The CBB :: View topic - A Chalet Girl at Last

“Isn’t it rather unfair on the girls who don’t have so much money?” Rachel queried gently though. “Surely the other system was fairer for them.”

Flower arranging? Useful? Huh!

Oh dear. Poor Mrs Lacey. Will she be sent to the San?

That was lovely of Joey to offer to drive Miss Winter over. (And you gave the poor woman the name Agatha!! :shock:

) Love the update

“Why didn’t you want to talk to me downstairs?” she burst out once they were inside their room. “I know people don’t like me, they never liked me at Malory Towers.”

Well, perhaps the CS is working its magic on Gwen already, but there's a long way to go with Arabella.

Joey actually advised someone not to interfere? :shock:

Thanks, Fran.

*Clare faints with shock*.

Joey actually advised someone not to interfere? :shock:

Alicia and her friend were nasty girls

It's only with re-reading the series that I have realised quite how nasty Alicia was, I don't think I noticed this as a child, I always thought Gwen deserved what she got. Re-reading them Alicia is awful to Gwen from the start, and that then that sets the tone for the rest of the books.

I used to love Darrell & co when I was a kid, but when I read the books now I can't believe what a nasty bunch of bullies they were half the time!

She's turning into a really nice girl - wonder if she'll ever have the chance to see Darrell or Alicia and show them?

Thanks Fran.

She's turning into a really nice girl - wonder if she'll ever have the chance to see Darrell or Alicia and show them?

And yes please may we have an epilogue?

Author:	francesn [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:19 am ]
Post subject:	A Chalet Girl at Last - finished 31/3/08
This was lost in the hacking so for now I'm reposting where we got to on the board, then I have some more! Mrs Lacey sat weeping in her room. She had scarely emerged since her husband had died, three weeks previously. A knock on the door roused her from her reverie. “Come in,” she sobbed. She looked up to see her daughter, Gwendoline Mary, enter the room. Her spirits rose, as they did every time she looked at her beautiful daughter. “Mr Wilson is downstairs, Mummy,” Gwendoline Mary said. Mrs Lacy dabbed her eyes delicately with a lace edged handkerchief and rose from the chair. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute, darling,” she said. “And ask Miss Winter to make some tea. Do you think we can offer him some biscuits?” “I should think so,” Gwendoline Mary replied, her eyes lighting up at the mention of biscuits. Ever since her father’s death the strict diet that she had been forced to endure, both at school and home since her pretended heart trouble a few years ago, had been relaxed, and she feasted on cakes and sweets whenever she could. She exited the room and shut the door behind her firmly, making her way sedately down the stairs in search of her old governess. She found Miss Winter soon enough, mending a pair of Gwendoline Mary’s stockings. “Mummy wants you to make some tea for Mr Wilson,” Gwendoline Mary said coldly. She was not too kindly disposed towards her governess at the moment, as Miss Winter had privately thought Gwendonline Mary’s late father was quite right in his treatment of his daughter, and she had supported him wholeheartedly. In Gwendoline Mary’s eyes her father’s treatment had been unnecessarily cruel and she wasn’t prepared to see otherwise. Miss Winter stood meekly at once, and vanished in the direction of the kitchens. It never crossed Gwendoline Mary’s mind that she could have fetched the tea herself and saved her ageing governess the walk. Instead she crossed the hall to the parlour and greeted her late father’s solicitor graciously. Gwendonline Mary could be quite charming when she wanted to be, and with her flowing blonde hair, blue eyes and pale complexion many people considered her beautiful. Gwendoline Mary preened as she noticed Mr Wilson’s appraising look. She wasn’t to know what he was thinking, at it wasn’t flattering. In fact it was much the same opinion which had been held by those awful girls at her school, Malory Towers in Cornwall. She had been forced to leave when her father had died, there wasn’t enough money available for her to go to her Swiss finishing school either. Instead Miss Winter had had the temerity to suggest that she should get a job. Miss Winter was still labouring under the delusion that her dear Gwendonline Mary was the cleverest girl alive – her French excellent, her spoting prowess unequalled. Any of the girls at Malory Towers could have swiftly told her that this was in fact a pack of lies, indeed one or two had in the course of Gwendoline Mary’s school career, but she had refused to believe them. “Miss Winter is just fetching us some tea, Mr Wilson,” Gwendoline Mary simpered. “And Mummy is just on her way down. She’s been feeling terribly delicate lately. So have I, as a matter of fact, I rather think my heart is playing up again.” Mr Wilson smiled grimly. “Do sit down, Gwendonline,” he said. Gwendoline sat obediently, a little put out at the omission of her much prized second name. They waited in silence for Mrs Lacey, who entered a moment later, a shadow of her former self. “So good of you to come, Mr Wilson. Shall we wait for the tea, before we read the will?” she said faintly. Gwendoline Mary’s eyes brightened at the mention of the will, but she managed to contain her impatience until Miss Winter arrived bearing a large tea tray. Miss Winter settled her load on the table with a sigh. “Shall I stay, Mrs Lacey?” she asked deferentially. Gwendoline Mary was about to tell her to go when her mother stepped in. “Oh do stay, Miss Winter, it would be such a comfort,” Mrs Lacey said, privately hoping that the presence of Miss Winter would prevent her daughter from manipulating her as much as she was given to in private. Gwendoline Mary drew her brows together for a fraction of a second, but swiftly relaxed her features and smiled sweetly at her former governess. “Shall we start?” Mr Wilson said, clearing his throat. Without waiting for a reply, her reached for the briefcase lying by his chair and opened it. He withdrew a large brown envelope and Gwendoline Mary leaned forwards eagerly. Mrs Lacey closed her eyes as the terms of her late husbands will were disclosed, Gwendoline Mary listened avidly. “And for my daughter Gwendoline’s future education….” Gwendoline Mary shut the door behind the lawyer and hugged herself excitedly. Her father had made a provision for her education and that was good enough for her. She could go to Switzerland just as she planned. Her father had been such a sensible man to see that finishing school was so necessary to her, and of course there would be enough in the fund to go to the Delaney Academy for at least one year, if not two. She would be socialising with the daughters of some of the most well-bred and well-to-do families in England. Although she was not given to skipping, or indeed any form of physical activity, she allowed herself a small skip in the hall on her way back to the parlour. She entered to find her mother clutching the small envelope Mr Wilson had handed her jut before departing. “Isn’t that so sensible of Daddy?” Gwendoline Mary asked, dropping down beside her mother. “I shall go to Switzerland after all.” “Yes dear,” her mother said, weakly. “But…” “But what?” Gwendoline Mary asked sharply. “I think you should read this,” Miss Winter said, looking at Mrs Lacey, who gave a small nod. Gwendoline Mary accepted the letter from her governess with a puzzled expression on her face “Dear Ellen,” she read, “I know how anxious you are that Gwendoline should receive a proper education, and although I am afraid that I am unable to leave you much to see this fulfilled, I have put aside a sum for Gwendoline to spend a year at an excellent school I know of in Switzerland. “Gwendoline has been enrolled at St Mildred’s for the next academic year. I hesitate to do this without your knowledge, but I am confident that it is the best thing for her. My will provides a sum of money for fees and other sundries. There will of course be travelling expenses, and doubtless she will need a uniform…” Gwendoline Mary read the letter with growing horror. To go to St Mildred’s – what a ghastly name – instead of the Delaney Academy? To give up her plans? For her father to have done this behind her back? “Oh Mummy,” she pleaded. “Can’t I go to the Delaney Academy instead of this place?” But for once Mrs Lacey refused to be over-ridden. “Your father was quite clear,” she said inflexibly. “If you want to go to school in Switzerland then you go to St Mildred’s. Otherwise you don’t go at all.” In vain Gwendoline Mary wept and wailed but her mother, backed up by Miss Winter stood firm. She wrote to Switzerland for the prospectus and showed it to Gwendoline Mary at every possible opportunity. “It seems such a sensible school,” Mrs Lacey sighed. “‘A healthy lifestyle is encouraged and girls specialise in science or arts building upon the foundations laid at school in preparation for university.’ And this Miss Wilson sounds extremely sensible. He’s a cousin of our own dear Mr Wilson, that’s how Arthur knew of the school.” “Just what Gwendoline needs,” Miss Winter agreed, although she shuddered inwardly at what Gwendoline Mary would say when she found out it wasn’t going to be all etiquette and needlework. Stubbornly Gwendoline Mary refused to even look at the prospectus. “It’s a hateful school, and I’m sure I shall be unhappy,” she said dramatically. “I’ll be terribly homesick.” “Then maybe you shouldn’t go to Switzerland at all,” Miss Winter said sharply. “Your poor mother has had quite enough of your whining. You are going to St Mildred’s and that is final.” Gwendoline Mary glared at her governess, but shocked into submission she quietened down and allowed her mother to see to the multitude of belongings she would require.

Author:	Róisín [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:21 am ]
Post subject:
It's back it's back! squeees This is one I was avidly following on the old board. So delighted. Keep it up Frances

Author:	francesn [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:22 am ]
Post subject:
At last the day arrived. Gwendoline Mary was taken to Victoria by her mother an adoring governess, who had fully forgiven her charge in the shock of seeing her prepare to cross the continent. “Oh I will miss you, darling,” Mrs Lacey wept, clinging to her daughter. “I know you’ll be terribly homesick, just like you were at Malory Towers, but do try and be brave.” Gwendoline Mary embraced her mother fondly, tears running down her cheeks. “I will try,” she sniffed. “I just know that I’ll hate it. I wish I was going to the Delaney Academy.” Miss Winter frowned. “We’ve said all we have to say on that subject, dear,” she reproached Gwendoline Mary gently. “It looks like a charming place and I’m sure you’ll do very well there.” A slight cough behind her drew her attention away from Gwendoline Mary and her mother. She turned to face a petite woman with brown hair and merry eyes. “Mrs Lacey?” she asked, tentatively. “I’m Miss Nalder.” Miss Winter flushed a little. “Oh no,” she said breathlessly. “I’m Miss Winter, Gwendoline Mary’s governess” “Governess?” the woman repeated. “Is this Gwendoline’s first time away form home?” For a second Miss Winter was tempted to say that it was indeed Gwendoline Mary’s first ever time at being parted from her mother. That at least might excuse her disgraceful behaviour, but honesty got the better of her. “No, she was at boarding school for seven year. Naturally she is upset at leaving her mother though. They have not been separated since the loss of Gwendoline Mary’s dear father,” Miss Winter sighed. Miss Nalder nodded. “And, pardon me for asking, how old is Gwendoline Mary?” “She is 18,” Miss Winter replied, slightly bemused at this seemingly odd question. Miss Nalder regarded the long flowing blonde hair with distate. “Did no-one inform Gwendoline that it is a rule of the Chalet School, girls over the age of 18 must wear it up?” “Well….no…I mean….the Chalet School?” Miss Winter said helplessly. “St Mildred’s is the finishing branch of the Chalet School,” Miss Nalder explained patiently. “And we do, in most instances conform to their rules. The trilingual rule for example, and the rule about the hair.” “Trilingual?” Miss Winter repeated, startled. Miss Nalder nodded, but a glance at the station clock left her no time to explain. “I’m afraid we must hurry,” she said. Raising her voice slightly she approached the sobbing pair. “Gwendoline!” Gwendoline Mary raised her head from her mother’s shoulder and dabbed at her eyes delicately with a handkerchief. Miss Nalder reflected that the girl could have even been called pretty, were it not for the fact that her eyes were rimmed with red, and her cheeks bore tearstains as evidence of her weeping. Gwendoline Mary shook the hair back from her face. “I’m afraid it’s time for us to go. Please pick up your case and follow me. We must join the other girls.” With a final embrace for her mother, and one for Miss Winter, Gwendoline Mary picked up her nightcase with a sniff and set off after Miss Nalder to join the knot of girls waiting at the end of the platform. The girls had watched with interest as Miss Nalder dextrously parted the sobbing Gwendoline Mary from her mother. “What a ghastly object,” Blossom Willoughby said, in her forthright manner. “Hush, Blossom,” a pretty girl with chestnut hair and a peaches and cream complexion said. “She might hear you.” “Not likely,” Blossom said, but she subsided nonetheless. “Is this the Chalet School?” a quiet voice said behind them. “St Mildred’s?” “It certainly is,” Blossom said with a cheerful grin. “I’m Blossom Willoughby, these others are Sybil Russell, Nan Herbert, Felicity King and Amy Dunne.” “I’m Rachel Matthews,” the girl replied. “Have your parents come with you? Miss Nalder – she’s the mistress in charge – will want to know,” Blossom said. “Oh no. I didn’t need anyone to bring me,” Rachel said, as though amused by the idea. Blossom quickly revised her opinion of Rachel. Quiet as she appeared to be, her quiet and unprepossessing exterior hid a self-assurance and sophistication that the former Chalet Girls found it hard to match. “You’re the only non-Chaletian we’ve had so far,” Amy Dunne, a pleasant faced young woman commented. “That’s most unusual.” “Apart from that sobbing specimen with Nally,” Blossom said softly, causing Felicity King, a rather pretty but empty headed girl to hastily suppress her giggles. Miss Nalder was hurrying Gwendoline Mary along the platform, although she knew full well that they had plenty of time to catch the train she wanted to avoid any more scenes. “Come on, Gwendoline dear,” Miss Nalder said absently, spying Rachel amongst the girls that she was familiar with. Upon reaching the group she whipped out a pencil and a list. “Who are you?” she enquired. “Rachel Matthews,” the owner of that name replied. “Did your parents come with you?” Miss Nalder asked perplexed. “I don’t see them.” “Oh no, I came by myself,” Rachel replied assuredly. “Oh….” Miss Nalder said ineffectually. “Well….I suppose…” “My father is a very busy man,” Rachel said smoothly. “And I am quite capable of seeing to myself. Our chauffeur dropped me off at the station, and that was quite sufficient.” “Well, yes. I can imagine that Professor Matthews does have great demands on his time,” Miss Nalder said worriedly, “but...” “I shall wire my father, with your permission of course, once we arrive in Switzerland,” Rachel said in a voice which informed the mistress that she would be doing so whether Miss Nalder gave her permission or not. Luckily for Rachel at that moment Miss Nalder’s attention was claimed by one Clare Fenton who had been a member of the Chalet School when it was on St Brivael’s Island, off the coast of Wales, and who was greeted rapturously by her former playmates. Gwendoline, having heard Rachel mention that she had a chauffeur and therefore deducing that she must be moderately wealthy, sidled up to the other girl. “They’ve just got and left us,” she said. “Dreadfully rude, I call it.” “I don’t mind,” Rachel said, diffidently. “I quite enjoy the peace and quiet. Schoolgirls can be such dreadful chatterboxes.” Gwendoline looked at Rachel doubtfully, but thought it best to agree with the girl. “Oh absolutely,” she said ingratiatingly. “You seem far more sophisticated than that crowd. And you came by yourself! My mother wouldn’t let me – simply wouldn’t hear of it.” “I don’t have a mother,” Rachel replied. “I’ve only got Father, and he’s always terribly busy, so Parkinson brought me.” “Oh my father was always far too busy for me too,” Gwendoline said quickly. “He never had any time for me.” They were stood a little apart from the group of girls, and consequently did not notice when the others moved off in a body, the older Chaletians taking charge of the new girls who had joined the group in the last few moments. Miss Nalder did a quick headcount and discovered that two of her lambs were missing. “Blossom, Sybil,” she called ahead. Those two named looked around to see the mistress motioning towards them. “Will you go back to fetch Gwendoline and Rachel? They seem to still be standing where we left them.” Blossom and Sybil murmured their assent, before walking briskly towards the silent pair. “Didn’t you notice we were gone?” Blossom said bluntly. Gwendoline gave a start. “Oh my heart,” she gasped. “You gave me quite a fright.” “Sorry,” Blossom said unapologetically, “but look here! We simply have to get a move on or we’ll miss the boat train and a fine to-do that would be.” Silently Rachel picked up her case and handbag and walked off. Sybil threw a despairing glance at Blossom and went after her, leaving Blossom to deal with the dawdling Gwendoline. “Hurry up. Do!” Blossom urged. “There’s no need to rush,” Gwendoline said, fixing Blossom with her wide blue eyes. “Oh but there is,” Blossom replied. “If we miss the train there’ll be no end of a fuss and I’d rather be excused that.” Startled, Gwendoline picked up her case and trotted after Blossom who set off at a quick pace towards Miss Nalder who was gesturing wildly. They made it onto the train with seconds to spare, and no sooner were they settled in their reserved compartment than the doors were shut and the whistle blew. Gwendoline was distressed to notice that Rachel was in a different compartment, but she soon cheered up as she was introduced to the other girls. “And of course, Sybil you’ve met already,” Blossom finished in grand style. “She’s far too modest to tell you herself, but she’s Madame’s daughter.” Sybil coloured violently at this statement and stared fixedly out of the window. “Madame?” Gwendoline said interested. “Who’s Madame?” “Madame is Lady Russell who started the school, way back in the Dark Ages in the Tirol,” Blossom imparted. “Then the school moved to Guernsey, and to Wales, and finally to Switzerland a few years ago.” Gwendoline perked up a little upon hearing the mention of a title, and resolved to make a special effort with Sybil, who quite apart from possessing a beauty of her own, had titled parents. She was about to ask whether Sybil herself had a title when she heard Rachel’s superior tones. “Is that the Lady Russell who’s married to Sir James Russell, the TB specialist?” “Well yes, as a matter of fact,” Sybil said. “Do you know my father?” “Oh, my father and yours have worked together at certain points. My father finds your father’s work extremely interesting.” Rachel’s tone belied her friendly words, and Blossom looked at her sharply. However nobody else appeared to notice and talk soon turned to pleasanter things. Gwendoline felt markedly left out by the friendly chatter going on around her. There were several girls who had come from the English branch of the Chalet School for a year in Switzerland and their former school-mates were appraising them of the latest happenings in the school. Gwendoline could have listened, in fact she probably would have benefited from the conversation although she recognised none of the names. Instead she sat in the corner of the carriage and gazed out of the window with mournful eyes sniffing occasionally. “It’s just too bad of them, ignoring me like that. They’re not very welcoming at all,” she thought fiercely. She gazed pleadingly at Rachel, who was immersed in a book. Some author she’d never heard of but it looked interesting. Not that Gwendoline was particularly fond of reading, but the book was very attractive. It seemed to be a historical story of some kind, a romance Gwendoline presumed looking at the soldier and attractive young woman featured on the dust-jacket. “Rachel,” Gwendoline said tentatively. “What are you reading?” “It’s the latest Josephine M. Bettany,” Rachel said, raising her eyebrows. “Do you read her books?” “No, I’ve never heard of her,” Gwendoline admitted. “Is she any good?” That stopped the other conversation in the compartment right in its tracks. “Not heard of Aunt Joey,” Blossom exclaimed. “That won’t do! She’s a very famous author and a simply wonderful writer, I’ve got all her books.” “Is she really your aunt?” Rachel asked, interested. “Well no, not really,” Blossom said. “She’s a sort of honorary aunt. But she is Sybil’s real aunt.” Gwendoline nodded, noting yet another reason to make close friends with Sybil as soon as she had the chance. She decided to start by showing an interest in the writing of Josephine M. Bettany, even though she despised reading. “Could any of you lend me one her books?” Gwendoline asked. “I’d quite like to read one.” “Of course,” the good-natured Sybil said, jumping up and reaching into her case. “Here – try this.” Gwendoline accepted the book, and regarded it with horror. “But it’s a school story!” she cried. “And a simply wizard one too,” Clare Fenton said. “That’s her very first one, isn’t it?” Sybil nodded. “It’s my absolute favourite.” “You’ve been awfully quiet so far,” Nan Herbert, a quiet observant girl, said. “Are you feeling alright Gwendoline?” “Not really,” Gwendoline sniffed. “I get train-sick terribly easily. And I’m feeling homesick too.” “Homesick?” the thoughtless Blosssom questioned. “But we haven’t left England yet!” Gwendoline scowled and racked her brains for a reason why she could possibly be homesick half an hour into a journey which would take her several miles from her home. “It’s my mother,” she said. “Father died only a few months ago, and she’ll be awfully lonely on her own. Of course she’s got Miss Winter, but that won’t be quite the same. She simply insisted that I came here though.” Soft-hearted Sybil’s forehead creased sympathetically. “That must have been dreadful,” she said. “I think you’re very brave to come.” Gwendoline allowed her blue eyes to fill with tears and smiled weakly. “I just hope Mother will be alright by herself. I’ll miss her terribly.”

Author:	francesn [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:24 am ]
Post subject:
The rest of the journey passed pleasantly, the girls making an effort to include Gwendoline in their conversations, and Rachel until she politely informed them that she would rather be left to read in peace. Eventually the girls reached Berne where they left the train and Miss Nalder began looking round frantically. “What’s she looking for?” Gwendoline asked, bemused by the mistresses behaviour. “I expect she’s looking for Miss Culver or Miss Norton -they’ll have been on escort duty for the other girls,” Nan Herbert, who happened to be nearest replied. “Oh there are more girls than just those at Victoria?” Gwendoline queried. “Why didn’t they travel with us?” “Well you can hardly expect the Continental girls to come to England, just to travel back,” Nan laughed. “Continental girls?” Gwendoline repeated. “You mean you take girls who aren’t English?” “Oh yes,” Nan said comfortably. “Well Sybs and Blossom told you the school began in Tyrol. We’ve always had a goodly proportion of other nationalities, although fewer when we were in England, but there are more now we’re back in Switzerland.” “I see,” Gwendoline said, compressing her lips. “They come to improve their English, because we do stick to some of the Chalet traditions here, like the trilingual rule,” Nan continued, stopping dead as she saw the look on Gwendoline’s face. “Did you not read the prospectus?” “No, actually,” Gwendoline said. “My Father arranged it all before he died, and that was that. I never bothered to read the prospectus.” “Oh well it tells you all about it in there,” Nan explained. “We speak French Monday and Thursday, German Tuesday and Friday, English Wednesdays and Saturdays and any language we like on Sunday.” “Goodness,” Gwendoline exclaimed. “I shall be dumb for most of the time.” “Oh no you won’t. It won’t be allowed,” Nan grinned. “Besides you pick it up soon enough, speaking it all day two days a week.” “In our free time?” Gwendoline gasped. “Even when there’s no-one else around?” “Oh yes,” Nan nodded solemnly. “We’re trusted to keep the rules by ourselves. We’re quite old enough you know.” At last it appeared that Miss Nalder had located Miss Culver, a striking young woman with chestnut hair who, Gwendoline was informed, held the position of school secretary. She was surrounded by a group of girls chattering away in French. “Miss Culver,” Blossom cried. “Did you have a good hols?” “Very nice, thank you Blossom,” Miss Culver smiled. “Now we must get a move on or we shall miss the train to Interlaken. This way please, everyone.” Gwendoline picked up her case. This school seemed far more organised that the chaos of Malory Towers and she wasn’t entirely sure she was going to like it. Exhausted and perspiring Gwendoline followed the line of girls tramping happily up the path from the station to the pretty Chalet where St Mildred’s was situated. “We moved here…oh it must be three years ago,” Blossom chattered easily by her side. Gwendoline ignored her as one might ignore the buzzing of a fly. She was getting rather irritated with the constant flow of information emanating from one or other of the Chaletians. “St Mildred’s used to be at a little hamlet, called Welsen, further down the mountain, but the Chalet there was hemmed in by pine trees and it got ever so hot in the summer. Well to cut a long story short Miss Wilson, that’s the Head of St Mildred’s and the doctors at the San decided it simply wouldn’t do to have us all pulled down every time the hot weather came, so they moved us up here. And it’s ever so nice being close to the original Chalet School as well, not that that will matter much to you or any of the other new girls, but it makes a difference to lots of us, especially if we have sisters at the school. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Blossom finished in grand style. Gwendoline jerked suddenly. “Sorry what was that?” she said. “I asked if you had any brothers or sisters,” Blossom repeated. “I expect you were admiring the view – it’s simply marvellous isn’t it?” “Very nice,” Gwendoline said sweetly. “But no, I’m afraid I don’t have any brothers or sisters, I’m the only one.” “That explains a lot,” Blossom thought to herself, but said nothing. Instead she urged the rapidly tiring Gwendoline on towards the building. “Ooof I’m exhausted!” Gwendoline said, once they were inside and taking off their outdoor clothes. “Do you go in for that sort of thing much here?” “Oh yes,” Sybil said, failing to notice the look of dismay on Gwendoline’s face. “Lots of fresh air and exercise has always been an important part of the school. Once the bad weather comes in we’ll be stuck in here for days, so we make the most of it while we can.” Gwendoline cheered up slightly at the prospect of days where they would be stuck indoors without any chance of exercise. “What do you do when it snows?” she asked. “Well while it’s snowing we dance, otherwise we’d get no exercise, and once it stops and has frozen we’ll be able to ski,” Sybil replied. “Ski?!” Gwendoline asked. “Yes, ski,” Sybil said, laughing at her expression. “We are in Switzerland.” “Is it hard?” Gwendoline asked. “No-o. Well it is at first, your toes will keep crossing. It’s like they have a fatal attraction to each other.” “My toes?” Sybil chuckled maddeningly. “You’ll find out soon enough.” “Oh I wish you would tell me now,” Gwendoline pleaded. The good-natured Sybil relented. “Alright I’ll tell you. When you start ski-ing the points of your ski’s keep rushing together and over you go. Your toes cross, see.” And Sybil demonstrated. “Sybil, what are you doing?” came a voice from behind them. “Oh Miss Wilson. I was just showing Gwendoline what happens when you start ski-ing,” Sybil explained. “Ah right,” Miss Wilson said, before turning her piercing gaze to Gwendoline. Gwendoline stared back, taking in the grey eyes framed by dark eyelashes, and the carefully arranged white hair. The skirt was simple but well cut, the blouse obviously expensive, the overall effect one of great elegance which suited the tall woman well. Miss Wilson took in Gwendoline’s long, blonde hair flowing unconfined over her shoulders, the wide blue eyes, delicate features and comfortable plumpness. “Well girls, I suggest that you hurry up and join your peers in the common room. It will be Abendessen soon,” she said, before turning and leaving the cloakroom. “Aben-what?” Gwendoline said, turning to Sybil for an explanation. “Abendessen – it’s German for dinner. Literally evening, that’s the abend, meal,” Sybil explained. “Now come on – we need to get to the common room. Then it’ll be Abendessen and Bill will tell us where our dormies are. We’ll unpack tomorrow, and have our interviews with her and suchlike.” “Bill?” Gwendoline repeated, confused. “Who’s he?” “Bill is our nick-name for Miss Wilson,” Sybil said, patiently, privately thinking that this new girl was extremely dense. “It started ages ago, when Auntie Jo was at school. I’m sure she had something to do with it. Come on.” “I shall never manage,” Gwendoline thought. “I wish I’d never come.” After Abendessen as Sybil had predicted they were shown to their dormitories. Blossom kept up a steady flow of chatter for the girls she had assigned herself sheep-dog, as she termed it, to, including Gwendoline who would have much preferred to attach herself to Sybil, but Sybil had been summoned to Miss Wilson and would join the rest of them later. “At Welsen some people slept in the Chalet proper and some in the Annexe, but here we’re all in the Chalet, which saves time in the morning!” Blossom grinned irreverently, and Gwendoline sighed in relief. “That’s our bather, cold or chill off in the morning. Not hot under any circumstances. And in here is our room.” The girls crowded through the doorway, gazing approvingly at the room which slept six girls. The room was divided by wooden partitions which were curtained off from the main part of the room by flowered cretonne curtains. Each contained a bed, a narrow wardrobe, a chest of drawers and bureau. The cosy space was completed by a bedroom chair, and a light wicker one so girls could sit in comfort. “Choose your own,” Blossom said. “I’m off up this end – oh and leave one for Sybil, she’ll be joining us later, once she’s had a good catch-up with Miss Wilson.” Gwendoline looked around uncertainly, as did another new girl, Arabella Wentworth by name. Rachel headed calmly for one of the cubicles next to the door and began to unpack her case. Clare Fenton, who had been at the English branch of the Chalet School, swithered for a moment before heading for one of the cubicles in the middle of the room. “Are we to have dormitory prefects?” she asked of Blossom. “No,” Blossom replied cheerfully. “No prefects at all.” “Gosh, that’ll be different,” Clare said. “I suppose unpacking’s the same as it ever was. And is visiting allowed? We’ve got two chairs each.” “I suppose we can visit – Bill will tell us later. But you’re right about the unpacking, Matron Rider’s a dear, but she’s terribly strict,” Blossom said, emerging from her cubicle to find Gwendoline and Arabella standing there gaping. “Haven’t you too chosen cubey’s yet? No? Right – Gwen you take that one opposite Clare, and Arabella you take that one opposite Rachel.” Gwendoline half opened her mouth to protest against the abbreviation of her beloved name, but decided against it. After all, she reasoned, she may enjoy being Gwen here. She entered her small domain and looked around approvingly. “It’s nice to be private,” she called to no-one in particular. “We had beds in a row at Malory Towers.” “Golly how ghastly, we’ve always had cubeys at the Chalet,” Clare said. “What about everyone else?” “I went to a day school,” Rachel said. “Oh is this your first time away from home?” Blossom asked. “It can be frightful at first.” “I shall cope,” Rachel said serenely, attending to her unpacking with ease, placing items deftly in drawers. Soon her unpacking was done, the last items being a large pile of books and a photograph of a rather stern man in a silver frame. “Is that you father?” Clare asked, looking around the room nosily as her own unpacking was finished. “Yes,” said Rachel shortly. “What do we do now?” “Go back to the common room I expect. Do you remember the way?” Blossom asked. “Yes thank you,” Rachel said, turning on her heel and departing. “Queer fish that one,” Blossom remarked to Clare. “Be a lamb and help Arabella with her unpacking. I’ll take Gwen in hand.” Gwendoline flushed with pleasure to be so singled out. “Actually I’m nearly done,” she said. “But if you could just make sure I’ve got it right…” “A place for everything and everything in its place,” Blossom said with a grin. “That’s what Matey – our old Matron at the Chalet School – used to say. It looks like you’ve got it absolutely right. Don’t you have any books?” “No, I didn’t know we were allowed to bring any,” Gwen fibbed. “Never mind – we’ll lend,” Blossom consoled her. “And the library’s supposed to be jolly good. Auntie Jo’s donated a copy of each of her books, and two copies of the popular ones.” “I’ll look forward to it.” “Good-o, now let’s see what Clare and Arabella are up to.” Blossom left Gwendoline’s cubicle and entered Arabella’s without warning. “You have to put it there,” Clare was explaining. “Why at home we always do it this way!” Arabelle protested. Blossom took a hand. “Well you’re not at home now, and we do it this way.” Gwendoline watched in awe as Blossom competently sorted Arabella’s belongings into the correct drawers, overriding her protests. “There we’re all done. Now come along,” Blossom said leading the way out the door. Gwendoline trotted along beside her and Arabella trailed behind. “Where did you come from then?” Gwendoline demanded of Arabella, once they were in the common room. “Well Daddy’s estate is in Devon, but Mummy and I spend most of our time at our townhouse is London,” Arabella said. “Gracious that sounds fascinating,” Gwendoline gasped. “Won’t you miss it?” “Oh terribly,” Arabella replied. “But Mummy simply insisted that I came here – she said most men want finished wives nowadays, so here I am.” “Do you want to marry soon then?” Gwendoline asked. “Hi you two, we don’t talk about that sort of thing here,” Blossom interrupted. “Whyever not?” Arabella questioned. “Why at home, Mummy and I talk of nothing else!” “Well we don’t,” Blossom said crushingly. “We’re not here to learn how to attract a husband.” “Oh,” Arabella said, rather blankly. “Well what are we here to learn?” “I don’t know,” Gwendoline said. “This doesn’t seem a bit like Malory Towers. It doesn’t have a swimming pool for starters.” “Oh are you keen on swimming?” Blossom said. “We swim in the Thun – that’s the lake in the valley. But we can only do that in the summer because otherwise it would be freezing. It’s spring-fed you see.” “What a shame,” Gwendoline cried. “I simply adored swimming at school.” “Wasn’t it terribly bad for your hair?” Arabella said, condescendingly. Gwendoline wrinkled her nose, torn between wanting to impress Blossom and seem as sophisticated as Arabella. “Not if you wash it after swimming,” Blossom cut in. “Isn’t that right, Gwen?” Gwendoline nodded sagely. “It never did my hair any harm,” she added, shaking her head. “See?” Arabella was forced to admit that no, it evidently hadn’t done Gwendoline’s hair any harm at all. “I shall miss swimming,” Gwendoline sighed theatrically. “I shall miss my horses,” Arabella sighed equally theatrically. “And it’s bound to be terribly cold here. I feel sure we shall end up with pneumonia.” “And feathers on our beds, instead of blankets. It wasn’t like that at Malory Towers. Matron wouldn’t hear of feathers,” said Gwendoline, who was inclined to be chilly at night. Arabella and Gwendoline passed the time complaining quietly to each other in the corner until Blossom checked the large clock hanging on the wall. “Golly. Twenty-two o’clock already. We’d best be making tracks for bed,” she exclaimed. Gwendoline looked puzzled at this use of continental time. “It wasn’t like that at Malory Towers…” she began. “Well you aren’t AT Malory Towers now, are you?” Rachel cut in. “You’re here and you’d best abide by the rules.” The former Chaletians looked both surprised and pleased at this intervention. As a rule new girls were given to complain about either the rules, or the use of European timing, but Rachel seemed to be fitting in perfectly. She just wasn’t overly sociable.

Author:	francesn [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:24 am ]
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“Gwendoline?” Gwendoline looked up from the magazine she had been perusing to see Miss Culver standing over her wearing a strained expression. “Yes, Miss Culver?” Gwendoline said, idly turning a page. “Miss Wilson will see you now?” Miss Culver said, a trifle put out by Gwendoline’s apparent lack of interest. “Of course, Miss Culver,” Gwendoline simpered. “Where should I go?” “To Miss Wilson’s study,” the secretary said pleasantly. “Do you think you can find your way, or shall I take you there?” “Would you be so kind as to take me?” Gwendoline said. “I haven’t quite got my bearings yet. I’m sure it took me until my third year at Malory Towers to find my way around.” “Well you’re only here for a year, so you’d best learn quickly,” Miss Culver smiled. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it. This way, please.” Gwendoline followed the young woman through the passages of the Chalet to the small annexe where the offices and staffroom were. As the passed the staffroom Miss Culver popped her head through the door and Gwendoline caught a glimpse of a bright, airy room, not unlike their own common room, with comfortable chairs to one side and desks to the other. “Pour me a cup of coffee, Julie,” Miss Culver called. “I’ll be along in just a moment. Miss Wilson wants to see the last of the new girls before Kaffee und Kuchen.” Gwendoline’s blood boiled. To be left until last was an insult to her way of thinking. Little did she realise that Miss Wilson had deliberated long and hard before placing her, and she had been left until last because she was to go wherever there was space. “Come in, Gwendoline,” Miss Wilson said, as she saw Gwendoline’s golden head poking nervously around the door. “Please, sit down.” Gwendoline obediently sat in the chair indicated and waited quietly for Miss Wilson to speak. Miss Wilson carefully replaced the paper she had been reading on pile to one side of her desk. She placed her hands on the desk in front of her and leaned forwards. “I have a report from your former headmistress, Miss Grayling,” Miss Wilson said, observing the girl carefully. Gwendoline coloured a little, but her features remained smooth. “She wrote to tell me that had you not been forced to leave Malory Towers prematurely, you were to take your Higher Certificate in the summer. Is that correct?” “Yes,” Gwendoline gasped, relieved that the letter, as far as she knew, had said no more about her school career than that. Miss Wilson noted the girl’s flushed face, but said nothing. “Now as I’m sure you know here at St Mildred’s we divide the girls up into three groups, each named after a saint. St Ursula, where the girls specialise in languages, literature and arts; St Barbara, where the girls specialise in Geography and Botany, although of course they do have some lectures on languages and literature; and St Agnes which is class specifically for younger girls, or those who have not taken their Higher Certificate.” Again Miss Wilson paused, watching carefully for any sign of a reaction from Gwendoline. She saw none. “Now in light of these facts, and taking into account the letter Miss Grayling sent in addition to your mother’s wishes, we have decided to try you in St Ursula, as you should be up to standard. However if you are finding the work too challenging then we shall have to reconsider. Do you have any questions?” “Please, Miss Wilson,” Gwendoline said properly, “Sybil Russell said that we don’t have form lists here? Or marks. How will I know whether I am up to standard or not?” Miss Wilson smiled. “Just because we do not have form lists does not mean your work will not be marked. The mistresses will put comments on your work which should give you some idea of what is expected and whether you are coping or not.” “I shall cope,” Gwendoline thought. “I’m just the sort of person that does. And all these continental girls won’t know a thing.” “Now have the girls explained the rules to you?” Miss Wilson asked. “Most of them, I suppose. I shan’t find them too difficult,” Gwendoline said diffidently. Miss Wilson smiled slightly. “Oh that’s good,” she replied warmly. “Most girls find writing their essays in a foreign language such a trial. Still, I’m sure you’ll do admirably. Off you go, dear. I expect I shall see you at Abendessen.” Gwendoline stood, a horrified look on her face which Miss Wilson failed to notice, reaching as she was for a pile of correspondence.

The CBB http://www.the-cbb.co.uk/

A Chalet Girl at Last - finished 31/3/08 http://www.the-cbb.co.uk/viewtopic.php?f=13&t=499

Author:	francesn [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:26 am ]
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New bit! Lectures began the Tuesday, which happened to be a German day in the school. Gwendoline, having already professed that she did not speak a single word of the language was treated kindly by Blossom and Sybil who endeavoured to speak slowly and clearly, providing translations whenever Gwendoline seemed lost, which appeared to be most of the time. Clare Fenton, a former pupil of the English branch of the Chalet School where they kept to the school’s trilingual tradition found that her German was well up to standard and Arabella got by mostly by copying what the others did and remaining silent until it was time for lectures. It was left to Rachel Matthews to provide the dormitory with its first shock. When addressed slowly and clearly by Sybil, who naturally assumed that Rachel being English and not a former pupil at the Chalet School did not speak any German, she was told in icy tones and flawless German that she was very able to cope by herself. In fact Blossom Willoughby was heard to admit later that Rachel’s accent was far better than her own despite living in Switzerland and the Chalet School’s insistence on proper pronunciation. Rachel continued to astound the assembled company at Fruhstuck by taking part in the lively conversation between the Chalet girls in fluent and idiomatic German. When conversation turned to school matters she engaged in a detailed analysis of German politics with the one German national in the school, Elsa Brandt, who seemed delighted by Rachel’s attention. After Fruhstuck the girls attended to their cubicle chores and much as Arabella attempted to protest that there was no need for her to speak German when they were on their own she was soon squashed by Rachel of all people, who informed her in that language they were old enough to be trusted to keep the rules, and speaking German was a rule therefore Arabella must abide by it. Arabella, faced with this fluent stream which she was quite unable to understand, merely looked at her blankly. Rather than providing a translation however Rachel calmly turned back to her own dormitory work and left Arabella on the verge of tears. Sybil and Blossom looked at each other in consternation but there was nothing they could do. Rachel left the dormitory as soon as she had completed her work, without waiting for any of the other girls and when Sybil arrived in the lecture room with Gwendoline she found Rachel sitting perfectly composed in the front row with pen and paper at the ready. Sybil drew Gwendoline gently to the middle row and installed her at a desk. “I shall sit at this desk, and Blossom next to me,” Sybil said slowly in German, and suited the action to her words. The girls came in by twos and threes settling themselves as they pleased, but for the most part avoiding the front row where Rachel sat in solitary state. It fell to Arabella Wentworth, who had dawdled over her dormitory work most of the time vocalising in English her disgust that they should perform chores, Bronwen Evans and Heulwen Jones, two quiet Welsh girls who had found in each other an immediate friend due in no small part to their shared heritage, and a rather bossy girl who had come from the English branch of the Chalet School, one Majorie Jenkins, to complete the front row. Blossom, coming in with Arabella looked around immediately for Sybil who patted the desk next to her with a chummy grin. “Vielen danke!” Blossom exclaimed, slipping into her seat. “Ich habe gedacht, dass ich in der vorderen Reihe sitzen müsste!”* Gwendoline frowned, and resolved to learn German as quickly as possible. She did so dislike being left out of the chatter going on around her. *I thought I would have to sit in the front row![/i]

Author:	KathrynW [ Wed May 31, 2006 12:54 am ]
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Thanks Fran, I think I sort of lost this on the old board so it's great to see it back. It's brilliant! Kathryn

Author:	Lesley [ Wed May 31, 2006 5:49 am ]
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I didn't see this before - or at least not after the first part - very interesting. Can't believe that Bill doesn't know everything about Gwendoline - am sure that Miss Grayling would have told her all about Gwen's stay at Malory Towers. Your new characters are also intriguing - want to know more about both Rachel and Arabella. Thanks Fran.

Author:	LizB [ Wed May 31, 2006 10:40 am ]
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Yay! Good to see this back Thanks, Fran

Author:	JustJen [ Wed May 31, 2006 3:27 pm ]
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Yeah! It's great to see this story back.

Author:	Lisa [ Wed May 31, 2006 4:22 pm ]
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Just found this for the first time, looking forward to seeing how Gwendoline Mary's character progresses ... she seems to be doing OK so far (for her!) I wonder who will get slapped ... Thanks, this is great!

Author:	Chair [ Wed May 31, 2006 4:55 pm ]
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Thanks, Fran. I'm glad that Gwendoline didn't have to sit in the front row.

Author:	Rosy-Jess [ Wed May 31, 2006 6:50 pm ]
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Have also just found this for the first time. It's fab Fran

Author:	Chelsea [ Wed May 31, 2006 6:56 pm ]
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Chelsea with mod hat on - have moved this as requested from St. Clare's.

Author:	MaryR [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 1:17 pm ]
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I've just read the whole lot, Frances, and had great fun. Thank you.

Author:	Carolyn P [ Mon Jun 05, 2006 10:28 pm ]
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Didn't see this before, but enjoying it greatly now. Thanks Fran.

Author:	Kate [ Tue Jun 06, 2006 10:11 am ]
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Oh YAY, this is back! Thanks Fran!

Author:	leahbelle [ Thu Jul 13, 2006 2:41 pm ]
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I wonder if Gwen quite realises what she's letting herself in for!

Author:	Liane [ Wed May 31, 2006 6:59 pm ]
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Great to see this back! Thanks fran.

Author:	Jennie [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 11:44 am ]
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It's great to see this back, thanks Fran. I suspect the girls will soon see through Gwendoline and treat her accordingly.

Author:	francesn [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 6:03 pm ]
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Thanks Chelsea “I am glad we can speak English today,” Gwendoline sighed as they completed their dormitory work the following morning. “I found it ever so difficult yesterday. But thankfully I speak a bit of French so tomorrow shouldn’t be too bad.” “That’s good,” Blossom said supportively. “You’ll pick up German in no time at all though, speaking nothing but it two days a week. And Mademoiselle Berne is frightfully jolly, if you ask her to she’ll give you lists of words to learn each day and that’ll help no end.” “Which one is Mamzelle Berne?” Gwendoline asked. “Mademoiselle,” Blossom corrected. “I’ll point her out to you later. Where on earth did you learn such frightful pronunciation, my girl?” Gwendoline looked confused. “But that was what we called the French teachers at Malory Towers. They were Mam’zelle Dupont and Mam’zelle Rougier.” Blossom frowned slightly. Gwendoline went on, warming to her theme. “We used to have such fun playing tricks on them. Alicia would get boxes and boxes of tricks from her brothers and we’d play them on Mam’zelle Dupont. Of course I always thought it terribly cruel,” she said, catching sight of the identical horrified expressions sported by Blossom and Sybil. “Well you’ll have none of that here,” Sybil warned. “Oh gracious no,” Gwendoline said. “Why we’re here to learn how to become young ladies, not to waste our time playing immature tricks on the mistresses.” “I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,” Blossom murmured.

Author:	Lesley [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 6:07 pm ]
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Hmmm, slightly different type of culture here! Thanks Fran.

Author:	Chair [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 6:08 pm ]
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Thanks, Fran. It's interesting to see Blossom and Sybil's views on the tricks and the pronounciation of the names of the French mistresses.

Author:	grover [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 8:30 pm ]
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This is great, Fran. Rachel is a bit of an enigma...wonder what her story is?

Author:	Alison H [ Thu Jun 01, 2006 9:10 pm ]
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at the comments about the pronunciation - I'd never thought of that before!

Author:	Tara [ Fri Jun 02, 2006 12:12 am ]
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Love the contrast between the MT and CS attitudes to 'foreign' staff! Very aptly put. Looking forward to more about Rachel and Gwendoline. Thanks, Fran.

Author:	LizB [ Fri Jun 02, 2006 1:02 am ]
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Was Gwen able to roll her Rrrrrs to the satisfaction of Mamzelle? And what will Mademoiselle have to say about them? Thanks, Fran

Author:	Pollyana [ Sat Jun 03, 2006 4:49 pm ]
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Fantastic to see this one back! One of those I was really enjoying Looking forward to the next bit......

Author:	KathrynW [ Sat Jun 03, 2006 7:37 pm ]
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Brilliant Fran, thank you Kathryn

Author:	Elle [ Tue Jun 06, 2006 11:42 am ]
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I am so glad that this is back! Thank you so much.

Author:	Kate [ Wed Jun 14, 2006 3:56 pm ]
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wonders if we shall have more

Author:	Helen P [ Mon Jun 19, 2006 5:41 pm ]
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I've just found this, Fran! It is wonderful and I do hope there will be more soon! Thank you.

Author:	jonty [ Sat Jul 01, 2006 3:18 pm ]
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I've just found this - it's great, thanks Fran I always felt sorry for Gwen at MT - I hope she manages to enjoy herself at St Millie's, even though it's not looking promising at the moment. Perhaps she'll cut straight to the chase and meet a doctor husband???

Author:	francesn [ Thu Jul 13, 2006 2:32 pm ]
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Gwendoline decided to take Blossom’s advice and sought out Mademoiselle Berne. She had hoped that the French mistress would take to her in the way dear Mam’zelle Dupont at Malory Towers had. She was just Mam’zelle Dupont’s type, long golden hair with big blue eyes that could fill with tears at a moment’s notice and trembling bottom lip. It had served her well with the soft-hearted Mam’zelle, but Mademoiselle Berne was quite a different matter. Petite, brisk, neat and youthful Mademoiselle Berne was the complete opposite of Mam’zelle Dupont who could only be described as comfortably plump and untidy. Mademoiselle Berne’s idea of correct French grammar and pronunciation was also considerably different to the views held by Mam’zelle Dupont, as Gwendoline was about to find out. “Mademoiselle Berne,” Gwendoline exclaimed breathlessly, paying careful attention to the pronunciation of the Mistress’s name. “Blossom a dire à moi que vous pouvoir aider moi avec le Francais et l’Alleman. Je n’ai pas apprends l’Alleman a Malory Towers.” As she said this Gwendoline widened her eyes in an expression of eagerness and innocence and regarded the French mistress hopefully. Mademoiselle Berne in turn stared at the English girl suspiciously. Gwendoline had not come to St Mildred’s with a reputation for seeking out extra work but the Chalet School believed in giving girls a fresh start so Mademoiselle Berne gladly agreed to give Gwendoline a list of ten words in each language to learn every day. “Would you like me to set you grammatical exercises too?” Mademoiselle Berne asked kindly. “Oh yes please,” Gwendoline said enthusiastically. The sooner she could understand the gossip in German the better.

Author:	Elle [ Thu Jul 13, 2006 2:51 pm ]
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sings "It has been updated! It has been updated! dances round the room to the mystification of yr 10 Thanks Fran!

Author:	KathrynW [ Thu Jul 13, 2006 2:55 pm ]
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joins in with Elle's song Thank you Fran

Author:	Aquabird [ Thu Jul 13, 2006 3:13 pm ]
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Wow, this is fantastic Fran!

Author:	Alison H [ Thu Jul 13, 2006 3:54 pm ]
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Glad this is back!