had finally drawn from Miss Wilson a promise that no one else would be told what had happened, but that didn’t stop her from chuckling in a most aggravating manner on every possible occasion. Miss Annersley had not even been placated by Miss Wilson’s kindly reminder that at least none of the maids had arrived in time to see what had happened, and resented any reference to the unfortunate, but rather amusing, event.

 

#2:  Author: Helen C, Location: Sheffield/Luton PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 12:12 pm

Thanks KB. I really enjoyed that. If thats the bit your not using I am sure the finished book will be great.

 

#3:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 12:22 pm

wow, so good already, can't see how all the changes you've had to make can improve it! Now I'm getting impatient to read the whole thing! thanks KB

 

#4:  Author: Kate, Location: Ireland PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 12:53 pm

*cheers* Thanks so much! Smile I really don't see any improvements that could be made... I REALLY REALLY want the real thing now, you're the most EBD-y writer ever! Smile ETA: That ^^ is a compliment. I swear!

 

#5:  Author: Alex, Location: Manchester, UK PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 12:59 pm

I don't usually buy the fill-ins but you've twisted my arm KB!

 

#6:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 2:52 pm

Great to see. Will the bits you are able to post follow on, or will they be edits from throughout the book?

 

#7:  Author: JustJen, Location: waiting for a bus PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 3:00 pm

This is a great fic. I've always wondered about Marilyn Evans when she was the headgirl. Thanks for filling that gap in.

 

#8: Re: The Chalet School at Peace Author: JenniferG, Location: Durham PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 3:05 pm

Ooh, this looks very shiny. Looking forward to reading the real thing.. Smile Just a minor quote that amused me:
KB wrote:
“I wouldn’t want to prophesise,” Jo remarked gloomily. She had had a bad night with baby Charles, who was recovering from an ear infection, and was inclined to be somewhat pessimistic as a result.
Was this meant to read as Jo or Charles had the ear infection? Smile -Jennifer

 

#9:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 5:58 pm

yay! wonderful!

 

#10:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 7:35 pm

This sounds good, so the published version must be even better, Do you have a date yet?

 

#11:  Author: JackieJ, Location: Kingston upon Hull PostPosted: Thu Jan 20, 2005 9:22 pm

No... you're tempting me now.That was lovely KB. Thank you.JackieJ

 

#12:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 12:29 am

Thnk you KB so nice to see some of this.

 

#13:  Author: Miss Di, Location: Newcastle, NSW PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 1:24 am

bang goes more money to GGB...

 

#14:  Author: Sophoife, Location: down under Down Under PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 2:32 am

thank you KB! by the way, I'm in possession of another bit of Peace - it was my Christmas present! Looking forward even more to publication, if that's possible!

 

#15:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 4:39 am

Yay for more Peace! (And even more yay for the book coming out.) Poor Marilyn, caught between two sets of values! Hope she ends up with some nice academic award before it's all over. *evil Bill* Twisted Evil

 

#16:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 7:52 am

I think this is an undiscovered manuscript that EBD left hidden! It's so in her style and going to be a lovely fill in. Can't wait to see the final version. You're shiny KB.

 

#17:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 9:35 am

To answer those questions/comments I can first:

1) I consider it a huge compliment to be compared to EBD! Embarassed Thank you so much. It's the best praise I could hope for. (And I'm delighted if this prompts people to buy my book, naturally. Twisted Evil )

2) Carolyn, the bits do follow on and make a bit of a story (it covers the whole term, but, with chapters cut out, is only 12 chapters long). There will, of course, be gaps, but it should still flow.

3) I'm making no promises that the Marilyn issue is covered in the real Peace.

4) Charles had the ear infection, of course! Evil or Very Mad Laughing

5) No date yet, sorry. 6) And Sophoife, that was a bit that will actually be in the book. It won't appear here.

Now on with chapter two...

Chapter II – The Start of Term

The prefects barely had time to remove their outer garments before Rosalie Dene appeared among them.
“Welcome back, girls,” she smiled, as they crowded around her with shouts of greeting. “Miss Annersley has sent me to ask if you will come to her study as soon as you’re ready.”
“Yes, Miss Dene,” Marney Jennings, the Juniors prefect, agreed. “But what about supper?”
“I’ll go and ask the rest of the Sixth Forms to keep an eye on the younger girls if it looks like you’ll be delayed,” Rosalie told her. “Don’t take too long, girls. The Heads are waiting.”
She vanished and the girls hurried to wash their hands and tidy their hair before moving in a body along the hallway to the Heads’ study, where Frances Grey knocked.
“Come in,” Miss Annersley’s voice called, and the group entered, the girls curtseying in the traditional manner before taking the various seats offered by the mistresses.
“Well, girls,” Miss Wilson remarked, after she and her co-Head had made the usual queries as to the girls’ holidays, “I’m sure you’re all a little surprised by the fact that we have changed the usual routine, but there is an important issue we need to discuss with you before we speak to the whole school, which, as you know, will happen after Prayers this evening.”
“As I’m sure you know,” Miss Annersley began, choosing her words with care, “there were problems last term with tasks related to your positions being assigned to all of you, and some of you finding it difficult to complete those tasks because of the amount of work you have to do.”
“Yes, Miss Annersley,” Frances agreed. She had been Second Prefect the previous term and her own work had suffered when she had taken on a number of tasks that had been meant for the Head Girl. It was now, for the first time, that she noticed Marilyn was not with them. “Has something happened as a result of last term?” she asked curiously.
“Yes, it has,” Miss Wilson told her. “Marilyn has agreed that, this being exam term, it will be difficult for her to both be a successful Head Girl and do as well as she hopes in her exams. She has decided to stand down from that post for this term.”
There was startled murmuring from among the assembled grandees, but it died down after a few seconds.
“We understand,” Miss Annersley put in, “that you are all under pressure to do as well as you can in your exams, as that reflects both on yourselves and your school. We also know how much work is involved in being a prefect. For that reason, if there are any among you who would rather not have that combined responsibility and workload this term, please tell us. We would prefer that you enjoyed your final year at the school, instead of feeling as if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
Miss Wilson smiled at her friend’s use of slang, before turning to the girls. A number clearly wanted to avail themselves of the offer that had been made, and she smiled as she called on each of them to speak.
In the end, only two of the original nine girls in the Special Sixth who were prefects decided to continue.
“But who will be Head Girl?” Julia Richards, who had held the post of Staff prefect, asked curiously. “And who will fill the other posts? After all, Beckie Harris is Music Prefect and Sam Jones is Stationary. They aren’t exactly the most important posts, after all.”
“That will lie with the new group of prefects, but I would imagine that they are likely to keep those same positions, unless they really want to try something different,” Miss Annersley smiled. “But as for the Head Girl, Gillian Culver has agreed to take that on.”
The girls thought about that for a moment, before Marney nodded. “She’ll do jolly well,” she said generously. “And we’ll back up the new prefects for all we’re worth.”
“Of course we will,” the others agreed.
Miss Annersley smiled. “Thank you, girls. I’m glad to hear that, and I appreciate you putting the school’s welfare forward in agreeing to this change. I think it fair to tell you that we have no plans to put other people in your situations. From now on, prefects will be chosen from among the Sixth Forms, although Special Sixth girls will be called upon when necessary. However, I’d rather you kept that to yourselves at present.”
With that, she sent all but Rebecca Harris and Samantha Jones off to get ready for supper, asking Julia to send the rest of the Upper Sixth Form to her study. The remainder of the Special Sixth gathered to discuss the changes in their Splashery, while waiting for the bell to ring for supper.
“Well, this is going to be interesting,” Susan Wheldon, former Library prefect, remarked. “It’s going to the first time in this school that the oldest girls in it won’t be the prefects.”
“I think it’s a jolly good thing,” Marney commented. “When I think how much work it was last term and the term before to get everything done, I don’t know how I wasn’t hairless by the end of it all. I’m looking forward to being able to concentrate on my work now.”
“You know, it’s going to be pretty awful for Marilyn,” Jean Desmond, who had been the editor of The Chaletian, said suddenly. “After all, most people will know that she partly caused this.”
“That’s true,” Frances said slowly. “I suppose the best thing is if we don’t mention it to her, and squash any of the younger girls we hear talking about it good and hard, at least for this term. It won’t matter so much next. I know she’s hoping to go to Oxford then.”
“And for that matter, neither will most of us be here,” Julia added as she entered the room. “I certainly won’t. What about the rest of you?”
“Beckie’s hoping to train as a PE mistress,” Olivia Marks, who had had responsibility for the Domestic Science and Geography rooms, said, from her seat on top of the lockers. “And Sam’s hoping to be a Kindergarten mistress.”
At this point, Marilyn entered the room. She was pale, and her mouth was a thin line, but the others ignored the tension on her face and greeted her enthusiastically, before the whole group, discussing the forthcoming term with vigour, headed down the hallway towards their Common room.
In the Heads’ salon, meanwhile, a group of startled girls from the Sixth Form were listening to the changes that meant they would be taking on prefectorial duties forthwith.
“Do you really mean it, Miss Annersley?” Clare Danvers asked, her eyes wide.
“Of course we do, Clare,” Miss Wilson smiled.
“I will be announcing it to the school this evening,” Miss Annersley told them. “And you will have to have a prefects’ meeting soon, to arrange new positions. However, our hope is that those of you who do not move into Special Sixth next term may be able to continue with the posts then. Of course,” she smiled, “that will depend on what you decide at the time. But for now,” and she stopped while the first bell rang for supper, waiting until it finished before she continued, “you will have to go and tidy yourselves. And please don’t mention this to anyone else yet,” she added cautiously. “We don’t want the school rife with rumours so early in the term.”
The astonished prefects managed to return her smile before they rose and, with the traditional curtseys, left the room. Rules kept them silent until they arrived in their splashery, and they were still so astonished by the turn of events that nobody spoke until they were in the hallway outside the Speisesaal. Even then, remarks were limited to restraining enthusiastic Middles, who seemed to have forgotten the rules during the long holiday and were yelling at the tops of their voices.
Gillian Culver, still stunned by this latest development, found herself seated at the head of a table containing a scattering a girls from several forms. Her closest friends, Jacynth Hardy, who was to be Second Prefect, and Gay Lambert, who Miss Wilson had announced as Games Prefect, were at the head and tail of the next table along, and Mollie McNab, who hadn’t lost the startled expression that had appeared after Miss Annersley’s announcement in the Heads’ study, was at the foot of Gillian’s own table.
As she served out the mince that was that evening’s meal, Gillian reflected that she was at least lucky to have already had some time as a prefect, as had Jacynth, who had been Second Prefect the previous Spring and Summer terms, after Beth Chester became Head Girl , following Jesanne Gellibrand being forced to leave the school abruptly after only one term in the position. Conversation at her table had mainly to do with the holidays and she managed to pull herself together somewhat by the end of the meal.
Once Prayers were over, the Catholics came to join their Protestant counterparts in Hall, and the school waited for the usual beginning of term speech. Gillian reached up to remove the badge in her House colour that pinned down her tie, feeling as others around her did the same. The box in which the prefect badges were kept was lying on the table beside the William and Mary chairs where the two Heads sat, and Miss Annersley rose to her feet as the school settled itself on the long benches.
“Good evening, girls,” she smiled. “Welcome back to school. As you know, this is going to be a very full term, particularly as we will be having our annual Sale on the last weekend of it. You all know what happened last term, and we hope to make this the biggest Sale yet. You will have time for your hobbies as often as possible, to ensure that we can replace most of the items that were damaged when the ceiling collapsed, and we will also repair as many things as we can, so that we have a good showing.
“Now I have an important piece of news for you.” She paused to choose the right words. “The decision has been made to change our prefect structure a little. Until now, our prefects have traditionally been the oldest girls in the school, which has, of recent years, meant those girls in the Special Sixth. However, these girls are already busy with their studies, and many of them hope to go on to successful careers or further study. To enable them to do this, it has been decided that, in future, prefects will be chosen from among those in the Upper and Lower Sixths. A number of those who were prefects in previous terms have decided that they would prefer to focus on their work, and so we have selected new prefects from among our Senior girls.”
She paused as gasps were heard at various places around the room, but she held up her hand to halt the outbreak of chatter that seemed about to being, and continued with what she was saying.
“Our new prefect list is as follows: Mollie Avery, Dorcas Brownlow, Nancy Canton, Clare Danvers, Rebecca Harris, Samantha Jones, Mollie McNab, Anna Peterson, and Dorothea Wentworth. The last three named are sub-prefects.”
As she had said each name, the girl had left her place and come up onto the stage to receive a badge, each with flushed cheeks and being greeted with applause. Now, as Miss Annersley paused, the younger girls turned to look at the benches on which the Senior forms were seated. Gillian, staring at her feet, could feel Jacynth and Gay, seated on either side of her, doing the same.
“Games Prefect,” Miss Annersley announced, “is Gay Lambert.”
A popular person with the younger girls, Gay’s promotion was greeted with cheers, but she was the colour of a poppy when she finally returned to her seat and slid her hand into Gillian’s with an encouraging squeeze.
“Second Prefect: Jacynth Hardy.”
The school cheered again as Jacynth climbed onto the dais and accepted her badge, which Miss Wilson pinned to her tie. She was resettling it when she came back down the steps and took her seat again. Then Miss Annersley announced the name of the Head Girl.
“Gillian Culver.”
Gillian barely heard the cheering that followed this announcement as she rose from her seat and somehow managed to get onto the dais, where Miss Wilson fixed the little silver shield to her tie. She said something, and was applauded, but she had no memory of her words, or how she got back down and returned to her seat. It was only when Gay was tugging her sleeve to get her to her feet that she realised the school was leaving Hall and hurried to catch up with the rest.
As Gillian entered the Sixth Form Common Room, she saw Marilyn Evans standing nearby and moved away. She had no idea what to say to the girl whose position she had been given, and hoped to avoid the awkward moment for as long as possible. However, as Marilyn followed her to the bookshelves that lined the walls, Gillian knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as all that.
“Congratulations, Gillian,” Marilyn said brightly, nevertheless keeping her voice low. Over the former Head Girl’s shoulder, Gillian saw Gay and Jacynth approaching and was thankful that she wouldn’t have to struggle through an awkward conversation alone for long.
“Thanks, Marilyn.” She smiled. “It’s all a bit of a shock, though.”
“It was for me, too.” The older girl smiled in response. “I quite thought Daisy was going to stay for the whole year, but, of course, Primula falling ill put paid to that idea.” She flushed, but she met Gillian’s gaze steadily. “I’m sure you’ll do better than I did.”
“Well, I hope if I do run into trouble, I can come to you for some advice,” Gillian said, with an attempt at heartiness.
Marilyn smiled, but let this pass without comment. “Will you come and see your study?” she asked. “Matey asked if I could take you myself, as she’d too busy at the moment.”
“Sure,” Gillian agreed, slipping her arm through that of the other girl, thankful for her friendly attitude. Gay and Jacynth had been intercepted by Frances Grey and Julia Richards, perhaps to see the study they would share, so Gillian had no excuse for not accompanying Marilyn to the small room in a short passage at the rear of the building.
As Marilyn opened the door, Gillian saw that the fire was already burning, the shelves had been cleared for Gillian’s things and a tray of china stood on the table, waiting to be used.
“Here’s the key,” Marilyn said, handing it over. “Matey has one, and Miss Annersley has the master key, so you can get another if you lose it, but it should be all right.”
She was gone before Gillian could reply, so the new Head Girl moved further into the room, sliding the key into her pocket as she examined the one armchair that the room boasted, and the somewhat rickety table that had been pushed into the corner to make more room. Another chair was pulled up beside it and Gillian sat down to examine the various objects left by past Head Girls, which gave the room a pleasantly lived-in appearance.
Robin had donated a small set of fire irons, Amy Stevens, who had been Head Girl after Robin, had given a small picture of the school as it had been at the Tiernsee, which her sister Margia had given her when she had left on a musical tour, Mary Shaw had donated a second china service, so that the Head Girl could entertain a number of visitors, a painted mirror on the wall had come from Elizabeth Arnett, and various other things had been given by Jesanne Gellibrand, Beth Chester and Daisy Venables. On the bookshelf, Gillian could see a small vase that contained a bunch of wild flowers, which she guessed was Marilyn’s gift to the room. All in all, it was very complete, but Gillian made a mental note to send home for the small wireless she had in her room, so that she could listen to radio programs when she had a free evening.
A knock on the door preceded the arrival of Gay and Jacynth into the room, and Gay closed the door behind them before coming over to perch on the arm of the comfortable chair in which Jacynth had seated herself.
“Well, what on earth do we make of this?” Gay demanded in her usual insouciant manner.
“It’s certainly startling,” said Gillian faintly. “I never expected it – not at all, not ever.”
“Well, why not?” Jacynth asked curiously. “I’d have thought you’d be appointed Head Girl at some point. Not this year, of course, but you’ll be here next year, and I quite expected you to follow Marilyn, although not this quickly.”
“As far as that went, I thought you’d get the post,” retorted Gillian. “After all, you were Second Prefect for Beth Chester.”
Jacynth laughed. “That was as much of a shock to me as to you, believe me,” she said. “But Miss Annersley assured me that it would only be for the rest of that year. I begged pretty hard not to be Head Girl when Beth left, though, and they finally agreed. And I’m glad not to have to worry about it. I have to concentrate on my music, and you have less time for lessons as Head Girl than you do as Second. You won’t have any problems, though, Gill. You’re a real nib when it comes to lessons.”
“Thanks for the flowers,” Gillian replied somewhat tartly. “I’ll have you know that it’s a complete shock and I don’t think I’m any too happy about it. It’s quite upset my little apple cart, in fact.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Gill,” Gay added. “You’ll do fine. After all,” she grinned, “you’ve got us to help you out.”
The other two laughed at this, and, as a number of the other new prefects arrived to see their new quarters, Gillian’s despondency gradually lifted until she was her usual merry self.

 

#18:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 9:59 am

Great, KB.

 

#19:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 10:11 am

lovely, thanks KB

 

#20:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 10:11 am

I can't believe this version will never be published!!! Oh, and as far as you know, are you still usuing the same image you showed me for the cover?? Wink Very Happy

 

#21:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 10:27 am

Kb - this is fantastic. Thank you for posting this version adn I'm very much looking forward to getting my hands on the published version some time soon(ish)!

 

#22:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 10:45 am

This is great KB!

 

#23:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 12:31 pm

This is truly excellent, KB - thanks for posting it!! Very Happy

 

#24:  Author: Vikki, Location: Sitting on an iceberg, freezing to death!!! PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 7:38 pm

*very intrigued about the published version* *sends 'print quickly vibes to GGB!!* Wink

 

#25:  Author: francesn, Location: away with the faeries PostPosted: Fri Jan 21, 2005 9:58 pm

oooh looking forward to the published version if these are the bits that were cut then the finished book is going to be fantastic!

 

#26:  Author: Sophoife, Location: down under Down Under PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 3:38 am

KB wrote:
6) And Sophoife, that was a bit that will actually be in the book. It won't appear here.
do we have an emoticon for smirking? seems not...oh well...*smirk*

 

#27:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 11:49 am

Answers again:

1) Ally, yes, as far as I know, but we really aren't at the 'discussing covers' stage yet.

2) Nell, I can't wait to get hold of a published copy myself! Laughing

3) Thanks all for the very shiny compliments!!! So without further ado...


Chapter III – An Accident at Tennis


Hilary Burn watched the four girls on the tennis court with a critical eye, removing her eyes from the ball to watch Nita Eltringham’s style, as the girl ran for the shot and returned it with a lovely smash.
“Deuce,” Peggy Bettany called. “Send some balls over here, please Daph. We only have one on this side.”
Daphne Russell sent the balls over the net and Judy Rose prepared to serve. Hilary watched as she threw the ball straight up into the air, showing that the extra training Gay Lambert had been giving her during the term was having an effect, and smote it hard with her racquet. Nita just got to it, but returned it weakly into the net.
“Advantage us,” Judy declared, changing sides and finishing the game with a lovely ace.
“Excellent, girls,” Hilary said approvingly. “That’s five-all. You’ll make a good showing in the form games if you keep this up. Nita’s serve now. And Nita, I want you to try your backhand as much as you can. I remember you can be a little weak with it.”
Nodding and accepting the balls Peggy offered, Nita took her place behind the line, Daphne on the other side of the court and Judy facing the serve. Nita hit it with sufficient force, but it was too low and sailed into the net.
“Fault,” Peggy called, and Nita tried again.
This time the ball sailed over the net and landed in the court, where Judy was ready to receive it and hit it out.
“Fifteen-love,” Daphne called as she changed sides.
Nita’s next two serves brought set point for her and Daphne, but the last resulted in a good rally, which went on for several minutes. In an attempt to win the game for herself and her team-mate, Nita back to smash it down, but tripped over her own feet and landed hard. Hilary rushed over, but Nita was already on her feet again and wriggling her hand in a way that showed nothing was broken by the time the mistress reached her side.
A group had gathered to watch the match by this time, it being the girls’ free period following afternoon classes, which the devoted foursome had sacrificed to show their skills to the Games mistress, so Hilary asked Julia Richards of Special Sixth, as the eldest there, to take the younger girl to Matron, and called over Rosalie Way of Lower IV, who had been patting a ball up against the practice wall and who played a pretty game herself, to take Nita’s place for the rest of the game.
“Set point,” the mistress called by the time everything was settled again. “Come along, Rosalie. Let’s see how you’re improving with your serve.”
“Play up, Ros,” Daphne murmured as they had a second before taking their places while Judy did up her laces. “We’ll be one-up if we can win this, and you’re jolly good at serving.”
Rosalie nodded, her blue eyes shining at the friendly nickname, for she was usually a retiring creature and was unused to attention from people in higher forms. She took a firmer grip on her racquet and smacked the ball over the net, where it just bounced in. Peggy was ready for it, but the off-centre shot caught her slightly by surprise and she had to change her stroke to hit it, so the return was rather lame and Daphne got to it easily, smashing it into the back of the court and giving them the game.
There was a smattering of applause from the audience as the pairs changed ends, particularly from Rosalie’s friends, who had come to watch and hoped she would show up the form well. It was Peggy’s turn to serve, and the first one showed why she had a place in the form team, as it was powerful and well placed, and completely beat Daphne, who had been expecting something to the outside and was unprepared for a shot down the middle of the court. Rosalie, however, as she moved to receive, was ready for anything and was able to return nicely to Judy, whose volley gave her and Peggy the point.
“Thirty love,” Hilary announced. “Very good, Rosalie. Keep it up.”
Peggy served again, and managed to send the ball out, but her next serve, which was rather more restrained, resulted in a very pretty rally, which ended in Rosalie and Daphne gaining the point. Several minutes later, the score was tied at deuce, and then advantage to Peggy and Judy. Peggy served and ran forward when – it happened.
Her lace had been working loose during the previous points, and was now undone, but no one had noticed until Peggy, running valiantly for a volley from Daphne, tripped and fell against the net, her ankle banging against the post. She gave a cry of pain, even as the mistress and the other three players came running up.
“Get back,” Hilary Burn snapped, dropping to her knees beside the girl and gently feeling the injured ankle, which brought another cry from Peggy. “Daphne,” the mistress ordered, “go and tell Matron what’s happened. We’ll need a stretcher. Gillian,” she singled out the Head Girl, who had been watching the last ten minutes or so of the match, “take the girls back to school. The bell for tea will ring soon.”
Daphne fled, her racquet left on the court where she had flung it when her friend first tripped, and the other three gathered around Peggy and Miss Burn, who was gently feeling the injured ankle as Peggy cried out in pain.
“Judy,” the mistress said in a low voice, “go and let Miss Annersley know what’s happened. Rosalie, go and see, if you can, that Bride and Maeve don’t find out. Take them to the Junior library or somewhere with a few of their friends. Miss Annersley will want to tell them herself.”
As she finished giving these directions, Matron appeared, Gillian behind her, lugging one of the school’s stretchers, Jacynth, Gay and Dorothea Wentworth behind them. Hilary moved to make way for Matron Lloyd, whose face was grave as she felt the ankle and then looked down at Peggy.
“Well, you’ve certainly messed up your games for the rest of the term. Miss Burn, go and call the San. Ask them to send an ambulance. We’re going to have to send Peggy for some tests to see how bad her ankle is.” She cast another glance at Peggy, seeing that her face was pale. “I would like to get you back up to the school. Do you think you can stand it if we move you onto the stretcher, and then the girls can carry you?”
Peggy was in pain, but she was a plucky youngster and her years at the school meant that she held ‘Matey’ in considerable awe, so she nodded and gritted her teeth as the woman directed the four prefects as to the best way to move her.
“Well done, Peggy,” Gay exclaimed as the girl put an arm around her neck. “Just stick it, and we’ll have you right as rain soon.”
Despite her courage, Peggy was unable to help letting out a cry of pain as she was lifted onto the stretcher and clutched at Jacynth’s collar until she was safely settled on it, her foot throbbing agonisingly.
“That’s the worst part over,” Dorothea said bracingly. “Come on, Peg, we’ll soon have you in a nice warm bed and it won’t feel so bad then.”
The prefects were all Rangers and adept at stretcher drill, so they were able to smoothly lift the stretcher and carry it up to the school building. However, as the Head held the large front doors for them to enter, the very thing the two staff members had been hoping wouldn’t happen did.
Footsteps could be heard running along the gravel outside the building, and then the slight figure of Bride Bettany, tears pouring down her face, burst through the door that Miss Annersley had only just closed, and the younger sister flung herself at the stretcher.
“Oh, Peggy,” she sobbed. “Peggy, are you all right?”
Matron was reaching out to pull Bride away when Peggy struggled into a sitting position and held out her arms to her sister. She and Bride had been left behind when their parents had gone back to India, when Peggy was just four and Bride a baby of three. Although they had a loving home with their Auntie Madge, they had clung to each other, and even now Peggy was inclined to be very motherly towards her younger sister.
Miss Annersley allowed Bride to hug her sister fervently for a moment before gently drawing the younger girl away and placing an arm around her shoulder as they followed the stretcher along the hall and up the stairs to the San, where Nurse was already waiting, with the bed turned back and a pair of pyjamas out ready.
The Head tightened her grasp slightly to keep Bride from following and drew her over to one of the window seats near the entrance to the San, sitting down beside her and pressing her cool, clean handkerchief into Bride’s hot hand. She let the tears continue for a moment, before gently but firmly stopping them and sending the girl to splash cool water on her face in one of the nearby bathrooms. Even as Bride returned, Rosalie came panting up the stairs, stopping short when she saw the Head and the object of her search together.
“I… I’m sorry, Miss Annersley,” she apologised breathlessly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for her. Maeve is with Miss Phipps and the other babies in the orchard, so I thought she’d be safe enough, but I couldn’t find Bride until… well, until now.”
“That’s all right, my dear,” the Head said in her beautiful voice. “It doesn’t matter, as it happens. Thank you, Rosalie.”
The Senior turned and headed for the back stairs, going down to her common room to wait for the bell that would announce tea. As she did so, the door opened and Gillian, Jacynth, Gay and Dorothea appeared. The Head thanked them and they went down the nearby front stairs, as was the prefects’ privilege, to their own concerns.
A moment later, Rosalie Dene appeared and murmured to the Head that an ambulance was on its way. In addition, Joey had come over with some news and was waiting in her study.
“Send Mrs. Maynard up here, will you, dear? Oh, and tell her what’s happened,” Hilda said softly, and her secretary nodded, retreating down the stairs, up which, a moment later, Joey came flying and caught her younger niece, who still occasionally shook with sobs, in her arms.
“Oh, Bride, you poor girl. Never mind, baba. Peggy will be all right.” She nodded at her friend, even as Bride clung to her. “Thank you, Miss Annersley.”
The Head moved aside so Joey could sit down and headed down to her study to wash up for tea. She would announce the news to the school at the start of the meal, which would hopefully put paid to the rumours that she knew from experience would already be flying about. Peggy was a popular young person, and many of her friends would be upset if they were inclined to believe the penny-dreadfuls that might reach their ears.
Meanwhile, in the San, Matron had given Peggy something to dull the pain and the girl was drowsing as the two women gently put on the pyjamas. Then, while Nurse sat down beside the bed to keep an eye on the patient, Matey went out to see how Bride was coping.
She found Bride cuddled up against her aunt’s shoulder, her arms around Joey’s neck, while the older woman gently stroked her hair. Matron Lloyd merely nodded at the woman, bending down in front of the girl and picking up her glasses from where they lay on the window seat. As she gently positioned them on Bride’s face and brushed back a strand of hair, she saw that the look of fear had faded from Bride’s eyes, even as her sharp ears heard a vehicle pull up in front of the building.
“Now Bride,” she said firmly, in a tone with which no girl had yet managed to summon the strength to argue, “I’m going to send you and your Aunt Joey down to the dining room. Tea is over, so there won’t be anyone else there, but I want you to have something to eat and something hot to drink. Do you hear?”
Bride looked for a moment as if she would protest, but seemed to think better of it and nodded meekly as Joey rose to her feet and took her hand.
“Come along, Bride,” she said briskly. “I’m hungry for my tea, even if you aren’t, and we’ll see what damage we can do to a plate of Karen’s biscuits or buns or whatever she’s provided for us.”
The pair vanished just as Rosalie appeared at the head of a column that turned out to be two men with a stretcher and Dr. Jem. Dr. Jem drew Matron aside to get all the information he could from her, before they followed the stretcher bearing Peggy down the stairs and she watched it being loaded into the waiting ambulance.
Matron turned back into the building as the vehicle drove quietly down the driveway and went along to the dining room, where she found Joey and Bride at the table, finishing a small meal. Even as the woman entered, Bride drank the last milk from a glass and set it down with a weary sigh. Her eyes brightened, though, as Matron moved into the room.
“No news yet, except that they’ve just take her to the San,” Matron told them. “I don’t expect anything for a few hours, because they will have to do all sorts of tests. Until then, Bride, I think you could do with a nap.”
Bride looked up, her eyes pleading. “Please, Matron, I want to know what’s wrong with Peggy.”
“And you will, just as soon as we hear something,” the older woman replied inflexibly. “Now Bride, don’t bother arguing with me. You know there’s no point.”
Joey stood up. “Come along, my lamb. I’ll tuck you in, and I’ll bring you the very first news of Peggy myself.”
Bride gave up arguing and pushed her chair back, even as a yawn took her by surprise. She was so drowsy that Joey slid an arm around her to help her to her feet, and Bride never knew that her aunt didn’t bother trying to make her walk but simply picked her up and carried her along the hallway and up the stairs to the San, where Matron was already turning back the bed. The two women changed her into pyjamas and Joey tucked her in while Matron drew the curtains and they left the room.
Joey headed down to the study while Matron stopped off to ask Nurse to keep an eye on the sleeping girl and then followed her down to the large room, in which both Miss Annersley and Miss Wilson were waiting to hear the news that had been the cause of Joey’s visit.
“It’s about Vater Bär,” she told them as she sat down.
“Herr Anserl?” Miss Annersley looked startled. “How is he? Has he recovered from that bout of pneumonia?”
“Not exactly,” Joey replied slowly. “In fact, Jack called in one of his friend who specialises in those sorts of diseases, and he doesn’t know if Herr Anserl will ever recover fully. He has lesions on his lungs, and although it’s not TB yet, Jack thinks he’ll either get that or else die before it develops.”
There was a stunned silence in the room. Herr Anserl, or Vater Bär, as Joey had dubbed him, had joined the school during its first year as a visiting music master for the more advanced pupils. Although Joey hadn’t been among them, she had become very fond of the gruff old man, and when he had finally managed to escape from Austria and the Nazis, she had found him a place to live not far from her own home, and visited him regularly. He was godfather to Margot, the youngest of her triplets.
He had taught at the Chalet School for several terms after arriving in Wales, but it had eventually become too much for him and he had retired. At his own request, Mrs. Maynard had so far kept quiet about his failing health, but he had finally consented to her telling his former colleagues.
“It could be some time away,” Joey went on. “Jack can’t say for sure. No one can. But Vater Bär wanted you to know, in case it’s sooner rather than later.”
She busied herself with the tea Gwladys had just carried in, changing the subject to Peggy and her accident, but the news had sobered all four women and the conversation lacked its usual swing as they partook of Karen’s cakes.

 

#28:  Author: Helen C, Location: Sheffield/Luton PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 12:08 pm

Thanks KB. Smile I am really enjoying this can't wait to read the finished book.

 

#29:  Author: Ella, Location: Staffordshire PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 12:08 pm

Wow! If these are the outtakes, can't wait to see the real thing! Thank you KB! :jump:

 

#30:  Author: Sophoife, Location: down under Down Under PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 12:53 pm

KB you're so shiny I don't know how we're not dazzled. This is so good. We are so lucky, people, we get two editions of Peace to keep!

 

#31:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 5:14 pm

yay! this is very shiny! Poor Peggy - dont they know whats wrong with her? I thought she'd just sprained or broken her ankle!

 

#32:  Author: Helen P, Location: Crewe, Cheshire PostPosted: Sat Jan 22, 2005 10:02 pm

KB, this is wonderful!!! Thankyou so much for posting these bits. I can't wait to read the published version! Very Happy

 

#33:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 1:15 am

Thank you KB!

 

#34:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 8:47 pm

Here's some more, folks...

Chapter IV – A Letter From New Zealand

A week after Peggy’s accident, Joey went to visit her at the San. Tests had shown fractures in her ankle, which meant she would be bedridden for several weeks, but she was a plucky youngster and had taken the sentence without complaint. For the first few days, however, she had been feverish, so this was the first time she had been allowed any visitors apart from her mother, who had come over upon receiving news of the accident and was staying with Madge Russell.
After her visit, Jo went to see one of her neighbours, an elderly woman who had an inflamed foot and was therefore unable to venture out of the house. It was a hot day and she was thankful to get home.
Frieda von Ahlen, once Frieda Mensch, a long-term friend of Joey’s, sat under the spreading oak tree, a book on her knee, and Janie Lucy, a friend Joey had made after moving to Guernsey following the evacuation of the school from the Tyrol , were stretched out on a picnic blanket. Janie had her hands tucked under her head as she stared up at the branches high above her. Frieda had received orders to take things easy for the next little while, and Janie had offered to come around and stay with her while Joey went to visit Peggy.
“I’m back,” Jo called as she pushed the pram, in which her one-year-old son, Charles, lay, staring at the sky and gurgling, into the garden and closed the gate behind her.
“How is Mrs. Pitt?” Frieda enquired.
“Not too bad, the poor old dear,” Jo replied as she stopped the pram beside the tartan picnic blanket that was spread out in the shade, bending to lift out Charles and lay him on the rug. “Her foot is still playing up, though. She was very pleased to see us, as she hasn’t been able to stir out of her house all week, and the only person she’s seen is the delivery boy.”
Janie smiled as she reached out to stop Charles putting a fistful of grass in his mouth. “I’ll go and see her soon and take the children.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jo warned. “Maybe you could buy some wool for her so that she’s got something to do. She’s promised a few baby outfits for the School’s Sale – you remember how she did half-a-dozen sets of booties and a few bits and pieces for last year?”
“Oh, good!” Frieda beamed, putting aside her sewing. “They were lovely. You’ll have to let Beth Carey know, so that she can tell the girls they’re coming. The Upper Fourths are supposed to have the sewing stall, aren’t they?”
Joey squinted up at the trees, making her usually striking face momentarily unattractive. “I thought that was Lower Fourth this year. In fact I’m sure they have, because I remember how disgusted Tom and Bride were at the very idea. I think Upper Fourth has the book stall.”
Frieda smiled. “Oh, yes, I remember now. But they should change every year. It’s not really fair if they always get the toy stall. That’s one of the favourites.”
“It’ll do them good,” Joey agreed, laying down on the rug. “Is there any chance of some Kaffee und Kuchen?”
Janie got up. “Coffee or tea? Anna said she’d leave everything ready so that it only has to be brought out.”
“Tea, please. And can you bring the red tin on the second shelf? It has those delicious lemon biscuits Anna made yesterday.”
Joey discarded her outer wraps as she spoke, and draped them over the pram, before settling down on the ground again and admiring her son’s valiant efforts at trying to get to his feet.
Her expression became more somber as she wished that Jack were here to see it, too, but her husband had replied to the authorities urgent demands for more doctors and had been transferred to a hospital in the north of England. She was at least grateful that she had no need to fear for his safety, but she missed the company to which she had become accustomed after the head injury that had resulted in him being retired from active duty, and she regretted that he was missing so many stages in his children’s lives.
At this point, four small children came running across the grass, shouting and laughing. Joey sat up and was promptly set upon by her elder son, Steven, and Frieda’s two boys, Louis and Gerard, as well as Janie’s young son, Barney. As she was freeing herself from their rapturous embraces, Janie appeared carrying a tray, and Joey came across to take the plate of biscuits and the jug of milk. Janie set down the tray, on which stood a steaming pot of tea and an assortment of cups, with a sigh of relief.
“Boys,” Joey ordered, “if you want to play, you can go to the far side of the garden. If you’re going to sit quietly and have your milk and biscuits, then you can stay.”
For the next few minutes, there was peace, but gradually the noise level increased until Joey sent the three boys to the far side of the garden and settled down with Frieda for a chat.
This was interrupted after ten minutes or so by the appearance of the postman at the gate, and Jo ran over to get the mail. When she returned, her beaming countenance suggested to Frieda and Janie that the letter was one for which she had been waiting.
“At long last, a letter from Mollie,” Jo announced, ripping open the envelope and running her eyes over the letter quickly, before looking up. “Do you want me to read it to you?”
Frieda nodded eagerly. After her marriage, Mollie Mackenzie, former Mathematics mistress at the Chalet School, had moved to New Zealand . Although she had frequently written to many of her former colleagues and pupils, it had been years since anyone had seen her, other than in the photos she sent to her brother, Jack Maynard, every Christmas, of herself and her family.

“Dearest Joey and anyone else who’s listening,
“Apologies first of all that it’s taken so long for me to respond to your last letter, Jo, but life here has been increasingly busy over the past few months. Everyone is well, and I’m glad to hear it’s the same with you. I’ve also heard from Jack, and I’m glad he’s not in combat areas, as I’m sure you are, too. I’m only thankful that Ken hasn’t had to go – a definite advantage of being a farmer. There have been a few snide comments sometimes, about him being safe from conscription, but we both have to work jolly hard as it is, and we don’t get a holiday, unlike those women whose men come home on leave.
“The farm is still going well. We’re one of the few places actually providing food to people in New Zealand, instead of sending it abroad. I can’t say where, of course, because of the censor, but perhaps you can imagine from other things I’ve written. We’ve had help on it, of course, from our ‘visitors’. I don’t know why they send them over here and then just put them to work on our farms, but no doubt there’s some reason.”

Joey stopped as Janie looked up quizzically. “Who does she mean?”
“American soldiers, I believe,” Joey replied. “Apparently they were billeted all over New Zealand before being sent into battle in the Pacific. Also, from what I understand of Mollie’s letters, food is being sent to America, as well as here. They had rationing on milk and butter and cheese and things introduced about three or four years ago, because so much food was being packaged up and sent out of the country.”
Frieda looked thoughtful. “One knows there’s war going on elsewhere, of course,” she mused. “But it seems so far away, and of course, as we’ve seen the horrors of Nazism from so close…”
“It probably seemed the same to them,” Joey replied. “After all, Australia and New Zealand and lots of other British colonies sent troops over here when the war first began, but to those who stayed at home, it must have seemed like they were a world away.”
“And now it’s on their doorstep, poor things,” Frieda said compassionately. “The Japanese moved through the Pacific as quickly as the Nazis took over France.”
“I’ve heard,” Joey added solemnly, “that the Japs have camps, too, that are as bad as the ones we heard about for the Jews.” Frieda’s face changed, and Joey threw down the letter to fling her arms around her friend. “Oh, Frieda, I’m sorry! I was a beast to have brought that up! Please try to forget it!”
Frieda remained motionless in Jo’s arms for another minute before looking up again. “It’s all right, Joey. Keep going with Maynie’s letter.”
Joey cast a concerned glance at her friend before picking up the pages again.

“There’s a big advantage to being in our situation. We can get as much of most things as we want, particularly beef, which is wonderful. And, of course, unlimited supplies of milk, butter, cheese – all those sorts of things. For the twins’ tenth birthday, I even made a cake with cream for their party. One little mite came up to me with wide eyes and asked what the yummy stuff on top of the cake was. She’d never had cream like that before. It’s quite sad, really, considering how much of those sorts of things we used to produce, but it can’t be helped, I suppose.
“The aforementioned visitors had created quite a stir on our quiet island, but most of them have left now. Still, there are quite a number of girls around here who are waiting for letters from their eagle fiancés, and have hopes of going to eagle at the end of the war to live. Personally, I’m glad that my girls aren’t old enough to have been caught up in all that fuss. I don’t want to lose them to somewhere so far away!”

“Go where?” Janie asked in bewildered tones.
Joey laughed. “I forgot how mad that would sound. ‘Eagle’ is America, so these girls have American fiancés and hope to go to America at the end to the war to live.” She giggled again. “It’s sort of a family joke. We assigned different animals to the different countries, so all we have to do is name that animal and we know where someone is.” She bent her head over the letter again, found her place and continued.

“Having said that, though, I almost do wish they were grown up, as it’s jolly hard to get all the clothing we need from our ration cards. Hand-me-downs are having to last an awfully long time, and by the time Chris gets them, they’re usually mended to within an inch of their lives. Not that they last long on him. I’ve resorted to giving him some of Ken’s things, which his mother had packed away at her house. She’s also given me some of her old dresses, so at least I look all right, if rather old-fashioned!
“I’m still trying to get used to not having a baby around, Peter being six now, although we really don’t have time for another right now. Maybe after the war is over, then we can begin to think about it, but really, I have my hands full! They’re all at school, now, of course. Bobby’s twelve, and is helping on the farm when he can, in the evenings. He loves being with Ken. Hugh, Frank and Chris all want to help, too, and although I sometimes let the two older ones do it, it would be too much for Chris.
“He finally turned on me the other day, and demanded to know when he could help. I said that he could help Daddy when he was older. He thought about that for a moment, and then said that he’d been asking me if he could help for a long time. I agreed that that was true, so he said, in a triumphant voice, “so I must be able to help now, ‘cos I’m older than I was when you first said no!”. I had to laugh, but he still can’t do much more than help me weed the vegetable patch.
“The girls are good with that, too. I gave each of them her own little corner to use for whatever they wanted, and waited to see what they would grow. Last week, Dollie presented me with a lovely little handful of potatoes, and yesterday Cis came inside, clutching a bunch of green carrot tops, with the little orange carrots themselves liberally sprinkling dirt all over my clean floor! But we ate them that night in a stew, just the same. I’ve enclosed a photo of them, proudly showing off their wares.”

Joey dived for the envelope and withdrew the small black-and-white picture of the identical girls, beaming as they each displayed a handful of small vegetables. The women laughed over that, and Joey wondered aloud whether the Juniors at the School, who were also growing salad greens and vegetables in their garden plots, would produce something of a similar size. Frieda and Janie laughed again, before urging her to go on, as time was drawing on and they would soon have to begin preparing supper.

“I heard from Hilda Annersley a few weeks ago, telling me all about the school,” Jo continued from the letter. “I can hardly believe that you’re old enough to have children at all, Joey, let alone be sending them to school. Surely it wasn’t so long ago that I was trying to drive the rules of mathematics into your head! Although I suppose, having children myself, I should be able to realise it, but somehow it seems almost impossible. I must try to come over once all the trouble clears up and see with my own eyes. I might believe it then.
“I heard from Lydia the other day. I have no idea why she wrote to me. Her letter was full of poor Bob, which seems strange, as it’s been so long since he died. And before you accuse me of being hard-hearted, I never got on nearly as well with Bob as Jack did. In fact, I suppose because Jack and I were twins, I was closer to him than Bob, Charlie or Dorothy.
“The Mackenzie clan here are a very tight-knit group. I don’t think a week’s passed since our marriage when we haven’t had a visit from at least one of them, and Granny Mackenzie simply adores her grandchildren. It’s so lovely that they can go there after school for a few hours while Jock and I work on the farm, and if we want some time to ourselves – not that that happens very often – then they will have the children to stay for the weekend. Speaking of time, we’ve been talking about getting someone to manage the business side of things here, and also to hire people, as that side of things usually gets put to one side while we take care of the practical things, but with the s-”

Here Joey broke off and squinted at the page. “I can’t read this. It’s been censored so badly that I have no idea what she means.”
“Read it to me,” Frieda offered. “I’ll see if I can make sense of it.”
Joey squinted at Mollie’s writing. “…the s- of m- around here, we’ll have to wait,” she read, and then looked up. “It still doesn’t make sense, particularly with both those words cut out.”
Janie gazed thoughtfully at the trees above them. “The sacrifice,” she suggested. “The safety, the sanction…”
“What about the second word?” Joey proposed. “It might be either an ‘m’ or an ‘n’. I can’t tell.” She reread the sentence to herself. “She’s talking about people before that, so it might be ‘men’.”
“Well, wouldn’t the situation be the same there as it is here?” Frieda reasoned. “There’s a shortage of men here, so there probably would be here, too. After all, they don’t have that many people in New Zealand, do they?”
“I don’t think so,” Joey agreed. “And shortage of men sounds right. Let’s see. ‘We’ve been talking about getting someone to manage the business side of things, and also to hire people, but with the shortage of men around here, we’ll have to wait.’” She looked up. “Frieda, you’re a genius!”
The blond woman laughed self-consciously. “Not at all,” she argued. “It was just a matter of working it out. I have had a lot of letters from Bernhilda, and many of them are censored, so I am used to untangling the puzzle.” She moved her so that her back was to the large oak tree whose branches spread out above their heads. “So what else does Maynie have to say?”
“Not a great deal more,” Joey replied, looking down at the letter again.

“The children will be home any moment, and I do want to get this off in the next post, as it’s already taken me three days to write. Do tell me how things are going and particularly all the news about the School. Also, any news about any of the girls I knew during my few years there, particularly any ‘grandchildren’ the school might hope to include among its numbers during the next few years.

“Much love,
“Mollie.”

Frieda looked thoughtful. “I wonder if there is any chance of Maynie ever coming back to visit us.”
Joey shook her head. “I doubt it,” she replied. “Not soon, anyway. Apart from all the possible dangers, she’d hardly want to travel that far with six small children, and she wouldn’t want to leave them behind for long either.” Her eyes fell on Charles, who was drowsing on the grass. “I wouldn’t want to go with the girls, Steve and Chas, either. I think I’d be hairless by the end of the journey.”
“You’re probably right,” her friend agreed. “But it’s been so long since we’ve seen her – years, in fact – and we didn’t get to say a proper goodbye, because she left so suddenly .”
“I still remember the shock I got when Jack told me,” Jo agreed, folding up the letter and replacing it in the envelope with the photos. “Still, she writes pretty regularly, all told. Maybe, in a few years, she might come over to visit. Goodness knows, with Robin gone, and the MacDonald twins going to Shiena when they finish school, we’ll have room and to spare for her and any children she wants to bring with her.”
Frieda laughed and then, as the children ran over the grass towards them, their expressions suggesting that they felt a meal should be shortly forthcoming, she began to pack away the tea things and carried them into the house while Joey pocketed the envelope and lifted Charles into his pram, pushing it inside. She stopped in the hallway to remove the broad-brimmed hat that was her protection against the blazing sun and then carried her son up the stairs to put him to bed to finish his nap. Coming down, she heard Janie urging Frieda into the salon to rest before she came to join Joey in the kitchen.

 

#35:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 9:10 pm

It's lovely to have so much catching up with Maynie, and very EBD in that she often gave long catching up letters. I suppose it's the fact that she said very little about Maynie and about NZ that means this is cut is it?I like the references to censorship as well, they set everything so well in the time.

 

#36:  Author: auntie karry, Location: Stoke on Trent PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 9:21 pm

Thanks KB, it is good to catch up with Maynie at last. Very Happy

 

#37:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 9:42 pm

Rah! An update on Maynie, hooray. :jump: I read that with great enjoyment and realised how little I know of WWII in the Antipodes. *hangs head in shame*. We 'old country' folk tend to foget that rationing and worries about loved ones extended farther than these shores. I only discovered a few years ago, visiting a museum in Cincinnati, that the Nazis were very close to building a bomber which could reach central America and they had air raid precautions all ready to roll out. Thanks KB for posting these 'outtakes'. Looking forward to the final book. :jump:

 

#38:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Sun Jan 23, 2005 9:58 pm

Thanks some more, K.B. Editing can be very helpful, but I'm still really wondering about the logic behind some of these cuts! Good job on the changing of the guard among the prefects, and thinking to fill in poor Herr Anserl a bit. Especially enjoyed this last post, both the war news (including the bit with Frieda), and sibling relations Laughing between Maynie, Bob et al.

 

#39:  Author: Miss Di, Location: Newcastle, NSW PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 2:05 am

I'm really enjoying the out-takes (and looking forward to getting my hands on a published copy) If these are the cut bits, how excellent the book will be!

 

#40:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 11:15 am

I'm afraid the chapter about Miss Maynard was cut because it was felt that the book was leaning too heavily in the direction of focusing on Old Girls, to the extent that we had the same number of chapters on Old and current Girls at one point, which almost gave the book a "Reunion" feel. As this book is meant to be a school story and the chapters detracted from the feeling of that, it was decided to omit them. Glad everyone's enjoing it so much! Very Happy

Chapter V – Settling Down

Gillian Culver waited until the last few girls had left the dining room after tea before she headed down the hall to her study, in the grate of which the remains of a small fire were still glowing warmly. She removed the fireguard that her family had given her, to celebrate, as her brother Godfrey put it, her shove up to the top job, and poked the fire back into life, adding two of the small blocks of wood that lay in a basket of timber Griffiths had put there earlier that day.
Rising to her feet, she reached up to turn on her radio, which had arrived a week earlier, and settled down in the armchair to contemplate the weeks that had passed since the beginning of term.
There had been surprisingly little comment on the matter of the prefects from those who had chosen to give up their positions, at least as far as Gillian had heard. Those damsels were usually to be found hard at work in the room Miss Annersley had decided would be their shared study, or else in the library, preparing for the exams that would be held at the end of the term. Gillian had so far had no cause to call on them for assistance, and was quite glad of the fact, not wanting to create an awkward situation by doing so.
“Gill?”
The Head Girl looked up to see Jacynth in the doorway and waved her inside, reaching over to pick up her history book. Jacynth had been having a cello lesson during the history class, and so had missed the preparation given by Miss Burnett. As of this year, Jacynth, whose future would clearly have to do with ‘Cherry’, her beloved cello, had been allowed to spend more time on her music, and so spent a number of happy hours being tutored in that by Mr. Manders, the school’s cello teacher, while the rest of her form did more mundane lessons. Only Miss Wilson’s determination that the orphaned Jacynth was to concentrate on all her lessons prevented her from being moved into Special Sixth.
Gillian showed her the relevant pages they had to read and allowed her to copy down the questions before replacing the book on the desk. Then, as Jacynth showed no evident desire to leave, Gillian invited her to sit down, turning off the radio and returning to the armchair as her friend sat on the room’s only other chair.
“Well, what do you think of how the term’s going?” Jacynth asked, observing her friend so closely that Gillian instinctively rose to her feet and went to examine her face in the mirror, certain that she must have broken out in spots!
Relieved to find that she hadn’t, even as she explained her reaction to Jacynth, who promptly giggled, Gillian returned to her chair, looking thoughtful. “I suppose it’s going well enough,” she replied slowly. “Of course, poor Peggy will take some time to get over her accident, and it does serve those kids in Lower IV right, having to give up their spare time to do extra mending as a punishment, but…”
“I was talking about you being Head Girl,” Jacynth interrupted, her smoke-grey eyes full of laughter. “Are you more used to it yet, or are you still waiting for something dreadful to happen?”
“Doesn’t it always?” Gillian demanded gloomily. “I don’t know when a term’s passed in this school that something hasn’t gone wrong!”
Jacynth laughed. “Don’t be such a pessimist,” she retorted. “What’s the worst they could do that they haven’t already? And they usually receive such awful punishments that they don’t dare do whatever it was again! At least,” she added, “we won’t have to worry about the Lower IV for a while. After the telling-off they got from Miss Wilson, it’ll be some time before they decide to draw attention to themselves again.”
“Still worrying, Gill?” Gay’s voice demanded from the doorway. “For goodness sake, snap out of it, old thing. It’s not like you to have such a gloomy lookout.”
“Absolutely,” Jacynth teased as Gay came into the room. “There’s so much else you could be worrying about – like how we’re to possibly write an essay on Indian climate that will satisfy Bill.”
Gillian smiled. “Actually, I’ve already thought of that. Why don’t we visit Mrs. Maynard and ask her to tell us about her trip to India? I remember once hearing Robin talk about it, and they had quite a while there, so she should know a bit.”
Jacynth sat bolt upright. “Gill, that’s a super idea!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been worrying about that one like crazy, because I need to pull up my Geography marks or I’m going to need special tutoring for it, if I’m going to have a decent showing in the exams at the end of term.”
“All you need to do is scrape a pass,” Gay told her as she moved over to stand in front of the fire. “That’s all I’m aiming for.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jacynth warned her friend. “I’m not going to listen to another lecture from Ruth about the state of your report. You’re going to aim for a better report this term, Gay, my lamb. I’ll see that you do.”
Gay rolled her eyes. “What a simply poisonous idea,” she protested. “Me, work? Not if I know it, except at Cerita,” this being the name of Gay’s cello, “or tennis, or even cricket, if there isn’t a game of tennis to be had.” She smiled smugly. “I do have to set a good example to the Juniors, you know, being Games Pree and all.”
Jacynth picked up a cushion and flung it at her friend as Gay tucked her hands into her blazer pockets and rocked back on her heels in a manly attitude. However, Gillian grabbed the cushion and tucked at in at her back.
“Stop ragging, you two,” the Head Girl ordered firmly. “This room isn’t big enough for one of your scraps.”
Gay pulled a face at her friend as she sat on the floor in front of the fire, declining with thanks Jacynth’s offer to share her chair, and hugged her knees.
“If you ask me,” she remarked, “this term bodes to be – well, almost boring. The Form that usually causes the most problems have already had a good dose of Bill’s sarcasm, and one lot of that is generally enough to last for a while, particularly in kids of that age. And the younger girls don’t seem to want to experiment with trouble. If we had any new girls, we might get something from there, but we don’t have anyone new this term. So really, Gill, this might be the best term for you to start. You can get used to being Head and be ready to tackle whatever comes along next term.”
Gillian looked thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right, Gay. I guess I’ve been waiting for something to happen with Marilyn. I don’t know whether I could just stand aside and see someone else in my shoes. But she hasn’t said a word, as far as I’ve heard.”
Jacynth considered. “I don’t think I have, either. But we wouldn’t be likely to hear anything, though,” she added. “It’s no secret how close the three of us are, and people probably think that anything we hear would probably be passed on straight away.”
Gay sat upright. “Well, I don’t know why they’d say anything anyway,” she exclaimed. “It’s not like they were forced to give up their prefectship. They had a choice. Bec Harris and Sam Jones are still prefects. So they can’t really complain, can they?”
Gillian studied the floor for a moment before looking up. “I’m not sure Marilyn really had a choice,” she said slowly. “I can’t imagine the Heads letting her continue. She really did make a mull of it last term.”
“She’s a much nicer person to be around this term than she was last,” Gay put in. “I hope she realises that herself. She was always snappy and short-tempered last term.”
“Perhaps she felt bad about the fact that she was letting the school down,” Jacynth remarked softly. “I know I would have, in her shoes.”
“You wouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Gillian told her. “Neither would I, nor Gay, but then we aren’t quite so – well, driven – as Marilyn is. I talked to her once last year about what she planned to do after she finished school, and she was so determined that it made me a little nervous that I didn’t have such a definite idea of my future.”
“But you still have another year left here,” Jacynth reminded her. “And your parents aren’t pushing you, like hers do.” She glanced at Gay. “Remember when we read that article about the Evans’ business, and you told me about that letter to Marilyn you saw? She’s their only child and they have such incredible plans for her future.”
Gay nodded vigorously, her golden curls flying wildly. “Thank goodness Ruth and the others aren’t like that with me. I simply don’t have a mind capable of taking in enough to get really good marks,” she proclaimed. “It’s lucky I’m good at Games and music, because I’ll never be up there with the best at Maths or English. And, goodness knows, I’m simply hopeless in any science you care to name. It was so nice to give up Bio and Chem at the end of last summer term, I can tell you.”
“I’m sure Bill was glad, too,” Jacynth teased, getting up as the bell rang for supper. “Come along, you two. We have to set a good example to the others. Can’t afford to be late.”
Gillian checked that nothing was in danger from the fire before following her friends to the door, locking it behind them and then hurrying down the hallway to the Sixth Form splashery.
Later that evening, Marilyn found herself alone in the Special Sixth study. She was thankful to get some time to work on her latest essay, which had been troubling her, but once that was out of the way, she found herself at something of a loose end.
Putting away her books, she wandered over to an armchair by the fire and curled up in it, the book she had taken from her locker idle in her hand as she stared out at the sky, which was turning pink as the sun set. With her free hand, she twisted one of the red-gold curls that rioted wildly all over her head around her finger.
She had had little time to consider the whole situation, but now she felt able to do so. In the few weeks that had passed since the school had begun, she had been ashamed at the ease with which the new prefects had taken control and managed to keep their Juniors obeying the school’s comparatively few rules: a thing Marilyn herself had found so difficult to accomplish, although she could now see that it was her attitude that had been the cause.
Remarks she had overheard during the previous term came back to her mind now, and her cheeks flushed at the memory of the implied insults. She had barely paid any attention to them at the time, her mind being focused on her work, but now she seriously considered them. Some had been unfair, she knew. She hadn’t intentionally been neglecting the school, nor had she wanted to see how far she could test the Heads’ patience. Instead, she had simply been too focused on herself and her own work to consider anyone else. The selfishness of her actions made her want to squirm.
Miss Annersley’s words from the visit the two Heads had made to her house about thinking of the school before herself came back into her mind, and Marilyn realised that, instead of blaming other people for her mistakes, as she had been wont to do in previous years, she was seeing her fault in the situation, and could honestly admit that she had been a major cause of the whole problem.
At this juncture, the door opened, and Marilyn looked up to see Marney Jennings enter the room, her brown hair hanging loose around her face, and her flushed cheeks attesting to the fact that she had been dancing with the others in Hall. Marney shot over to her locker and fished around for a box in which she stored her extra hair ribbons. Finding one, she smoothed and then plaited her hair with swift, nimble movements, tying it with the ribbon. Putting the box back into her locker, she was about to leave the room when she saw the still figure in the armchair.
She came over to the window and pulled up another chair, settling herself into it with an air that suggested she intended to stay for some time.
“What’s up?” she asked, coming to the point with her usual directness.
Marilyn frowned. “Tell me,” she begged, “honestly, was I that bad as a Head Girl?”
Marney hesitated, and even that caused the frown lines on the other girl’s face to deepen. “I think,” the former Second Prefect offered somewhat hesitantly, “that you felt your work was more important than your position. I’m not sure that other Head Girls felt that way – not the ones while I was at the school, anyway.”
Marilyn looked up. “Who was H.G. in your first year?”
“Joey Bettany.” Marney smiled. “Sometimes I think she went the other extreme – that the school was more important than her work, at least from what I’ve heard about her time. But then, her sister did start the school, so I suppose she had a more vested interest in it than some others have.”
“I only came when the school moved to Armishire,” Marilyn confessed. “Maybe I haven’t had long enough here to really get a feeling…”
“Nonsense,” Marney said bluntly. “Jesanne Gellibrand came after you did, so you can’t use that excuse, my dear.”
Marilyn sighed. “I just hate to think what a mull I made of it,” she groaned. “I can’t think why they asked me to take it on at all. Why didn’t you get it? You’re older than me, you’ve been here longer…”
“But I’m not the type of person to be a good leader,” Marney interrupted. “Not the type of person to lead the whole school. You’ve got the abilities to do it well, provided you don’t get too one-sided and forget what you’re supposed to be doing.”
“I didn’t forget,” Marilyn replied, her cheeks the colour of beetroots. “I just ignored it and left it to the rest of you, unless it didn’t interfere with my work.” She studied the pretty hand-made rug on the floor before looking up again. “I was so proud of being asked to be Head Girl when Daisy had to give it up, Marney,” she confessed. “And for a few weeks, I did try hard, but when the first marks for the term were read and they were lower than I expected, I felt like I was always being torn between my lessons and trying to be Head Girl. Lessons won every time,” she admitted in a low voice. “I never put myself out for anyone else, and certainly not for the school.”
Marney sat back in her chair. “I won’t deny,” she said slowly, “that there weren’t times when some of us felt like we were being forced to do your job as well as our own, and that we weren’t too happy about it. Of course, we all knew how important your studies were – and are – to you, but we were trying to do our things, too…”
She trailed off, and Marilyn examined her feet. “I think,” she began softly, “it was a good thing that Miss Annersley and Miss Wilson asked me to step down. I would hate to think that I was doing so much harm to the school, and to all of you.” She held out a hand to the girl in the opposite chair. “Forgive me?”
Marney smiled. “Of course I do, you goop.” She accepted the handshake and then watched as the other girl stood up. “Where are you going?”
Marilyn looked down, and her set jaw showed her determination. “I’m going to tell the Heads all that I just said to you. I want to apologise and show them that I’ve realised where I went wrong.”
Marney stood up also. “Jolly good idea, old thing. Want me to come with you?”
Marilyn shook her head so that her curls flew. “No, thanks, Marney. I think I’d better go on my own. You go back and join the others, and I’ll come if I can.”
Marney slid an arm through hers with a friendly squeeze before letting go and going to the door as Marilyn moved to put her book away. “Don’t take too long. Ruth said she was going to play ‘Oranges and Lemons’ and I’m bagging you as my partner for that.”
Marilyn laughed as she pushed the book into the back of the locker and then ran to the door, her heart lighter than it had been all term as she headed for the Heads’ study.

 

#41:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 11:43 am

another lovely extract, thanks KB! Very Happy

 

#42:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 12:17 pm

Really enjoying this KB! Thank you rounds out the picture nicely.

 

#43:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 6:05 pm

Great, KB. That's such a different view of Marilyn. The only reason I can see it being cut is that you must have written enough for 2 books!

 

#44:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 8:36 pm

Thanks KB , looking forward to the finished book as these are fantastic! :worthy: :worthy: :worthy: :worthy: :worthy:

 

#45:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Mon Jan 24, 2005 9:10 pm

Thanks KB! *echoes previous comments Very Happy*

 

#46:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 11:28 am

Ooh, I quite like being bowed to. *lol* This chapter was written in a different form for FOCS, so those who have read it there, please don't spoil the conclusion of this for others who may not.

Chapter VI – The War In Australia


Margia carefully dusted the photo frame and set it down on the mantelpiece, fixing her gaze on Captain Peter Reynolds’ features, a faint smile on her own face as she opened the window to let in the fresh autumnal air of late April and then looked down at the small sapphire sparkling on the ring she wore on the fourth finger of her left hand. They had already made their plans. After the war, they would travel to England so that Margia’s parents could meet their future son-in-law. Until that happened, Margia refused to consider their engagement official, and Peter was willing to wait.
According to official Army records, however, they were already married. A friend of Peter’s had forged a marriage certificate, which had been all the proof the Army needed. Peter was an orphan, his parents having been killed during the bombing of Darwin in 1942, and, should anything happen to him, he wanted Margia to have official news of it, rather than having to read about it in the newspaper.
They had first met in early 1943 and a friendship had quickly developed into something more serious. Until she met Peter, Margia had never considered marriage. Music had always come first with her, and everything else a long way behind that. Now, however, Peter having proposed to her during his most recent period of leave, which had been Christmas of the previous year, 1944, she was considering giving up her music to make a home with her husband when the war finally ended.
The ringing of the doorbell woke Margia from the memory of the time she and Peter had spent together when he had last been on leave and she opened the door to find the postman on the doorstep.
“Good morning, Miss Stevens,” he greeted her cheerfully, his English heritage obvious in his accent. “Not working today?”
“No,” she smiled. “This is my morning off. I have to go in this afternoon, though.”
“Well, now, let’s see what I’ve got for you.” He fished around in his bag and produced two envelopes, handing them to her with a wink. “Both from people special to you, it seems.”
She smiled, unable to help blushing as she saw that the first was from Peter, before looking up at him. “How did you know, Henry?”
He chuckled. “Well, t’ain’t a business letter, not with all them swirls and twists. That’s from a lady, that one. And t’other uses your full first name instead of an initial. An’ to judge by your colour, it’s probably from a young man.”
Margia had become used to the directness that was a delightful part of the Australian character, so she merely smiled again and looked at the second letter, recognising her sister’s handwriting.
“With that sort of skill, you could be recruited by the Secret Service,” she teased, and he chuckled, winking again.
“How d’you know I’m not already?”
She bade him farewell as he turned to go back down the path and then went into the house, stopping herself from tearing open Peter’s letter at once. She made herself a hot drink and then returned to the living room, sitting down in an armchair and putting the cup of milky coffee on a convenient table before picking up her letter opener. Amy’s letter lay on the table beside her cup as she opened the envelope from Peter and withdrew the page of neat writing.

“Dearest Margia,
“I received your letter yesterday and spent all that day and half of this one reading and rereading it, until I know every sentence. We’ve been pulled back at the moment, so I have time to admire your beautiful flowing handwriting and think of the time we spent together when I was last on leave. Oh, that that could come again and I could be with you. I think about you during every spare moment and dream about you at night. Sometimes I even think about being wounded and envy the lucky men who have you to nurse them.
I have your photo with my other important papers, but I’ll soon have to ask you for a new one. This one has been taken out and unfolded so many times that it is on the verge of tearing along the middle. Sweetheart, won’t you ask some kind neighbour to take another and send it to me? I enclose two photos I had taken recently of myself, as you requested. I tried to be alone in them, but David would insist on jumping in just before the shot was taken.”

Margia picked up the two photos and smiled at the small bird that rode on Peter’s shoulder. This was David, his company’s mascot, of whom she had already heard much in earlier letters.

“All the boys here send their greetings. Of an evening, we married men sit around and exchange photos and anecdotes. Many of them have children, as well as wives, to make a happy home. I tell them that we have plans, but also plenty of time. Do think about it, though, dearest, and let me know if you are willing to consider the idea, even for the briefest moment. Of course, we’ll do nothing until I have had the pleasure of meeting your family and they are willing to welcome me. I don’t want to push you too fast, but I will say frankly that I’m wildly envious of the fact that the other men here have had years with their wives, while I’ve had so little time with mine. Once this mess is finished, though, we can enjoy ourselves together on the boat to England.
“I am hopeful, my darling, of a promotion. Nothing too exciting to cause it, you understand. Just a little adventure and having to get a few of our boys out of harm’s way.”

Margia’s fingers tightened around that page, and she drew in her breath sharply. Peter believed that she had little idea of what went on during a battle, but she had nursed men through delirious periods when they spoke of what they had endured at the enemy’s hands, and she could imagine what this ‘little adventure’ might have involved. Still, if he was writing to her like this, he must have pulled through it all right. She looked down at the photograph on her knee and smiled at it before continuing to read.

“I have arranged for half my salary to be directed to you, as most men do for their wives. I need nothing here, and I would like to think that you’ll be comfortable. Perhaps you could do up the kitchen so I don’t knock my head on the shelf when I’m doing the washing-up, as I did that first night when I came around and you cooked that delightful meal for us. I look forward to many more such cosy evenings when I’m back with you, safely in Australia.
“I’m afraid I have no more to tell you, dear. Hopefully there will be nothing in this that will upset the censor, so you can read every word. Please write to me soon. I love hearing from you, and knowing what is happening in Australia and the neighbourhood. Say hello to Con and Jock Mackenzie and their three children for me. We must have dinner together when I get back to Australia.
“Love forever,
“Peter.”

Margia impulsively kissed the letter and then replaced it and the photos in the envelope. She would write to him that night, after she finished work. For now, though, she had just enough time before she had to be at the hospital to read Amy’s letter, so she opened the envelope and drew out the pages.

“Dear Margia,
“Thank you for your letter. I let Mummy read it once I’d finished with it, and she’s glad to hear that you’re well and keeping busy, although she does wish you’d come back to England. She and Daddy are in London at the moment, where Daddy’s working for one of the big dailies. He keeps an eye out for news from Australia, but we seem to get more from your letters than the papers: good and bad. I suppose it’s a long way away, but I would still like to hear what’s happening there.
“Anyway, enough of wishing. I should tell you my news. I have exams coming up soon, of course, as it’s nearly the end of the academic year at Oxford. I’m not worried, though. I’m sure I’ll get through them all right, as long as I don’t make any foolish mistakes. Only one more year and then I’ll leave here and hope to get a job somewhere.
“That’s what I tell Mummy and Daddy, anyway, but I can tell you something I’m a little anxious about saying to them. I’ve met someone, Margia. His name’s Michael, and he’s just lovely! And I know he feels the same way about me, so you see, I don’t think I should plan too much for a job in the future. He’s serving in France at the moment, but when he comes back, he’d like us to get engaged and married soon after. And I would like to have children, Margia. Or at least one. Just promise you won’t write even a hint of this to Mummy or Daddy. I will tell them, but I want to wait until Michael comes back so that they can meet him.”

Margia smiled understandingly at this. She had a similar secret, and wouldn’t have thanked her sister if Amy had told their parents about Peter. It was for this very reason that she had not yet told the younger girl about her fiancé, but Amy was in the habit of confiding in Margia and had been ever since, as children of eight and eleven, they had been sent to the Chalet School . Margia turned her attention back to the letter, aware that time was moving on and she would soon have to leave to catch the bus to work.

“Daisy came to Oxford with Madame the other day. She’s coming for the new academic year, to begin studying Medicine, so I showed her around a little. We’ve decided that she will move into the house where I’m living now. She seemed to get on well with everyone else, so that will make things easier for her. Madame was also very interested in everything I had to show them. We also met Lorenz Maico and Kitty Burnett and had a jolly ‘do you remember’ session over lunch.
“I told Madame about you being godmother to Janetta Mackenzie, and she told me to tell you that she will expect Janetta to appear at the Chalet School in the future, but I think she was only teasing. Can you imagine anyone sending their daughter all the way from Australia to Wales to go to school? I certainly can’t!
“I’m planning to go to the Chalet School for the Sale this year, if I can manage it. I’m hoping there will be some other girls I know there, but I suppose that depends on whether they can get time away from their work or study to come. If only this war would end, maybe you could be there, too!
“Well, I’ve filled this letter, and if I write more I’ll have to start a second page, so I’ll end this screed and await something from you in reply. Do let me know how your goddaughter gets on – that makes you sound so old! The only thing that would be worse would be to hear a child calling you ‘Mother’.
“Lots of love.
“Your sister,
“Amy.”

Margia folded the letter with a smile and replaced it in the envelope, sliding both letters into the pocket of her uniform dress. She would take them up and leave them in her room, and collect her watch and coat at the same time. But before she could carry out this plan, and even as she was in the process of picking up her empty cup, the doorbell rang.
Wondering who it might be, she moved over to open it, finding a man in the uniform of a telegram delivery boy on the doorstep, an orange coloured envelope in his hand.
“Mrs. Reynolds?” he asked.
Margia’s voice caught in her throat, her hand already outstretched to receive the envelope. If that was the name by which she was being addressed, then it had to do with Peter. She gave a mechanical nod and somehow reached out to take the horrid thing. The delivery boy turned on his heel and headed for the gate. There was nothing left to do now but go back inside and read the telegram, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was bad news – that much she instinctively knew. Peter was injured, or worse.
Then and there, on the doorstep, she suddenly tore open the envelope and yanked out the thin sheet of paper inside it, unfolding it with trembling fingers. The letters jumped around on the page and Margia swayed on her feet.
“…regrets to announce…” she murmured aloud, and then fainted.

 

#47:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 11:48 am

Lovely to see Margia all grown up and hear about Peter and what Amy's doing but the telegram surely he's ok really.....

 

#48:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 11:56 am

*sniffles* Poor Margia Good to hear about Amy was well and what she's been up too Very Happy

 

#49:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 12:07 pm

oh dear, poor Margia Sad Spookily, my grandfather was called Peter Reynolds. And he was a Captain in the war. But he wasn't Australian. And he came through the war fine. nice to hear what they are both up to - I'm guessing this is another chapter that had to be cut because it wasn't enough about the School?

 

#50:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 1:20 pm

I didn't see it in FOCS so will have a little wibble, if you don't mind. Lovely KB. thanks.

 

#51:  Author: Vikki, Location: Sitting on an iceberg, freezing to death!!! PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 7:08 pm

*hugs Margia tightly* I AM sorry that this storyline had to be cut KB, it was one of my favourite bits in the first draft!

 

#52:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Tue Jan 25, 2005 7:23 pm

This is a really good storyline and its a shame that is has had to be cut, Maybe you could have a short story book with extensions on the cut parts?

 

#53:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 12:32 am

Poor Margia Sad

 

#54:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 11:46 am

Sorry to have spooked you there, Robin. And no promises about Peter's fate. Twisted Evil Wibble away. And a short story book with extensions on the cut parts? How much so-called 'spare time' do you people think I have?! (Where's the 'still, grey and to all appearances...' smiley? This is the best I could come up with. :pale: )

Chapter VII – A Future Chalet School Girl

Joey hurried up the long driveway, pushing the pram in which baby Charles lay, only stopping to mop her brow when she came to the front door and rang the bell. A moment later, Gwladys opened the door and invited Mrs. Maynard into the cool hall, showing her into the Heads’ study, where both occupants were hard at work.
Both women looked up as soon as Gwladys announced her, their expressions revealing their anxiety. Frieda von Ahlen, once Frieda Mensch and a former pupil of the school, had been kept quiet for the past few months, and although Jo had called the school that morning to tell them the time for worry was over, she had been unable to give them any more details before the ‘phone, which had been playing up, failed again and she was cut off, hence their anxiety, as everything had happened several weeks sooner than expected.
“Well, Joey,” Nell Wilson asked briskly, “what news?”
“Glorious news,” Joey beamed. “Frieda has a daughter at long last, after two boys. Gretchen Margaret, or so Frieda wants to name her. She was born last night, just after midnight.”
Hilda Annersley smiled as she capped her pen. “That is excellent news. I’m very glad for Frieda. Have you wired Bruno to tell him?”
“An hour ago,” Joey replied. “I did that and then waited for the bus so that I could tell you all about it. Luckily the phone only went down after the doctor arrived last night or we’d have been in a mess, let me tell you! I’ve got her and her boys over at Plas Gwyn, as Dr. Prosser says she isn’t to do any housework and you know yourself how hard it is to find help, with most of the girls in the W.R.N.S.”
“And how is Frieda?” Nell asked.
“Tired, of course, but you’d expect that,” Jo said. “However, Gretchen is sturdy enough, and a few weeks in bed should sort Frieda out. She was sleeping when I left, and she told me that she recovered quickly enough after the boys were born. Dr. Prosser isn’t bothered about her either, he told me.”
“What do Louis and Gerard think of their baby sister?” Nell asked as she gathered her papers together.
“Oh, thrilled to the giddy limit,” Jo replied airily, keeping an eye on Miss Annersley, who rose in the most delightful manner, as Joey quickly told her.
“Do stop talking nonsense,” Nell told her severely, “although I must say, Hilda, I wouldn’t have expected you to fall for that one. But Joey, tell us about Gretchen. What does she look like?”
“Fair, as you’d expect, considering Frieda’s colouring,” Joey said thoughtfully. “And she has the most beautiful blue eyes. They’re so vivid that I expect they’ll stay that colour. They rather remind me of the Tiernsee actually. Her cheeks are as rosy as little apples. In fact, she’s like a doll, she seems so perfect. I keep expecting her to say ‘Mama’ every time I pick her up.”
The two older women exploded at this image, and only the bell ringing for the end of the morning brought them both to their senses. Joey collected the big Japanese-style sunshade, which she had put up over the pram, and her sunhat, which she had discarded as she sat down, and checked that baby Michael was comfortable.
“Well, I must be off. I don’t want to leave Anna in charge of the house and Louis and Gerard for too long. What’s happening this afternoon? Anything special?”
“Red Gables is sending over teams for cricket and tennis.”
“Tell the girls from me to mind that they beat them, then,” Joey said as she dropped the hat on her head and prepared to depart. “The last time I met Susan Winton, their Games mistress, she was positively crowing about how well they had done against St. Stephen’s. It would do them good to be jolly well beaten.”
With this most unchristian declaration, Joey departed, leaving her friends convulsed with laughter, which they only smothered with an effort as another bell rang to announce dinner.
Excitement was high among the girls as they entered the large dining room and sat down to one of Karen’s famed meals. She was always generous on days when a match was to be played, and the girls eagerly began on her delicious sausages and the small mountains of mashed potato served by the prefect at the head of the table.
Those girls who were playing hurried to change as soon as they were excused from the table, while the rest of the school went out in pairs or small groups to find places to sit that were as much out of the sun as possible. Every girl wore a sunhat, and several had taken hankies, which they soaked with cool water and wrung out, draping them over their heads and putting the hats on top.
“Jolly good idea,” Tom said approvingly as she watched Rosalie drape the cool hanky over her blond curls and settle her hat on top. Fishing around in her pocket, Tom brought out the filthy rag that was her current hanky, which Rosalie grabbed with a shriek and dropped in the nearest wastepaper basket.
“For heaven’s sake, Tom, go and get yourself a new one. That wouldn’t even stand being mended, you’ve made such a hurrah’s nest of it.”
Grinning, Tom did as her friend had suggested and returned five minutes later with a much more decent hanky, which she proceeded to wet and drape over her short hair. The rest of their friends had gone ahead to reserve a place, so the two friends strolled out onto the grass, passing the Tennis Six as they did so.
It happened this year that the Sixth Forms had a number of excellent tennis players, so they had furnished the pairs from the topmost forms of the school. Marilyn Evans, who, following her talk with the Heads earlier in the term, had tried to divide her time between her studies and her other activities, and who played a very powerful game, paired with Julia Richards, who had the uncanny ability to place the ball wherever she chose. The second pair was made up of Kathie Robertson, who was a skilled player but had little time for it outside of school, and Mollie Avery, and the third pair of Mary Everitt and Doreen O’Connor of Lower VI.
Gay captained the Cricket XI, but at that moment she was with Miss Burn, waiting to greet the visiting school, whose buses could be seen coming over the hill towards the school. Several mistresses came down to sit at various places among the girls and maintain order, while a group of Junior Middles appeared in their Games clothes to be ball boys for the tennis.
The Chalet School had played against Red Gables ever since they had moved to Plas Howell, as it was one of a number of schools nearby. The previous term, a hockey team headed by Thelma Lord had come to the school and been victorious in a hard-fought contest, thanks mainly to the efforts of one Gwynneth Hughes, who had scored three goals on her own, so there was a measure of pride at stake on this day.
A group of Upper Fifth girls sat in a huddle beneath one of the large oak trees that grew near the tennis courts.
“I do wish Peggy was here,” Joan Sandys said ruefully. “She loves seeing Marilyn play.”
“Didn’t you go and visit her last week?” Natalie Mensch asked. “How was she?”
“Oh, getting better,” Joan replied. “And she was coming home today – at least, she’s going to stay with Madame so that she can come back to school as soon as ever she’s well enough without the long trip from the Quadrant. But it seems such a shame that she should have to miss this. She loves seeing us play Red Gables, and it’s usually there rather than here, so only the teams and a few friends get to see it.”
“Well, she’ll be back next term,” Frances Coleman told her bracingly. “Oh, look, here come the first pairs. Come along, you folk, yell up!”
Red Gables won the toss and chose ends, but as the sun was almost directly above the court, this only gave them the advantage of a slight breeze, as Joan, who was the most sporting of her friends, explained gleefully.
“Quiet please,” Hilary Burn in the umpire’s chair ordered, and then Doreen threw up the ball for the first serve of the match.
The pairs were very evenly matched, and more than one point in the first game went to deuce and then to the advantage of each side, before a clever shot from Mary, a bare inch inside the baseline, gave the Chalet School the first set.
The Red Gables pair took the second set in under fifteen minutes, however, and the jubilant cheers of the Chalet School Middles were silenced as Mary took her place to serve. However the pair had often practiced together, and Doreen’s placing had improved beyond all recognition in the previous two terms. The result was the first love-service game of the day, and the Chalet School pair then managed to break Edith Bloomfield’s serve to put them ahead. In the end, they won the match by two sets to one, and even as the pair shook hands over the net, cheers from the cricket pitch suggested that a Red Gables wicket had just fallen.
It turned out to be that of the captain, Emma Milne, and resulted in a middle-order collapse. The next three wickets fell for just 24 runs, and Red Gables were thirty-eight for four when the drinks were carried onto the field.
The second pair came onto the tennis court, and the younger girls were dismayed to see that both Red Gables girls overtopped their Chalet School counterparts by almost a head each. The older girls among the audience, however, overhearing a number of comments from their juniors, corrected their misapprehension, and their comments were justified when Kathie and Mollie won the first set.
The next set, however, went to the Red Gables pair with very little resistance, and it seemed as if Laura Hammond and Rachael Adams from the visiting school only improved with every point, so it was no surprise when they took the final set and the match. This drew the tennis at one match apiece, so those girls watching were on their edges of their proverbial seats as the two first pairs came out onto the court and tossed the coin.
Over on the cricket pitch, the match seemed to have swung in Red Gables’ favour. They had gained another two dozen runs without loss, and the audience fell silent as they seemed to score off almost every ball. However Gay noticed that the batsmen seemed to be becoming used to the bowling rhythm and called on Gillian, whose bowling was unpredictable, although always good, to upset them.
It worked. The first ball bounced short and the batsmen took a single, but now Gillian was facing Marianne Howe, who had the highest score of the visiting team, and Gillian bowled a nasty little ball, which clipped Marianne’s bat and then sailed into Dorcas Brownlow’s waiting gloves. The crowd cheered as Marianne tucked her bat under her arm and walked, nodding at Gillian as she went.
The next ball to the new batsmen avoided the bat altogether and simply smashed into the stumps with such force that the bails went skittering away to either side, and the watching girls erupted into cheers.
Anticipation was high as Gillian began her next run-up. The new batter was a girl who had set her bat down firmly enough to suggest that she was a stonewaller, and Gillian seemed to have felt this, for the ball was simple, almost deceptively so. There was a crack of leather on willow and the ball sailed high into the air, coming down right into Frances Grey’s waiting hands.
A united cheer went up from the watching Chalet School girls, and even the Red Gables girls applauded Gillian as Patricia Woods walked off the pitch.
“A hat-trick!” Tom exclaimed in delight. “That was just super! Hooray, Gillian!”
The last two balls of the over were unremarkable, but it seemed as if the batting line-up of the Red Gables XI had become dispirited, because the last three wickets fell for only eight runs, leaving the Chalet School team a score of fifty-seven runs to win. The opening pair, Gay and Clare Danvers, hurried back to ensure that they had time for a drink before they had to come out onto the pitch, while the rest of the team strolled back for their own drinks.
On the tennis court, the game between the first pairs was tied at four games apiece, nobody having yet dropped a game.
“This is a tough one,” Nita Eltringham murmured to Joan Sandys.
“I think their captain is tiring,” Joan muttered back. “Watch as she serves. She doesn’t get the ball as high as she has been, and there’s not as much power behind it. And see Marilyn’s noticed it. She placed that ball so she had to run for it and,” as the ball hit the frame of Vicki Thompson’s racquet, “out it goes,” Joan finished triumphantly.
Sarah Grey served a double fault for the final point of that game, giving the first break to the Chalet School pair. Marilyn and Julia seemed to feel the change, for they went all out, running for every point and getting everything back.
“Two more points,” Daphne Russell, sitting with her friends, offered. “Only two more and we’ll win.” She raised her voice. “Up the Chalet School!”
Those around her echoed the sentiment. “Up the Chalet School!”
“Quiet, please,” Miss Burn’s voice commanded from the umpire’s chair.
Julia threw up the ball and hit it just over the net. It bounced a mere inch or two inside the line, and although Sarah lunged for it, she was unable to reach it.
“40-15,” Miss Burn announced. “Match point for the Chalet School.”
Julia tossed the ball up again but caught it without hitting it. She changed the ball to her other hand and then wiped her palm down the skirt of her tennis dress before once more throwing the ball up and hitting it with the middle of her racquet. It clipped the net as it went, and Vicki gave it a gentle tap in the direction of Nicole la Touche, one of the ball-boys.
“Let,” called Miss Burn.
Marilyn stepped over and had a quick word with her partner. Julia nodded, her grasp on her racquet firmer as she confidently tossed the ball into the air. It landed in the middle of the square, but bounced left as Vicki, who was receiving, expected it to bounce to the right and found herself on the wrong foot. She lunged back for it, but it bounced again and then rolled into the back corner of the court.
“Game, set and match to the Chalet School,” Miss Burn announced.
“Congratulations, Chalet School,” Miss Winton declared over the cheering of the audience.
“Quick, you folk,” Joan ordered, “let’s go over to the cricket and see what’s going on over there. It must be pretty good, judging by the cheering we’ve heard.”
In short order, the area around the tennis court was clear as the girls moved over to find space among their friends near the cricket pitch and spread the delightful news that the School had won the tennis. In return they were told that Gay was on 18 and Clare was out for nine. Olivia Marks was now facing the bowler, and the watching girls broke into cheers as she sent the ball along the ground and eventually into the rope for four, bringing her total to ten.
“Only 20 runs needed,” Tom said gleefully. “Jolly good. This should be a walk in the park for our team. I’ve seen Gay get that on her own.”
“Well, she won’t get it this time,” Bride retorted as the ball sailed onto Gay’s stumps and she walked off the pitch. “Who’s up next? Ooh, it’s Marney. She’s jolly good.”
Marney Jennings took her place at the pitch. She was a real stonewaller, and enough to break the heart of any bowler. Planting her bat, she watched the ball, noting the puff of dust as it hit the ground and guessing that it would twist around her bat. She had practiced a great deal with Gillian and had learned how to play this shot. Her bat made contact with the ball and it sailed over the heads of the waiting fielders, thudding into the ground as the two batsmen changed ends and then made a second and a third run. The ball was caught inches short of the rope, so she had to be satisfied with three runs and pointed her bat over to where she could see Gillian sitting on the bench. The girl waved, a wide smile on her face, and then, feeling cheery, Marney returned her attention to the bowler.
Ten minutes later, the school had gained five of the required runs, but had lost two batsmen in the process. Marney watched as Gillian came out to join her and they had a quick discussion before taking their places.
The Red Gables bowler, Chelsea Kerrs, came running up to the seam and flung the ball, deceptively gently, at Gillian, but the girl was ready and tapped it away for one, putting Marney on strike.
“Go, Marney,” came a cheer from the crowd, and she smiled before fixing her eyes on the ball and watching as it left the bowler’s hand.
It thudded into the ground and then came up at her. She met it with the bat and watched it sail into the air, her heart in her throat as one of the fielders leapt for it, but she had mistimed her jump and it flicked the tips of her fingers. Even as she ran, Marney saw it sail through the air and just pass over the rope for six. It was the first six she had achieved in a match, and she only just stopped herself shrieking with joy.
“Well done, Marney,” Gay’s voice rang across the ground. Marney grounded her bat as the bowler took back the ball and turned to begin her run.
The ball came fast at Gillian, who found it too hard to cope with and was dismissed with little fuss. This left the Chalet School XI with eight runs to get and five wickets in hand.
“Gay says take it slowly,” Mollie McNab, the next batsman, reported as she came out, and Marney nodded.
They managed five runs over the next two overs, and then Marney found herself facing the bowler who had had the most luck at getting out Chalet School batsmen. The girl’s face was set as she began her run, but her foot slipped on a loose piece of dirt and before she could properly regain her balance, the ball had slipped from her hand, bounced in the middle of the wicket, and Marney swung her bat to meet it. It sailed up into the air, over the heads of the fielders and hit the ground, rolling along to come to rest against the rope.
The watching girls let themselves go, and Mollie ran up to clap her batting partner on the back, even as the Red Gables XI came up to shake hands. The two umpires, mistresses from both schools, conferred briefly before coming to congratulate the successful batsmen and declaring the Chalet School victorious.

 

#55:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 12:44 pm

Thank you KB! Lovely.

 

#56:  Author: JackieJ, Location: Kingston upon Hull PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 1:37 pm

Very good description of the cricket match KB, that's not something that EBD ever did, if I recall correctly, but it was wonderful to read. JackieJ

 

#57:  Author: francesn, Location: away with the faeries PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 3:32 pm

oh why didn't they let that be in? it was lovely!!!! and even though EBD never described a cricket match it was very much in her style

 

#58:  Author: JustJen, Location: waiting for a bus PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 5:09 pm

I really enjoyed that last bit but like a lot of people over here, cricket leaves me confused -) Can anyone give me a primer on cricket?

 

#59:  Author: auntie karry, Location: Stoke on Trent PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 6:18 pm

Brilliant KB, but...
Quote:
Joey hurried up the long driveway, pushing the pram in which baby Charles lay,
and then
Quote:
Joey collected the big Japanese-style sunshade, which she had put up over the pram, and her sunhat, which she had discarded as she sat down, and checked that baby Michael was comfortable.
I know she had babies in quick succession but that quick!!!???? Confused

 

#60:  Author: JackieJ, Location: Kingston upon Hull PostPosted: Wed Jan 26, 2005 9:46 pm

JustJen wrote:
I really enjoyed that last bit but like a lot of people over here, cricket leaves me confused -) Can anyone give me a primer on cricket?
My recommendation is the Academy Pages on the Sport Pages of the BBC's website at http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/academy Ben's recommendation is http://www.cricinfo.com Hopefully they'll be able to give you a brief explanation of the game. JackieJ

 

#61:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 12:13 am

yay lovely thanks Very Happy

 

#62:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 7:55 am

Great section KB. I think EBD probably didn't understand cricket herself. I'm reasonably sure she didn't understand lacrosse either! Thanks for this, it's rather special to have them shared here. Any ideas on dates for THE book yet?

 

#63:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 9:13 pm

Some replies:

1) Jackie, EBD only did tennis in detail (several times), although she did comment on a cricket match in New House.

2) The reason this chapter was excluded is slightly complicated. I had a description of cricket teams and tennis pairs being chosen, but in the end that was removed and so this chapter seemed not to be as relevant as it had been. In addition there was that pesky length. (As of now, Peace is longer than any actual book in the series, and even longer than Headmistress. I imagine it will still be quite long, even if things still have to be cut out.)

3) Karry, thanks for pointing that out. I had all sorts of errors like that early on, but Kathryn will be very unhappy that I haven't corrected that one, as she found it in my first draft! *lol*

4) No, still no date yet. You people aren't impatient much or anything, are you? *eg*

Chapter VIII – Bianca’s Return

On Friday, Miss Annersley returned to her study at five o’clock, as she did every day, to be ready in case any girl wanted to talk to her about something. Silence settled over the room as she began working on her never-ending correspondence.
It was as she was finishing the last letter that she heard the doorbell ring and Gwladys going to answer it. Hilda shot a startled glance at the clock, seeing that it was almost seven o’clock, and then looked up as the door opened and the maid looked in.
“Miss Annersley, there is a young woman here who has asked to see the Head.”
“Did she give a name, Gwladys?” Hilda asked, somewhat impatiently, for the maid’s face bore an expression that spoke of disgust, and the Head wondered what had caused it.
“Yes, Miss Annersley,” Gwladys reported. “Her name is Signorina di Ferrara.”
Hilda bounded to her feet and brushed past the maid into the hallway to find a young woman waiting near the front door whose appearance was so dirty and dishevelled that it almost justified the maid’s disgust. Ignoring the dirt and too astonished to remember her usual decorum, Hilda flung her arms about the younger di Ferrara girl in a warm embrace.
“Oh, my dear,” she exclaimed. “Bianca, how wonderful to see you!”
The girl clung to her for a moment before pulling back, and Hilda could see tears trickling down her thin cheeks, which she made no effort to wipe away.
“M… Miss Annersley,” she stammered in heavily accented English, “I… I am s… sorry to c… come… s… so late…”
“Never mind that. I’m so delighted to see you safe and well,” the Head mistress interrupted, gently drawing her into the study, before looking up at the maid, who was still hovering in the doorway. “Gwladys, coffee, as quickly as you can. And rolls and butter.”
The maid nodded and disappeared. Hilda took her clean handkerchief out of her pocket and tucked it into Bianca’s hand, leading her to an armchair and forcibly seating her in it, seeing that the girl seemed almost beyond thinking of such things for herself. Hilda took the seat opposite, noting that Bianca’s clothes were worn in some places and ripped in others. Overall, the impression was the same as the one she had received with Friedel von Glück and Bruno von Ahlen had reached Guernsey after escaping a Nazi concentration camp , and Miss Annersley was forced to suppress a shudder at the thought of one of her former charges suffering in that way.
“Now, Bianca,” she said gently in the young woman’s native Italian, “after you’ve had some coffee and something to eat, I’m going to have Matron prepare a room for you. I think you need a hot bath and some sleep.”
“Luigia… is dead…” Bianca murmured brokenly, seeming not to hear Miss Annersley’s words, and the older woman recoiled slightly in horror.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her voice full of sympathy. “When you’re feeling better, perhaps you’ll want to tell me what happened.”
She paused as the door opened and a maid carried in a tray on which stood a pot of coffee and a plate of bread rolls. Hilda made up a strong cup of the coffee and placed it in Bianca’s hand, gently urging her to sip it and watching as she did so. After a moment, the fear and confusion seemed to clear a little, and Bianca could eat one of the rolls Hilda buttered for her.
“Now, Bianca,” Hilda said firmly, once the small meal had been consumed, “I’m going to get Matron to make up a bed for you and you shall have a hot bath. How does that sound?”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Bianca’s mouth. “It is something I have dreamed of for many weeks,” she admitted softly, speaking in the English the Head had also used.
“Has it been so awful, Bianca?” Hilda asked softly, and the younger girl nodded.
“I waited until my town was saved from the Nazis,” she said. “It took a long time, for there was much fighting, but finally it was clear. I packed up my most valuable things – photographs of my parents and my sister, as well as our jewellery and some clothes – and followed the soldiers. There was no other way to travel than by walking. The Nazis destroyed the train lines as they moved back. Sometimes –not very often – I travelled in a jeep or a truck, but mostly I walked. I exchanged my jewellery for food and my clothes fell to pieces, but I finally arrived at the coast. I had read about Guernsey being taken by the Nazis, and I guessed that the school would no longer be there, so I thought I would come to England and perhaps find the school or you or Madame or Joey. I was able to hide on board a ship to get across the English Channel. When I arrived in England, I dressed in my good clothes and asked about the school in London. They gave me the address, but I no longer had any money and I was afraid to say who I was in case they sent me back to Italy for not having proper papers.”
“The Red Cross would have helped you,” Hilda told her gently. “They could have got in touch with us for you.”
“I had had occasion to see the way the Red Cross had worked in Italy under Mussolini,” Bianca replied, bitterness edging her tones. “Why should I believe that it would be any different here?”
Hilda was silent. She could never have imagined one of the girls she had taught going through such an ordeal as this. After a moment, Bianca continued with her story.
“I found a place to sleep and changed into my old clothes because the ground was dirty, but while I was asleep, someone took my bundle of clothes and,” her eyes filled, “my photographs.” She blinked fiercely before looking up at the Head again. “I knew that the only place I could come to was here. I rode on trains without paying, and people sometimes gave me money or food if I asked, but mostly I walked. I do not know how long it has been since I left my home.”
“You’re safe here, Bianca,” Hilda told her gently, seeing tears once more well up in her dark eyes. “And we will take care of you.” She rose and rang the bell, asking the maid to bring Matron, who appeared within a few minutes and greeted the long-absent girl in a calm but warm fashion.
“Come along, my dear,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll have you in a hot bath and nice clean clothes before you know where you are.”
Bianca followed her almost automatically to the door, and Hilda cleaned away the dishes and put the handkerchief the girl had used into her soiled linen bag before turning to the phone.
Madge’s reaction at the news that Bianca had arrived at the school was one of excitement, and it was only Hilda’s warning about the girl’s exhaustion that kept Madge from getting into her car and driving to the school then and there.
“Does she have any news of anyone else?” Madge asked excitedly.
“She said Luigia was gone,” Hilda admitted. “But she was too exhausted for me to press her for details of anyone else. Perhaps she’ll have more to say in the morning.”
“I must tell Joey and Elisaveta,” the former Head of the school said after a moment’s silence to absorb this news. “They and Bianca were very close. They even shared a dormitory together, when Cosimo tried to take Veta . Do you remember, Hilda?”
“I wasn’t at the school then, but I’ve heard the story,” Hilda reminded her. “Very well, you can call them, but I’m not sure when Bianca will be up to having visitors. It looked to me as if she was on the verge of a breakdown, and we must avoid that. If it means keeping her away from anyone else until she’s stronger, that is what we will have to do.”
“You’re right, of course, Hilda,” Madge agreed thoughtfully. “Very well, I won’t say a word then, except to Jem. I suppose he should have a look at her?”
“Yes, I think so,” Hilda told her. “In fact I was going to suggest it. Ask him to come by early tomorrow, will you? It’s probably too late now, and I didn’t see anything that would need his immediate attention.”
“I’ll let him know. Have you sent her off with Matey?”
“Almost half an hour ago,” Hilda replied, checking the small clock on her mantelpiece to be sure. “I’ll go up and see how she is, and then I’ll call Jem and fill him in on the details.”
She and Madge ended the call and them Hilda made her way up to the San, to find Matey just closing the door of the private room closest to that woman’s own quarters.
“Asleep,” she said in response to Hilda’s query. “No, I didn’t have to give her anything. She is completely worn out. I think it will take several days before she’s able to talk about what she went through. Have you talked to Jem?”
“Not yet, although I did tell Madge. She’s thrilled to know that Bianca’s safe, although I did stop her calling Jo and Veta. The last thing Bianca needs now is those two fluttering around, and she always was rather highly-strung. Too much excitement and she might break down.”
“Not if I have any say in it,” Matron said firmly. “We’ll see what Jem has to say, and I’ll see that his directions are carried out.”
“I’ll call and let him know the details,” Hilda told her. “Was she hurt anywhere?”
“Not that she told me about, and I didn’t see anything,” the small woman replied. “I think it’s just exhaustion and the tension of war.”
“As well as Luigia’s death,” the Head added softly. “Bianca told me about that. That can’t have helped. And if she’s come here, I’d suggest that her father is also gone or she would surely have gone to him.”
“Yes, they never had a mother, did they?” Matron remarked. “Did she die, do you know?”
“I believe so, when the girls were quite young.” Hilda nodded and then prepared to leave the San. “I’ll tell the maids not to say anything about Bianca being here. We can tell everyone later.”
Matey nodded, and Hilda left to call Jem, who proved to be home, and arranged for him to come and check on the woman the following morning.
“I think she should be quarantined, at least until we know where she was and whether she might have caught anything. I’ve read in the papers that a lot of those camps and things had smallpox and other diseases running rampant through them.”
“But I’ve been in contact with her, and so has Matey, and several of the maids,” Hilda gasped in horror, as she thought of a smallpox epidemic running rampant in the school.
“Well, it’s probably too late to do much about it now,” Jem retorted grimly. “I’ll have a look at Bianca tomorrow and we can make provisions then, but don’t go into the staffroom tonight and tell Matey to do the same. And if it happens,” he added with calm fatalism, “it happens. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He hung up, leaving Hilda to imagine all sorts of disasters as she used the in-house phone to call Matey and report what Jem had said to her.

 

#64:  Author: Elder in Ontario, Location: Ontario, Canada PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 9:22 pm

KB, this description of Bianca's experiences is very moving and given more poignancy by the fact that today was the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the Auschwitz Concentration Camp.

 

#65:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 9:37 pm

Thanks KB, poor Bianca. I'm so glad she knew the school would help, but its just awful what she went through, both during the war and to get to them. Crying or Very sad

 

#66:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 9:46 pm

That was stunning KB. I am so sorry that had to be cut asit was very moving. Poor Bianca. Crying or Very sad

 

#67:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Thu Jan 27, 2005 11:38 pm

Very chilling and impossible to imagine. And yes, even more poignant it being Holocaust Memorial Day...

 

#68:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 3:31 am

Thanks, K.B. My reaction was exactly the same as Elder's. Very moving, and fitting right in with today's coverage. Still totally confuzzled by cricket -- sounds as arcane as American football, likewise shrouded in mystery, so can't comment there. Laughing Still giggling a little over Gretchen Margaret. I'd automatically assumed that Gretchen was a diminutive of Margaret and counted as naming for both Tante Gretchen and Madge! (Impact of nuns who'd have had cat fits over a girl with the same patron saint twice Confused.) P.S. What's wrong with long books? I LIKE long books.

 

#69:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 8:49 am

If you think this should have been included, so do I. The fact that it had to be omitted is due to Helen Barber being a clever clogs and getting Luigia into her story before I could get her into mine. Sorry, what? Me, bitter? No, of course not! Whatever gave you that idea? And Kathy, I like long books, too, but GGBP doesn't like the fact that long books cost more to publish, but can't really be sold at a higher price.

Chapter IX – Bianca’s Story

Hilda was waiting anxiously in her office the following morning for Jem to come down from his examination of Bianca. When he appeared, however, the smile on his face was enough to calm her fears.
“Nothing to worry about,” he told her cheerfully. “She’s worn out, of course, but Matey said that she already looks better than she did last night, and she doesn’t seem to have sustained any injuries or picked up anything nasty. She’s asleep again now, and I’ve drawn up an eating plan for the next few days. You’ll need to run her lightly if she’s going to recover fully, but if you stick to the plan and avoid any excitements, I don’t see why I few weeks won’t see her getting back to her old self.”
Hilda sighed with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I don’t mind telling you, James Russell, that you aged me a few years in seconds last night, while I was imagining a smallpox epidemic in the school. But we’ll certainly do as you’ve suggested.” She smiled. “How’s Joey? I’d imagine she’s on top of the world, with both Jack and Robin being back.”
“Well, Rob’s heading back to Oxford tomorrow, so as to be there for Monday, but Jo is most certainly almost beside herself. They were indulging in a most riotous brekker when I stopped by on the way here.”
Hilda chuckled. “I believe it. Well, I suppose it would be better not to let the girls know, although I’ll probably have to tell the staff, or such of them as knew the di Ferraras when they were at the school.”
“Oh, let them know soon enough,” Jem agreed. “But I’d keep most visitors away, at least for the next few days. I don’t think Bianca will be up to much except sleep then, anyway. I’ll send Gray around every few days to check on her. Gray? Oh, yes, he rejoined the San a year or so ago. He came over from Austria with me, of course, but he went straight to England instead of coming to Guernsey. He’s been in private practice for a few years, but eventually came to see if we had any vacancies. I was jolly glad to see him, I can tell you. I’ve always had a high opinion of his work.”
Hilda smiled and went with Jem to the front doors, waving as he got into his car and then going back inside and up to the staff room.
Being Saturday, with the prefects overseeing prep, the room was full and she was welcomed in a hearty manner and invited to sit down and sample the leftover orange cake from one of Frau Mieders’ Domestic Science classes.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, eyeing it suspiciously as a slice was put onto a plate and handed to her, along with a cake-fork.
Frau Mieders laughed. “But why should anything be wrong, Hilda? I simply thought that, as the Fourth form had made a chocolate cake, that would do for the girls and we could enjoy this.”
“I’m not convinced,” Hilda said darkly. “I don’t know a single class when something hasn’t gone wrong, and I don’t want to be the guinea pig.”
Her co-Head grinned. “Well, most of us have tried some and nobody’s fallen to the floor and writhed yet, so I think you’re safe.”
The collected staff exploded at this image.
“What a picture!” Ivy Stephens gasped as she mopped her eyes. “I had no idea that foodstuffs could be so deadly.”
“That depends who makes them,” Gillian Linton said with a giggle, catching Frau Mieders’ eye. “Anna, do you remember what happened when Joyce and her friends made cakes ?”
Those mistresses who had been at the school at the time laughed again, while the others were quick to demand an explanation, which Gillian gave, with a little giggle hitched fore and aft of her tale.
“It was the term when Mademoiselle first fell ill, and Joey was teaching at the school. The two Fifth forms had Dommy Sci and were making all sorts of cakes, and Joyce decided that, of all things, she was going to try Cornish saffron cakes. The Christmas before we came out to the Tyrol, I’d given her a book with all sorts of bits and pieces in it, and this recipe was among them. She’d never made it, but she had tried saffron cakes once and liked them, so she got the book and then went to get the saffron from Matey.”
Matron had entered the room and moment before and laughed when she heard the story that was being told. “I was going to get the saffron for her,” she added. “But someone came along with a cut hand, so I told Joyce where the saffron was in the cupboard and left her to it. I though she would be all right. She was usually pretty careful.”
“She was always careful about cooking, ever since her form flavoured their apple pies with garlic ,” Anna Mieders reminisced with a giggle. “But I think her cake outdid even that.”
“Oh, do you remember the smell?” Nell Wilson added with a laugh. “It was the most horrible thing!”
“But saffron doesn’t smell,” Pam Slater protested. “I’ve made those cakes myself, as it happens, and they smell rather delicious.”
“Yes, I’m sure they do, if you use saffron,” Gillian giggled. “On the other hand, if you use sulphur…”
The mistress once more exploded.
“La pauvre Joyce,” Jeanne de Lachenais said sympathetically. “She was well teased because of la petite erreur.”
“She received an interesting present, that Christmas,” Gillian laughed. “A box of bright yellow marzipan and fondants, in a bright yellow box, with the note ‘In memory of the latest recipe for cakes’. I think it was from Corney and Evvy.”
“It sounds like something they would do,” Julie Berne agreed. “I only taught them during their later years at the school, but I certainly heard some lurid tales about their early misdeeds.”
“And they were probably all true,” Nell Wilson replied darkly. “Certainly any to do with their science classes would have been. Not even Joey, with all her imagination, could have come up with some of the things they did in their salad days.”
As the newer members of staff begged for details, Matey sidled over to where Hilda sat and took the seat beside her.
“Have you told them about Bianca?” she asked in low tones, and looked relieved when Hilda shook her head. “She asked you not to, not yet, and I’m not sure it’s such a good idea either. She isn’t ready for anything like that sort of excitement yet. But she did ask to see you.”
“When?” Hilda asked eagerly. “Now?”
Matron Lloyd checked her watch. “We’ll be giving her something for lunch in about twenty minutes, so suppose you come up after she’s had that.”
Hilda nodded and watched her leave the room before drinking her now-lukewarm coffee and ignoring the curious glances Nell Wilson was casting at her.
“Later,” she murmured as she stood up and left the room.
Busying herself with tidying the last few papers on her desk, Hilda hurried up to the San as soon as she felt Bianca should have finished her meal, and waited impatiently until Nurse appeared with a tray.
“You can go in,” she said cheerfully. “Bianca’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Nurse,” Hilda smiled, and then, forcing herself to appear calm, quietly entered the room.
Bianca was sitting up against a pile of pillows, her dark hair flowing down the pillows and her shoulders, in which could be seen streaks of grey; testament to the as yet-unknown horrors she had suffered. However, the worst of the pain and exhaustion seemed to have faded from her eyes and she looked happier than she had seemed the previous day.
“Bianca, my dear,” she said warmly, leaning over the bed to kiss the Italian girl’s cheek and speaking in her native language, “you look much better.”
Bianca returned the kiss and smiled at the Headmistress. “I feel better,” she agreed. “I thank you for your kindness of yesterday.”
Hilda returned the smile. “There is no need for thanks,” she told the former pupil. “I was so very glad to see you.”
The smile lingered on Bianca’s face a moment longer before it faded and her dark eyes filled with pain.
“I want to tell you,” she began in a low voice, “what happened.”
“Ma no, la mia cara,” Hilda said quickly. “Not yet, Bianca. It’s too soon.”
“I must,” Bianca said urgently. “Then, when I can share the heavy burden with someone, this dreadful pain will go.”
Hilda paused for a moment, before finally nodding. If she refused, it was possible that a highly-strung girl like Bianca would work herself into a frenzy, and that was to be avoided at all costs.
“Very well, my dear,” she said gently. “Tell me what you feel you must.”
Bianca sat up straighter and, for a moment, studied her hands before looking up at her former teacher.
“F… father died four years ago,” she stammered, but her voice strengthened as she went on. “I was all right, I suppose. I never spoke out. I knew what would happen if I did. I’d seen it happen before. It was very hard,” she went on in a low voice. “It was so wrong. Everything I had been taught at the school was turned upside down, and of course I was put in to help the war effort with people who believed in the system. But finally, two years ago, Italy was invaded by the Allies and I thought the war was over for me.”
“But it wasn’t,” Hilda put in when Bianca remained silent, and the Italian woman shook her head sadly.
“The Germans invaded Italy, too, and began rounding up people to put them in concentration camps. The Jews, of course, were their main targets, but they also took away those who… who…”
“…who believed strongly in something other that Fascism,” Hilda finished for her. “I know, my dear. I remember when they did the same thing in Austria. And of course Luigia was among them.”
Bianca nodded. “I heard nothing,” she told the older woman. “I waited until the war was over and then I began to search. If I had done it before, it would have been bad for me, but it was so hard! I felt like I was abandoning my sister, and she was all I had left!” Bianca’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back and swallowed hard, clearly so determined to get through her story that Hilda didn’t interrupt. “They had lists in the newspapers of the camps,” she went on when she had regained her composure, “and who had survived. I kept hoping to find Luigia’s name, until one day one of the women who had been a novitiate in the Poor Clares with her came back. She told me that she had managed to escape the camp and had been hiding in Germany for all the rest of the war, but Luigia had not managed to get away. I went to the camp where she had been, but she wasn’t there. I finally found her name on a list of the people they had… who had…”
She stopped again, clearly unable to go on, but Hilda understood what she was unable to say and moved over to sit on the bed as Bianca began to sob once more, slipping an arm around the woman’s thin shoulder and praying fervently that, as Luigia was now happy and at peace, her sister could also eventually find the courage to recover from this loss and get on with her life.

 

#70:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 9:53 am

Thank you KB. Very poignant and well-written. Sorry this has been cut.

 

#71:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 10:20 am

Poor poor Bianca. What a horrific time. Thanks KB

 

#72:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 1:46 pm

Very moving and beautifully written, KB. I'm hoping these will all go in the Sally Denny Library eventually? It would be nice to have them available easily in the future. Thank you.

 

#73:  Author: JustJen, Location: waiting for a bus PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 6:20 pm

This was very moving.

 

#74:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 7:25 pm

patmac wrote:
Very moving and beautifully written, KB. I'm hoping these will all go in the Sally Denny Library eventually? It would be nice to have them available easily in the future. Thank you.
Crying or Very sad So sad, I would like to read this along side the book to fit it in although this part definatly stands alone as a story.

 

#75:  Author: Vikki, Location: Sitting on an iceberg, freezing to death!!! PostPosted: Fri Jan 28, 2005 8:14 pm

Poor poor Bianca!! (and Luigia too of course!) As others have said, this is even more poignant because of being read now.

 

#76:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Sat Jan 29, 2005 9:49 am

Thanks to all. Glad this was as moving as I meant it to be. A part of this next chapter has appeared in FOCS.

Chapter X – Old Girls’ News

It was the final morning of term. Upstairs, the girls were packing their overnight bags. Their trunks had been sent off three days earlier. The rest of the staff were relaxing in the staff-room, but Nell had remembered some paperwork that she hadn’t finished, and Hilda wanted to write a letter, so they were sitting in the office as the morning sunshine streamed in through the window. They worked companionably, the only sound being the scratching of pens on paper, although the two women occasionally tested the wording of various sentences on each other, as was their habit.
They were almost finished, and Nell was about to suggest sending a maid to bring something for morning tea, when a knock on the door made them both look up.
“Come in,” Hilda called, and Megan, one of the younger maids, appeared in the doorway and bobbed the traditional curtsey.
“Someone to see the Head, Miss.”
“Did she say which one, Megan?” Nell asked.
“No, Miss,” the maid answered readily. “She just said her name was Miss Becker and asked if she could see the Head.”
The two women exchanged frankly startled glances.
“Er, s… send her in,” Hilda stuttered. “Or, no, wait,” she amended as she saw an appealing look in Nell’s eyes, “give us a moment, Megan, and then you can tell her to come in.”
“Yes, Miss.” Megan bobbed another curtsey and left the room.
“Gertrud Becker,” Hilda breathed as soon as the door closed behind the maid. “The girl who turned out to be the Nazi spy. What on earth is she doing here?”
“Don’t be hasty, Hilda,” Nell warned. “It might not be her at all. It could be someone quite different.”
“That’s true,” Hilda agreed slowly. “But on the other hand, it might be, and what on earth are we going to say to her?”
“Doesn’t that rather depend why she’s come?” Nell asked sensibly. “Don’t be rash.”
There was no time for more as, at that moment, Megan opened the door and ushered in their visitor. She was a tall woman with bright blue eyes in a rather round face, whose wavy brown hair was fastened firmly at the back of her head in a chignon. She wore the uniform of the Red Cross volunteers and she carried the uniform issue hat, decorated with the Red Cross badge, in her hands.
“Miss Annersley,” she said in a low voice, in English, her very faint accent revealing her German heritage. “Miss Wilson, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Nell had managed to recover from the initial shock of learning the identity of their visitor and also noticed the anxious expression in Gertrud’s eyes, as well as the nervous twitch that pulled at the corners of her mouth.
“Gertrud,” she said with a smile, shortening the second syllable as she extended her hand and shook that of the visitor. “It’s lovely to see you again, my dear. Come and sit down.”
She waved her to the sofa and armchairs that stood in the corner and sent Megan for coffee and cakes, by which time Hilda had also recovered herself enough to greet the former pupil.
“I’m glad to see you looking so well, Gertrud,” she said warmly, noting that the girl flushed at the pronunciation. “And wearing the Red Cross uniform, I see. What’s behind that?”
“I volunteered,” Gertrud explained. “I’ve been helping with the German prisoners of war. You see,” the colour in her cheeks increased, “after I arrived at Scapa Flow, I was questioned while they tried to find my mother. Then you sent on the letter you received from her, which said she was going to Denmark, but nobody among the British connections seemed to be able to find her there. However, I got another letter from her, saying she was in Scotland, so I went up there with one of the people who had been investigating me.”
She broke off as the door opened and Megan returned, carrying a tray that held a coffee pot and a plate of biscuits, as well as the necessary crockery and several teaspoons. Once everyone was served, Hilda waited a moment while Gertrud sipped the milky coffee and then prompted her to continue.
“We knew, of course,” Hilda told the girl, “that you were in Scotland, trying to find your mother. Did you have success in that?”
“In a way.” Gertrud blinked back the tears that welled up in her eyes. “I got up to Scotland, and a number of people there had helped her. We traced her as far as Edinburgh, but then we lost her, although we ran her photo in the paper. Finally, however, someone gave us the name she had been using. A search of that found her – her grave in the Catholic cemetery.”
“Oh, no,” Nell said softly. “I’m very sorry, dear. That must have been very hard for you.”
“In… in a way it wasn’t,” Gertrud began, her voice steadying as she went on. “I had begun to fear that she had been kidnapped by the Gestapo, so it was better to know that she had managed to escape from them. And she always believed that I was safe. She wrote me a letter when she arrived in Scotland, saying that I should remain at the school and we would work out what to do next when she came down to see me.”
“I can understand how that would make it easier for you,” Nell told her, continuing without really thinking what she was saying, or she would certainly have hesitated, “But, my dear, to be all alone in a foreign country – you should have come to us!”
There was no way for Gertrud to go any redder, but she finally looked up, meeting the gaze of both Heads for the first time.
“How could I?” she burst out, reverting to her native tongue in her distress. “After everything I did to you – to the school – all the worry I caused you – how could I possibly come back and ask for help?”
Tears had filled her eyes and her fingers shook around the teacup, which she placed on the low coffee table before sitting back against the couch.
“My dear girl,” Hilda said gently, after a moment of very uncomfortable silence, during which Nell Wilson went almost as red as Gertrud herself, “you, like many of your compatriots, were fooled into believing lies told to you by a coward. You showed your loyalty, not to that madman, but to your mother, and doesn’t God tell us that one of the most important things we can do is to respect our parents?”
Gertrud had fished a handkerchief out of her pocket and was wiping away the tears that slid down her cheeks, but she raised her eyes to meet those of her former Headmistress with a steady gaze.
“You have proven yourself to have a strong character,” Hilda continued, feeling that what she said now would have a powerful affect on Gertrud’s future. “You were used and betrayed by those who had no consideration for others, but you have shown that you no longer entertain those feelings. The letter you left behind for us when you ran away proved that you had changed. If we had shunned you, we would have been no better than they were.”
“I… I never thought of that,” Gertrud replied slowly, gradually regaining her self-control.
She thought for a moment before looking up from the examination she had begun of the carpet in the room, a practice with which many pupils were familiar. When she looked up, her mouth was set firmly and her eyes glowed.
“I want you to know,” she began sturdily, speaking in English once more, “that it was the lessons I learned here that changed the way I felt. When I came here, I was determined to do whatever I could and send back the information I was told to find, but seeing the way the other girls talked about the Germans around me, the way the older girls would stop if the younger ones criticised my people, I couldn’t help but feel affected by it all. And then, you have such a strong faith. I was taught for many years that religion was useless, and that all our loyalty and belief she be directed to the Führer, instead of God, but when I thought about it afterwards, I realised that everything I’d suffered was because I was working for the Führer and against God.”
Nell exchanged glances with her co-Head, pride filling her at such an excellent result of the teachings of the school. If any girl could have remained immune to the influence of the Chalet School, it should have been Gertrud, and yet even she seemed to have been powerfully affected by it, even after only such a short time at the school.
“Thank you for telling us this,” Nell told the former pupil. “We are very pleased to know that the lessons we try to teach the girls here are working.”
“Oh, they are, very much,” Gertrud said fervently. “I will be going back to Germany in a few weeks with the Red Cross, to help with the rebuilding of my country, and I will use all of the lessons I learned here and afterwards to help my people. I know many of them, particularly the young people who have known nothing by the lies and poison of National Socialism, will find it difficult, and it will take time for them to learn that they were wrong. The Germans are a very proud people, and dislike being wrong, but they must learn to recognise the grave mistakes they have made.”
“We will pray for your success in that work,” Hilda replied warmly. “I’m sure you will do it well, Gertrud.”
The older women rose to their feet as Gertrud stood up, telling them she must catch the last bus that would go past the school in only a few moments.
“Good luck, my dear,” Nell said, kissing Gertrud’s cheek. “God bless you. Stay safe.”
“Write and let us know how you get on,” Hilda instructed with a warm handshake. “We will be very interested to hear about your work. Goodbye, dear.”
“Goodbye.” The tension had disappeared from Gertrud’s eyes, and her smile was warm as she fixed her hat in place. “Thank you both so much. I will definitely write and tell you all about it. I know you have some German mistresses who might also want to know what is happening in their country.” She pulled a card out of her pocket. “This is my address, and letters can be sent on to me in Germany, if anyone wants me to search for friends or family members.”
The trio was standing at the front door by this time, and the rumble of the bus could be heard as it turned onto the lane, so Gertrud gave each woman another quick hug and then took to her heels, flying down the driveway and arriving just in time to flag down the bus. She gave a wave and then jumped on board.
The two women turned to each other as the bus disappeared around the corner.
“Well,” said Hilda, and said it expressively.
“Don’t mind me,” Nell said sweetly.
“I haven’t the least intention of doing so,” her friend retorted. “But really! What with all this, Betty Wynne-Davies’ visit to Jo and Janie Lucy, Bianca reappearing – what next, I wonder?”
“A letter, Miss Annersley,” Rosalie Dene interrupted at this point, appearing in the doorway of her office, and the Heads groaned in unison, much to the surprise of the secretary.
“Who’s it from, Rosalie?” Nell demanded.
“Sophie Hamel,” the younger woman replied. “And it’s been quite delayed, by the looks of things.”
She handed over a smudged, dirty envelope, which was simply addressed to ‘The Chalet School’ and Nell raised her eyebrows.
“That’s good detective work on the part of the Royal Mail,” she observed drily.
“Or the Red Cross,” Hilda suggested. “They’ve set up a temporary mail service on the Continent, I believe. Anyway, who does Sophie have to say?”
Nell had accepted the envelope from Rosalie and now tore it open. “All the girls are safe,” she said in relieved tones, skimming through the letter. Then her voice changed. “But Frau Hamel passed away two years ago, in the same raid that destroyed Herr Hamel’s drapery shop in Innsbruck.”
“Oh, no,” Hilda said faintly. “Oh, the poor things!”
“However,” Nell went on quickly, “they have managed to rebuild it, and as soon as the first shipments of materials arrive in Innsbruck, they will reopen.” She looked at her co-Head, and at Rosalie, who had waited to hear the contents of the letter. “Of course, there is a need for that sort of thing now that the first few weeks have passed. People will be starting to think about things like clothes again.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Rosalie remarked. “Really, we can’t begin to imagine what those people have suffered who had to stay behind.”
“Your English,” Hilda said dispassionately, “is horrible. I’ve a mind to make you parse that horrible sentence of yours.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Rosalie retorted cheekily. “I don’t know that I can remember exactly what I said.”
With which riposte, she disappeared back into her office, intent on finishing sorting the mail before the bell rang for dinner.
“Sophie says,” Nell continued from the letter, “that she saw Gertrud Steinbrücke not long ago…”
“But when was that sent?” Hilda interrupted. “That could be months ago.”
“It’s dated the 25th of May,” her friend replied. “Still, that’s more definite news that we’ve had of her for years. Ever since we left the Tyrol, in fact.”
“Well, what does she say about Gertrud?” Hilda asked curiously.
“It seems that she and her family have come through the war, although they lost their home when it was commandeered by the local Nazi Government. And her parents and sister have also survived the war. She writes that she wishes the school was still in the Tyrol, as she is trying to find a place for Gretel, but has had no luck so far.”
“Gretel must be ten years old by now,” Hilda mused. “One hopes she hasn’t been infected by National Socialism. It’s horrible to think that the school’s grandchildren could be affected in that way. Thank God so many of our Old Girls managed to escape.”
“Gertrud would do everything she could to prevent it,” Nell reminded her friend. “She, like so many other Tyroleans, was a devout Catholic, and that would be a good foundation from which to resist the Nazi tyranny.” She looked back at the letter again. “Sophie sends her love and asks us to tell her what has been happening to the school since it left the Tyrol. She gives us an address to write to.”
“Good,” Hilda said, pausing while the bell rang for supper, before continuing, as they went into the office to put the letter away, “we must let her know our news, and Jo and Madge will certainly want to add theirs, too. It will be wonderful to get back in contact with as many Old Girls as possible now that this dreadful war is over.”

 

#77:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Sat Jan 29, 2005 10:31 am

KB - this is all so poignant and beautiful. Thank you for telling us what happened to so many of the 'old girls' during the war. Liz

 

#78:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Sat Jan 29, 2005 11:20 am

That was lovely and made me feel a bit shivery. I *know* the characters are fictional but they do represent the story of so many people of the time. Thank you.

 

#79:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 12:15 am

I love hearing about the 'old girls' it gives more depth to the series

 

#80:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 12:25 am

Have just caught up with loads of this KB. Love all the news of the Old Girls and am so glad Bianca traced the school. SO sorry all this has been cut.

 

#81:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 1:53 am

verh powerful...thanks.

 

#82:  Author: Kim, Location: Tipperary, Ireland PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 5:42 pm

if this is what has been cut I can't wait to see the final product. please keep posting the outtakes

 

#83:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 8:32 pm

Certainly, Kim (and everyone else). This is the second-last chapter.

Chapter XI – The End of Term

“Girls.”
Miss Annersley’s beautiful voice carried to the far end of Hall and quelled the murmurings.
“We have finally reached the end of this eventful term,” she said, smiling at them. “Although peace has not yet been achieved in the whole world, it cannot be long before that happens and we can return to the way life was before the war.”
She paused to let them applaud this news and then continued.
“As you all know we have had a very successful Sale, our sports day was also a wonderful event, and our tennis and cricket teams have done very well against the other local teams. We are still waiting for the results of their exams, of course, but with the way our older girls have been working, I’m sure they will be very good. All in all, a marvellous term.
“Now, girls, I have something to show you,” Hilda told the school. “As you all know, at the time when Hitler’s armies marched into Austria, a number of girls began the Chalet School Peace League. All those of you over the age of thirteen have signed this League, and I know you have done your best to keep the promise you made. There is still fighting going on in Asia and some parts of the Commonwealth, although it may seem far away. For this reason, the League is still in force, but even once peace finally arrives, carrying that attitude through life will help you and those around you.”
Miss Annersley nodded Miss Denny, who slipped out of the room to return with the large book in which the signatures had been inscribed, and the piece of paper that Herr Laubach had framed.
“This is the original League,” Miss Annersley announced, indicting the frame. “It will hang here in Hall. This book contains all the signatures of those members of the League, and it will be kept in the library for anyone who wants to look at it, perhaps for friends or family members.”
The girls applauded as Miss Denny placed the two objects on the table that stood in front of the assembled staff and then Miss Wilson spoke again.
“We also have something else that will decorate the walls in Hall,” she told them. “During the term, we have had boards made up with the names of various award winners of this school, but current pupils and Old Girls. These honour boards will be updated every summer holiday with the names of those who have won the many prizes and scholarships this school offers, as well as the names of the Head Girl and prefects for each year.”
A number of mistresses had slipped out of the room and now returned carrying the large wooden boards. A sigh went around the room as the school saw the lists of names in gold on the dark wood.
“As you can see,” Miss Wilson continued, “we have the winners of the Margot Venables prize, and we also have the Therese Lepattre Scholarship, of which I know many of you have heard. In addition, we have boards listing the names of various Games captains – tennis, hockey and lacrosse. That is all for now, but we will add to them in the future and, of course, the lists will grow every year.”
The school once more showed their approval of this idea by enthusiastic applause while the mistresses placed the boards in a pile on floor beside the table and resumed their seats.
“And now I have one more thing to tell you,” she announced with a smile. “As you all know, our magazine didn’t arrive at its usual time. We had concerns that The Chaletian wouldn’t arrive before you broke up for the end of term, and that we would have to mail the issues out to you individually, but I’m thankful to say this won’t be the case. The magazines arrived this morning.”
She broke off as the girls applauded again and laughingly allowed them to continue for a few moments, before calling for silence.
“The bundles are in your Form rooms,” she told them. “Your Form Mistresses have a list of what you have ordered, and you can read them on the journey or when you get home. I’m afraid you won’t have time to properly look at them now, as we only have a short time before the buses arrive, so when you are dismissed, go straight to your Form rooms.”
“Have a good holiday, girls,” Miss Wilson added. “We will look forward to seeing you next term.”
The school rose and began to file out of Hall, the girls making their way to their Form rooms as the staff waited. Once the room was empty except for the two Heads and Rosalie, Hilda turned to the other two women.
“Well, let’s get things cleared up so that we can relax with the rest of the staff when the escorts leave with the girls.”
“Good idea,” Rosalie said with alacrity as they left the room. “What are you doing for the holiday, Nell?”
“Staying on here at the school,” that woman told her. “My little cottage is still occupied, so I arranged with Ernest Howell and the staff to stay here. Most of the maids will be going home, but Gwladys will be staying, and so will Karen.” Nell glanced at the secretary as they turned into the hallway in which was housed the Head’s study and the office. “What about you, Rosalie? Are you going home?”
“Oh, yes.” Rosalie smiled. “Peter will be at home, as his school will close over the summer, naturally – he’s seven now. He only started school this past Christmas term – and I had a letter from Dad to check when I was coming.” She cast a smile at the other Head of the school. “What about you, Hilda?”
Hilda Annersley looked thoughtful. “I planned to visit Gertrude Mordaunt and little Althea, who’s just turned eight, but a letter I sent to her was returned. The only reason I can think of for that to happen is that perhaps she went to join Edgar in Canada. I’m still hoping someone will get in touch with me with their new address. I’d go to Helen and Nell Randolph, but it’s this time last year that Helen’s husband died, so I think it would be better if I stayed away. I’ve also had invites from several Old Girls to visit them in Oxford, so I might go and visit them. If that doesn’t eventuate, I’ll probably stay here at the school.”
“I’ll be glad to have you,” Nell smiled. “And, you know, we often get invites to the Lucys or to Madge or Joey’s, so I’m sure we won’t lack for entertainment.”
A sudden tooting of a bus horn cut the conversation short, and the three women hurried out to join those staff members not on escort duty to wave the buses off. Laden with girls, they trundled down the driveway in the direction of Armiford station, from which point the girls would separate into various groups and head for home. Those who lived nearby were also picked up by their parents.
Once they were gone, Hilda turned to the remaining mistresses. “Shall we take our leisure in the staff-room?” she suggested, laughing as the women burst into spontaneous applause at the very idea. “Break out any remnants of food,” she suggested, “and we can enjoy ourselves for a few hours.”
Ten minutes later, there was a happy gathering in the staff room as mistresses settled down with a cup of coffee, a cake or bun and a copy of The Chaletian. There was silence for a few moments, apart from the rustle of pages being turned, before the first comments were made.
“This is a splendid little poem from Madge Watson,” Gillian Linton noted. “I had no idea she had it in her.”
“And this picture by Anna Peterson is excellent,” Julie Berne, that young woman’s Form Mistress remarked. “It shows Herr Laubach’s influence.”
“Yes, I believe he’s very interested in Anna specialising in Art when she moves up to Special Sixth next year,” Nell commented. “Unfortunately for him, though, her parents have other ideas.”
“May I be there when you tell him!” was Marjorie Redmond’s fervent wish in response to this, before she added, “Well, Anna may be excellent at art, but her English leaves a lot to be desired. I hope her speciality won’t involve that, or she’ll have to have special coaching.”
“Oh, no,” Hilda told the Senior English mistress. “She’s hoping to go to Bedford and train as a Games mistress.”
Marjorie’s response to this was never heard, for an exclamation from Julie drowned her out. “Why, what’s this?” she cried, turning the page to find an unexpected addition to the magazine. “‘Memories of the Tyrol’,” she added, looking up to meet Mary Burnett’s gaze. “And what, then, is that?”
Mary, the mistress in charge of the magazine, smiled. “It was a little brainwave of mine,” she replied. “The end of the war made me feel a new chapter in the school’s history was starting. I thought it might be nice to include some stories about the school before the war, and what’s happened since, so I sent off letters to as many Old Girls as I could find addresses for, asking for some of their favourite, funniest and most meaningful memories.”
Only the newer members of the school paid much attention to this. Those that Joey Maynard frequently called Foundation Stones were chuckling over the stories and calling the attention of those of the same vintage to one or another.
“Baby Voodoo…”
“Talking Shakespeare…”
“Joyce’s midnight feast…”
“The Mystic M…”
“There are some stories written about the school’s more recent years,” Mary suggested over the exclamations of the older members of staff, showing a page headed ‘Memories of the War Years’.
The mistresses exchanged reminiscences for some time, with the newer members bring brought up to date about the school’s treasured legends.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Mary,” Hilda smiled. “And I love the photos you’ve found of the old school buildings. Where did you get them?”
“Madame and Jo mostly,” Mary replied. “Although some people included photos along with their letters. I just thought, this being such a special term, we should have a way to remember it, and this was the only thing I could think of.”
“Well, you’ve done it very well,” Nell stated approvingly. “This really is a very fitting end to this term.”
There was a general murmur of agreement, and then another period of quiet while the women read through the second half of the magazine. However, before anyone could comment, there was a shriek and Gillian Linton leapt to her feet.
“The time,” she yelped in explanation, as the women cast bemused glances at her. “Joyce is expecting me in half an hour!”
She wasn’t the only once forced to hurry. Many of the women had planned to catch the next train from Armiford, and eventually Rosalie ran around to the garage to get the school’s runabout ready, while those mistresses who had less far to go ran to help friends carry their bags down from their rooms.
Half an hour later, the building was standing silent and almost empty. Most of the maids had also gone to spend the holiday with their families, the majority of whom lived nearby. Hilda and Nell cleaned up the staff room and then headed to their study, where the last correspondence of the term awaited them.
“Madge has invited us for supper,” Nell told her friend. “I told her we might be there. Do you want to go?”
“Yes, I think so,” Hilda replied. “We have things we need to talk over with her, like the new girls for next term, and we need to plan for our half-term expeditions. We’ll have a lot more freedom with that, now that the war’s over.”
“Or perhaps,” Nell suggested, her eyes twinkling, “we could leave ‘shop’ alone for the night and talk about other things instead.”
“Such as what?” Hilda queried, laughing. “And besides, how could we keep Madge off it? You know she, and Joey, too, seem to prefer that topic to any other when we’re around.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Nell agreed as she settled into her chair and picked up her pen, beginning to fill it. “Oh, well, I suppose we can put up with it, and we really do need to discuss whether we can accept all the girls who want to come next term. If we do, we’ll have to think about opening up at least another one dormitory, if not two.”
“Have you told Matey?”
“I haven’t had a chance,” Nell admitted. “She left early this morning, you know, to catch the train to her sister’s. She’s going to be there for the next four weeks or so, and then come back for the last few weeks before term begins. I think Lillian and Eric would actually like to have her stay longer, but I’m not sure they will convince her.”
“Probably not, Hilda smiled. “Matey is very devoted to her work here.”
“She probably worries what will happen to us in her absence,” Nell agreed with an answering smile, before casting a rather harassed look at the letter in front of her. “Do you mind giving me ten minutes to get this answered, dear?” she asked. “I have to get it into today’s post.”
“Good luck,” Hilda retorted. “I’ll go and see if I can rustle up some tea.”
Nell only nodded, heading a blank sheet with the recipient’s address, while Hilda headed for the kitchen.

 

#84:  Author: Kate, Location: Ireland PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 8:58 pm

Thanks KB! Smile I love Old Girl stuff, I wish they'd left it in. *sniffs* But the real thing must be stupendous if these are the left out bits!! (My grammar is getting worse by the minute....)

 

#85:  Author: Elder in Ontario, Location: Ontario, Canada PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 9:11 pm

Echoes what everyone else is saying about this - if what's been posted here is what's been cut, then I'm waiting with bated breath for the book to come out! There are so many lovely touches here.

 

#86:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 10:42 pm

Continuing splendidly, KB! But how could they throw out the Peace League? :pale: And a special edition of the Chaletian? Aren't those about as CS as you can get?

 

#87:  Author: francesn, Location: away with the faeries PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 10:58 pm

this is brilliant - i love all the stuff about the Old Girls getting in touch with the school. It's lovely to see that the CS had such a big influence on their lives.

 

#88:  Author: Mihiri, Location: surrey england PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2005 11:19 pm

Thank you KB. Is so nice to hear news of the old girls. I cant wait till the whole book is published

 

#89:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 11:13 am

Love the special edition of the Chaletian and the establishment of the honours boards - wonder if they're the very same ones Jack Lambert got into trouble for reading! Very Happy Liz

 

#90:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 11:36 am

love the idea that they had the peace league framed, for something so important it gets forgotten quite a bit in the later books and it's nice to think that younger chaletians will be able to see it. Shame they cut that out (shame they cut all of it out, actually!) thanks KB

 

#91:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 2:39 pm

As these are all so good can I suggest that KB gets all the missing chapters made into a book that we can all buy Very Happy (runs and hides) Kiss

 

#92:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 8:08 pm

1) Omission of the framed Peace League - it's because there was no mention of it later that it had to be removed. If it had still been up in Hall, someone would have been sure to say something about it later - particularly when they were moving to Switzerland.

2) Special edition of the Chaletian: two words - paper rationing.

3) Yes, the honour boards are the same ones that Jack got into trouble for reading - that line was actually supposed to be excised from this draft for you. Embarassed And I'm afraid I won't be publishing these separately or anything. That's why I'm putting them up here for all of you!

Chapter XII – Peace In Our Time

At ten o’clock on the morning of August 15 1945, Con Mackenzie dressed her children in their best clothes and smiled as her husband came into the room in his best suit, carrying Janetta.
“Are we ready?”
“I think so.” Con nodded before bending down in front of her sons. “Now, boys, there will be a lot of people in the streets today, so it’s very important that you don’t run off, all right? Keep a tight hold of Daddy’s hands. If you don’t, we’ll have to get cross.”
“Yes, Mummy,” the boys chorused, and she gave each a kiss on the cheek before standing up and taking Janetta from her husband, who stretched out his hands to his sons.
There were already people lining the streets, preparing for the day of celebration that was ahead, for this was already becoming known as V-P Day: Victory in the Pacific. The war was over at last, and everyone in Australia was going to celebrate.
People were pouring out of buildings, many of them dressed in the good clothes they had worn to work, being caught off guard by the announcement of Japan’s surrender. A group of girls caught hands and danced around in a circle, which increased as people wriggled their way in, and the air seemed full of noise as people cheered the victory for which they had spent so many long years fighting.
The Mackenzies turned onto Martin Place to find a snowstorm of paper pieces cascading from the windows of the surrounding buildings. Those acquaintances they had made during the three years of their residence in Sydney came up to greet them, and in a short time they found themselves ushered over to a secluded corner behind a shop, which was closed, as were all of the others along the street, where the neighbours had gathered.
The area led only to a closed-in paved area, so Jock told the boys that they could go and play while he and Con talked about the ending of the war and what that meant to them all.
When the children became tired of playing together, the group split into families and drifted in different directions.
“Mummy,” Peter asked, looking back over his shoulder to get her attention and then pointing at something on the street, “what’s happening there?”
A truck was driving down the paper-covered street, and on the back of it was mounted a large camera.
“The man’s taking pictures, Peter,” Jock told him. “Maybe they’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”
“That man looks funny,” Patrick exclaimed, pointing at a man who was raising his hat to the camera as he skipped up the street, seemingly oblivious to the paper that continued to flutter in the air around him.
“He’s very happy,” Con said to her son. “Just like we are.”
As Con watched, the dancing man skipped towards two girls who were walking nearby, his intentions very obvious, as were those of the other men running up and down the street, kissing the women, but the pair avoided the dancing man and disappeared into the crowd.
Con looked at Jock and laughed. He smiled back and urged them further along the street, in the direction of the nearby park, but they were distracted by the sound of sharp cracking from a nearby street.
As they came around the corner, the boys squealed with excitement at the sight of fireworks being let off. A miniature calico temple had been suspended from an awning by some of the local Chinese residents, who were also involved in letting off the fireworks. A crowd of children had gathered at the end of the street and were watching these celebrations from a distance, but let out cheers every time a firework went off with a particularly loud bang.
They didn’t stay long. Janetta was making sounds that suggested she was hungry, and as all the shops were shut, they would have to go home to feed her.
“You take her,” Jock said. “I’ll take the boys around for a little longer.”
“All right,” she agreed.
Home was only a few blocks away, and she was able to get Janetta inside before her whimper became a yell. Con fed and changed her, before putting her to bed for a nap. Once that was finished, she settled in the front room to watch the crowds celebrate in the streets.

* * * * *

Before they could celebrate the end of the war, the Mackenzies in New Zealand first had to take care of the farm work, but once that was completed, they bathed, dressed and caught a lift with a neighbour into Auckland, where the people were celebrating in the streets.
“Mummy, why are all the shops shut?” Hugh demanded, and she explained the importance of the day to her children.
A neighbour who lived on one of the main streets of Auckland had already invited them to spend the day there, so once they had seen most of the sights that were to see, they family headed in that direction, to be greeted by the children at the front gate.
Several other families had arrived, and Mollie and Kenneth were greeted vociferously as they entered the living room.
“Mollie!” one of the women exclaimed. “Isn’t this joyous? At long last, after six years…”
Mollie sympathetically kissed her friend’s cheek, seeing the tears glistening in her blue eyes. Rebecca Fuller had more reason to be emotional than most. She had lost her husband in the Great War, and then her only child had been killed while serving in Papua New Guinea in the recent conflict.
“Yes, it’s wonderful,” she agreed warmly, slipping her arm through that of her friend with a squeeze. “We can get on with our lives again. You must pop around tomorrow. I’ve got a lovely pat of butter that Cic made for you. She told me to bring it today, but I didn’t know whether I’d see you, so I thought it was better to leave it for another time.”
“Oh, isn’t she sweet?” Rebecca, the godmother of small Cicely-Jane, blinked tears out of her eyes as she smiled. “I’d love to come.”
“Good.” Mollie drew her over to the other women, one of whom jumped up to get another chair, and they settled down to watch the children in the garden and the party in the streets outside through the open French windows.
“It’s a bit chilly to be doing this on a normal day,” one of the women remarked, snuggling her chin into the scarf that was wrapped around her throat. “But it would be a shame to miss it.”
“Biggest party Auckland’s ever seen, I reckon,” one of the men, a farming colleague of Kenneth’s, put in gruffly.
“Yes, it probably is,” Mollie said, smiling at him and accepting the drink her host offered.
A moment of silence followed this, before someone spoke, wondering how quickly things would change now that the war was over.
“Rationing’ll last another good while,” one of the men opined grimly. “And all that under-the-counter business.”
“At least we can travel more freely,” another man suggested.
“No more Yanks,” a women, whose daughter was still anxiously awaiting a letter from her American fiancé, remarked in thankful tones.
“No black-out,” another woman added.
“Maybe we’ll have a housing shortage, like them across the Tasman.”
“Oh, I hope not!” a woman exclaimed in response to this, for many people had heard of the problems Australia was having with finding housing for its returning service men and women.
“We’ll be right,” her husband assured her.
This seemed to be the general attitude, and a murmur of agreement went around the room as the party in the streets outside continued.

* * * * *

It was late on the evening of the 15th of August when Nell, Hilda, Madge, Joey, Jem and Jack gathered in the living room of Plas Gwyn to listen to the broadcast by the King to mark the end of the war.
“The war is over. You know, I think, that those four words have for the Queen and myself the same significance, simple yet immense, that they have for you…”
“They certainly experienced many of the same things,” Jo remarked, thinking of the many times Buckingham Palace was bombed.
“There is not one of us,” the King’s voice continued, “who has experienced this terrible war who does not realise that we shall feel its inevitable consequences long after we have forgotten the rejoicings of the today…”
Jack squeezed his wife’s hand, and she smiled at him, knowing that they were both thinking of their own sufferings.
“The British people here at home had added lustre to the fame of our islands and we stand today, with our Empire, in the forefront of the victorious United Nations…”
Jem looked thoughtful. Protests by various people against the resumption of power by various former colonies, including the Dutch East Indies, made him wonder if the British Empire, as it had stood at the start of the war, would continue in that form now that peace had arrived.
“From the bottom of my heart, I thank my peoples for all they have done, not only for themselves, but for mankind.”
When “God Save The King” began to play, Joey reached out and turned off the radio as Nell picked up the teapot and began refilling the cups of those who wanted it.
“There’s been nothing like the excitement there was on VE day,” Hilda remarked.
“I suppose it’s because it all feels so far away,” Jack suggested. “One of the letters I got from Mollie not long after we escaped from Austria said that the war was difficult for people to really comprehend over there because nothing was really affecting them.”
“I’m sure it means a lot for the soldiers and their families,” Madge offered. “VE Day was fine for those people whose husbands and sons were serving in Europe, but for anyone with a loved one fighting the Japanese, it wouldn’t have meant much.”
“Thank goodness everyone we know from that part of the world is safe,” was Nell’s opinion, with which the others concurred wholeheartedly.
“I do wish we could go back to Tyrol,” Jo said with sudden longing. “I would love to see all our old friends, instead of just having to make do with letters. It’s not the same.”
“Marie and Eugen are talking about going back,” Madge told her. “I spoke to Marie about it only last week. They’re making plans to reclaim the Schloss as soon as they can, although they know it will take a while. There are a lot more important things to sort out first.”
“The school did well in the Tyrol,” Jo mused.
“There’s such a mess with Russia at the moment, though,” Jem reminded her. “You couldn’t think of doing it yet, or we might find ourselves in a situation almost as bad as when the Nazis took over.”
Jo shuddered faintly, making Jem regret that he had brought it up, but her tones revealed nothing of what she was feeling.
“Oh, well,” she said lightly, “it was only a suggestion.”
Hilda hurriedly offered around a plate of cakes, and once everyone had something, turned the conversation to the forthcoming term, now only two weeks away, and in the process, the original discussion was forgotten.

* * * * *

Margia Stevens reached over to turn on the small radio that stood on the table beside her chair. A moment later, she could hear a reporter describing the lines of Australian servicemen who were marching along Martin Place, with RAAF aircraft flying overhead. A huge crowd, according to the commentator, lined both sides of the street to watch thousands of men from both the war just ended and the Great War receive acclamation for their efforts.
Margia’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. She had cried often during the past few months, since she had received news of Peter’s death. A neighbour had found her on the doorstep and had flown for a doctor, who had ordained rest. Having sympathetic leave from the hospital, she had, at Con’s insistence, gone to stay with the Mackenzies, giving Con a chance to repay the kindness Margia had shown on Con’s arrival in Australia.
It was only a week since she had decided to return to her house and work, in the hope that it might take her mind off things. Con had been eager to write and tell Margia’s parents what had happened, but Margia was insistent that she shouldn’t, and finally Con gave in. This was something Margia felt she would rather keep secret, and she had convinced Con to say nothing to anyone about it. It was too personal to become neighbourhood gossip, and Margia felt that she simply couldn’t bear her family’s sympathy.
Picking up her embroidery scissors, Margia trimmed her final thread and then looked down at the cushion she had made. She hated the thought of having to throw away Peter’s letters and photos, and particularly her engagement ring, but nor did she want anyone to find them, so she had sewn them into a small pillow that she had made several years previously, and which she used while travelling. That way, she could always carry a tangible memory of him around with her wherever she went.
Smoothing the pillow with a gentle hand, she stood up and placed it on her chair. Casting a glance around the room, she saw that almost everything was packed. Now that the war was over, she had already made plans to travel back to England and see her family, before exploring the possibility of renewing the musical tour that the war had interrupted.
Packing her needle and thread into the small sewing case, she put it away and then sat down at the piano, running her fingers lovingly over the black and white ivory. This had become her solace. A friend had moved her piano from here to Con’s house while she was staying there, and Margia had given the boys elementary piano lessons, as well as playing for the Mackenzies’ amusement and her own comfort. When she left, the furniture she had accumulated over the few years of her residence would go to those neighbours who either needed it or had loaned it to her in the first place.
The previous night, the sky above Sydney had been filled with fireworks, and searchlights stabbed the darkness at intervals, turning the streets as bright as day and allowing the parties that had begun that morning to continue into the early hours. Songs that had become favourites during the war were to be heard on almost every wireless station, with intervals for speeches from the Australian Prime Minister, the Governor-General and the King.
As the small clock on Margia’s mantel chimed the hour, the radio broke off its description of the parade for the news, including the fact that Japan’s War Minister had killed himself and that the Allies were demanding an unconditional surrender from Hirohito. Finally, there was a reminder that today was a public holiday, with no newspapers being printed and most shops shut for the day, although it would be business as usual tomorrow.
The commentary on the parade returned in time to name the Battalion of which Peter had been a member, and Margia rushed to shut off the wireless before returning to her seat at the piano and launching into one of her favourite pieces of music. It happened to be one of the first pieces she had been taught by Herr Anserl, who had taught the more advanced pupils, and Margia decided, when she got back to England, that she would tell him how much music had meant to her during this time in Australia. He, and perhaps he alone, would understand.

* * * * *

Giovanna Rincini strolled along the shore of the Tiernsee, fixing her eyes on its blue surface as she made her way along the path to where the Chalet School had once been situation. The old buildings were still there, and had remained mercifully undamaged by the war. With the camera in her hand, she took a series of photos of the building, having secured the owner’s permission to do so, although she hadn’t told him her purpose. Few of the people who had known the school were still in the area now. Most had either fled the Nazis or been arrested for their doings with the school, which had been treated as suspect.
She was the only member of her family to have remained in the Tyrol. Bette and her children had fled to Canada a year after the Anschluss, and Anita and Sophie had also managed to escape with their parents, but the Labour Corps, of which she had been a member until the end of the Nazi rule, prevented her from accompanying them.
Once peace had finally arrived, Giovanna had gone back to her family home in Innsbruck but it had been destroyed in the bombing raids that had damaged so many buildings, so she had gone to Bette’s old home in Briesau and found it abandoned. Herr Braun, who had never left the Kron Prinz Karl, and had been delighted to see for former pupil of Fraulein Bettany, whom he had adored, told her that an avid Nazi had occupied the house, but had fled when the Allies arrived.
Among other familiar residents of the Tiernsee lakeside had been the Pfeiffen family, many of whom had worked at the school in various capacities, and Giovanna had been delighted to employ several of them to help her with the housekeeping.
Her mission completed, Giovanna decided that she would take a stroll around to another of the places beloved by the school during their residence on the lakeside: the dripping rock. There had been enough rain in recent days that it should look close to its best, but she could only know that for certain when she got there.
A new path had been cut, slightly higher than the old one, which had crumbled away over the years. A new bridge had replaced the plank of wood that had once crossed a chasm formed when the path had split, which had resulted in an exciting, if exhausting, adventure for the girls of both the Chalet School and its rival St. Scholastika’s . From there, it was only a short walk to the site of the dripping rock.
Water was drizzling over the natural spout and into the basin below. Giovanna remembered a number of occasions on which she, along with her classmates, had walked this way, and she took a picture of the rock, hoping it would come out well enough to be visible, before turning back.
Another detour took Giovanna past the house in which St. Scholastika’s had first been housed, and which had then been taken over by the Russells as a summer home . Of this, too, she took a photo. Sadly, it would be too late to include them in the special copy of The Chaletian, about which she had received a letter from Mary Burnett, but at least the school and Joey and Madame would value them and want to see what changes, if any, had occurred since they had been forced out of the area.
Giovanna took another photo across the lake, smiling to see the little white steamer begin its journey across the Tiernsee and the quaint little mountain railway pulling into the small station, all of which leant the peaceful scene an air of familiarity, so much so that Giovanna could almost believe that she was on her way to school again. It was with a sigh that she turned away and began to make her way to the small house in which she was now living.

THE END

 

#93:  Author: nikkie, Location: Cumbria PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 9:14 pm

I love all the old girl stuff shame these had to be cut. Thanks for sharing these KB

 

#94:  Author: JustJen, Location: waiting for a bus PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 10:22 pm

I loved Chapter XII – Peace In Our Time. It tied up everything very nicely.When is your book coming out KB?

 

#95:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 10:25 pm

Thanks for sharing all these bits KB.Really whetted our appetities for the full thing! Laughing

 

#96:  Author: Nicola, Location: Derbyshire PostPosted: Mon Jan 31, 2005 11:38 pm

Fantastic, KB, thank you. I have loved reading this (filling in gaps during what is definitely my favourite period in CS history), and can't believe this is what's NOT in the book. Can't wait to read the real thing. Off to save all these chapters somewhere on my hard disk now.

 

#97:  Author: Helen C, Location: Sheffield/Luton PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 12:07 am

Thanks KB that was all great i really can't wait to read the book now.

 

#98:  Author: Marianne, Location: Lancaster PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 12:30 am

Thank you!! excellent stuff Smile

 

#99:  Author: Miss Di, Location: Newcastle, NSW PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 2:41 am

This is brilliant KB (as everyone has said) Really loved the inclusion of the Dancing Man (do you have a theory about which of the rival claiments he was?) I look forward to ordering at least 14 copies!

 

#100:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 10:49 am

Thank you KB. Lovely! A shame it all had to be cut from the published version.

 

#101:  Author: Robin, Location: London PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 11:15 am

lovely thanks KB really looking forward to reading the whole book.

 

#102:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 1:17 pm

Thank you for posting these KB, its been great to read them and has whetted my appetite muchly!! I really hope the book can be published close to the anniversies of either VE Day for VJ day.

 

#103:  Author: patmac, Location: Yorkshire England PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 1:34 pm

That was all very moving, KB. Thanks for posting them for us. It would have been very sad if they had not been read.

 

#104:  Author: LizB, Location: Oxon, England PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 5:27 pm

Thank you KB, for giving us the opportunity to read those chapters. If they're anything to go by the book will be awesome. Liz

 

#105:  Author: KB, Location: Melbourne, Australia PostPosted: Tue Feb 01, 2005 9:46 pm

Thanks, folks. Glad you all enjoyed it so much. I'm glad someone picked up on my reference to the dancing man! For those outside of Australia, it's an iconic VJ-day image of a man dancing down Elizabeth street in Sydney. I honestly don't know and wouldn't like to claim which one is correct. And I still don't know when it's coming out.

 

#106:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Thu Feb 03, 2005 12:18 am

Thank you KB. So sorry all this had to be cut love the scene with Madge & co the night war ended - would e so typical of so many homes that night. The idea of Giovanna taking photos is faulous. Waiting anxiously for the book itself now.

 

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