Chapter VI: Sevens and Elevens
Gisel Mensch strode into the prefects’ room with a very long face. “Have you folk realised how few people we have to choose our games teams from?”
“ ‘A preposition isn’t a word to finish a sentence with’” quoted Jean Downes. “The Abbess would fall on you from a great height if she heard you!”
Gisel was in no mood for the niceties of grammar. “Never mind that! This is serious. We need to be able to field decent teams if we’re to keep our reputation, if we want our challenges to be taken seriously or be challenged ourselves, but we’ve lost so many people that we’ll be hard pressed to get the right numbers of good players. After all that in the kids’ essays about our being the part of the Chalet School that can still play matches it sounds like we need them for our – our internal credibility.”
“Is it really that bad?” queried Gwynneth. “Can we really not make up passable teams?”
“Well – at a pinch we can. But with only thirty-two Seniors, and needing in total thirty players, and on top of that eight reserves, that’s pretty tight, as we may not be able to count on having the same people play on more than one team, say if there are two matches on the same day. And that’s not counting the people who aren’t any great shakes at games, Anne Spenlove for instance, or Elspeth Ker. Not to run them down, but I wouldn’t put them in a match if I didn’t have to.”
Margaret Benn spoke up. “What about the younger ones? The upper Fourths?”
“Well, I did think of that, but they’re only fourteen, mainly, and we couldn’t put them up against people of seventeen or so. It wouldn’t do them any good either and Matey’d probably have something to say about it.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that so much as having a Middles’ team and sending out challenges for that level. After all, since Glendower House is so dominated by Middles and Juniors we really ought to give them more of a look-in at representing the school. If they have that opportunity it’ll make them try harder and also develop that, well, esprit de corps that they need. They’ll feel much prouder of our games record if they’re part of it themselves.”
Gisel mulled it over, slowly brightening. “I do believe you’ve got something there, old thing. Of course, we’d have to run it past the staff, but it does sound just the job. Now, since you’re feeling so clever, you can help me with my Latin prep. I can’t make head or tail of the third sentence…”
As soon as it could be arranged, a deputation headed by Gisel and, under protest, Margaret (for, as Gisel pointed out, the Middles teams had been her idea) made their proposal to the Head and Miss Broomfield, the new games mistress. The result was that the plan was to go ahead but that the girls involved would be monitored for signs of their welfare or their academic work deteriorating. It did involve a certain amount of extra effort from the prefects in running trials and coaching for the Middles teams, but they were conscious of the potential benefits of doing well. Their juniors saw the whole scheme as an opportunity for them to take centre stage legitimately for once and make their mark, and excitement ran high among them as they tried to convince those in charge that they deserved places on the teams. Eventually this euphoria was checked by Miss Edwards, who announced in assembly that, unless the dip in standards of work were rectified by thorough concentration, there would be no Middle teams. This fiat brought an end to a pleasurable week or so, and various people realised glumly that they would have to apply themselves to their lessons (hard though it would be to find the energy to put into both schoolwork and games) if their dream of playing for the school were not to come toppling down.
Despite the general enthusiasm about the planned Middles’ matches, there was one person in particular who did not share it. Cherry Christy, though she had made great progress since she had first encountered the School, when she had needed leg irons and crutches as a result of having had polio, knew that she could not expect to be able to take part: she would be kept to the sidelines, cheering on the others, who could take for granted their ability to run and jump without a second thought. She knew that she would be expected to keep these thoughts to herself, in case people thought she was jealous.
It so happened that the Middles’ hockey match against the Sacred Heart convent, a school with which the Chalet had a healthy sporting rivalry, was to be the first fixture of the term. When, one morning, word got out that a new list had appeared on the games board, the usual orderly way in which the Chalet School pupils were supposed to conduct themselves was thrown to the winds and the prefects were hard put to it to bring under control a stampede by the Fourths.
“Quiet!” shouted Gisel. “If this doesn’t stop right now, you can say goodbye to any playing in matches until you’re old enough for the Senior teams! And just think what that will do for Glendower House’s sports reputation, having matches scratches because you can’t behave yourselves!”
A pin dropping would have been positively noisy in the cowed silence which suddenly fell. Various Middles tried to slink away into obscurity, hide behind each other or look innocent.
“That’s better!” continued the games prefect. “Now disappear, the lot of you, to where you should be. You have no business here. You will find out the team in good time – the waiting will do you good!”
After this crushing speech, the Middles spent a more or less subdued morning. However, as she suspected that some of them might explode if kept in the dark any longer, Gisel decided that, once they were all sitting in the dining room for lunch, she would put them out of their misery and announce the team.
There were mixed reactions. Some of the chosen few were filled with quiet ecstasy; others could not restrain themselves from noisier displays of delight. Those who had not been so lucky were divided between congratulating, commiserating and general excitement. Conscious that it would be prudent to allow the girls to let off a little steam now rather than risk excess pent-up emotion overflowing later, Miss Edwards gave them a few moments before ringing her bell and imposing quiet once more.
On the day of the match, which was to be played at home, as Sacred Heart were keen to visit somewhere new and the Chalet staff wanted the School to feel united by watching the match, Glendower House was filled with an atmosphere of nervous excitement. Miss Brackley had had to remove the barometer from the hall to protect its delicate balance from excessive tapping, and when the pupils began asking if she knew what the weather would do, she put up a large notice on her office door bearing the content of the latest radio forecast, and retreated behind her typewriter, impervious to all interruptions.
During the morning, several of the mistresses felt like tearing their hair at the amount of wool-gathering that went on in lessons. Mlle. Carlier, having decided that no sense would be got out of Lower IIIa on any other subject, set the girls to constructing sentences about the afternoon’s fixture – only to find herself groaning deeply when Sally Janeway referred to ‘l’alumette de hockey’, having plumped for the first translation given by the dictionary. Even the Sixth were not entirely immune: Gisel was nervous about the outcome of the first match under her leadership and would otherwise probably not have insisted quite so strongly that Jane Austen was the author of Jane Eyre. Her classmates, conscious that Gisel was preoccupied, did their best not to laugh. She, along with various of the team, was very loath to eat at lunch time and had to be convinced that making a good meal was an essential part of playing a good match.
Eventually the minibus bringing the Sacred Heart team arrived, and the combined teams and spectators decamped pitch-wards. The tension had reached such a level that Miss Edwards hoped that the match could be got through without any injuries, faintings or other dramas. A movement and a flash of colour among the spectators caught her eye, and it proved to be a large banner bearing the words ‘Glendower House for ever!’. The sight made her smile: it meant that pride in the school was alive and well.
As the bully-off took place and the match got under way, there was an audible intake of breath as the spectators exchanged nervous anticipation for another kind of tension. It took a while for the two teams to warm up into the game, but gradually more audacious sallies began to be made. Carol Soames sat forward on her bench, pen and pad poised to capture anything noteworthy. Primrose was one of the Glendower House eleven, and had enjoined Carol, the week’s scribe, to portray her in as flattering a light as possible. For her part she dashed about energetically, trying both to help secure a victory for the school and generate material for her gang’s writing.
Suddenly the Sacred Heart centre forward broke through the Chalet defences and shot at goal. Petra Lyall, the goalkeeper, valiantly tried to stop the ball, but to no avail. A loud groan rose from the spectators, some of whom were surprised by their dismay on behalf of the school. The mistresses and prefects quickly began polite applause.
And so the match progressed. On the one hand, the Sacred Heart team were anxious to keep up their reputation and not be beaten by what they saw as newcomers to Middles matches; on the other, Glendower House desperately wanted to make a good beginning. Sacred Heart’s practice as a team was offset by Glendower House’s determination.
The match wore on. Whenever the ball came near the Glendower goal, Gisel bit her nails nervously. Eventually the Chalet forwards began a gradual push towards the other goal, inch by inch. When she was in range, Josefa von Wertheim shot. As one, Glendower House held its breath – and let it out as the ball flew into the back of the net. A cheer rose as Glendower House seemed to be in with a chance.
Despite the efforts of both sides, and some near attempts, there were no more goals. Time seemed at once infinitely long (because it gave the opportunity for Sacred Heart to score) and fleeing at great speed (because of the need for Glendower House to try for another goal). When the final whistle blew, everybody sighed with relief. It was not the resounding win of which they dreamed, but at least it was a creditable beginning. After the high tension of the match, escorting the visiting team to the customary special tea was something of an anti-climax, but many people were so drained that the simple actions of eating were reassuringly easy – and they found that they had very hearty appetites.
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I hope they’re dissimilar enough to be able to co-exist, and without this one being too boring. 
Dolly can do without her ideas for the moment
