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Title: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 28th, 2003, 3:58pm The plot bunny has finally managed to get me to sit down and have a go at writing his story. I think I've just about got it going where I want it to. Anyway, here's Chapter One: “Ah, Bigglesworth!” The Air Commodore ushered his chief-of-staff into the office. “I want a word with you about a rather delicate matter.” “Of course, sir,” replied Biggles, his mind spanning the many sensitive political situations he and his team had operated in during their service in the Special Air Police. “There is no easy way of saying this, but the powers that be have decided that it’s time for your retirement. You’ve been holding this job for years and while you’ve have enjoyed no small degree of success, I think your recent cases have highlighted that you’re not as energetic and mentally sharp as you were in your salad days. However much the tales might be twisted in your books, the last few assignments have depended very much on the younger members of the force and their agility, both mental and physical.” The colour drained from Biggles’ face. Although he was not a careerist or particularly ambitious, this job had been his life and a way of keeping the camaraderie and excitement from his days in the RAF going, as well as providing the sort of adventures that a desk-bound job was incapable of doing. “But sir, surely I can still do my job?” he responded, indignant at the suggestion he was incompetent. “I’m sorry, Bigglesworth. I believe you could continue for longer, but this decision comes from the very highest levels. There’s nothing I can do about it and believe me, I’ve tried, otherwise you would have been surplus to requirements long before this. However, an age limit has been imposed on the active section of the Air Police, over my head I hasten to add, and now you have a large, expertly trained team, there are no legitimate reasons left for me to argue for your continued employment.” “What happens now then? I’m too young to sit back and do nothing, and you know as well as I do that I’d go mad if I had to do that for the rest of my life.” “The only thing I can suggest is to go to the Careers Section; they are the people who are expert at finding employment for former officers from the regular police. The people in the upper echelons of the force seem determined to put age limits in place in many other active areas so there are no openings there that I could line up for you. Obviously, I will be delighted to provide excellent references and use my influence in any way possible, but beyond that, my hands are tied.” “I see, sir. That’s very fair of you.” Inwardly, Biggles’ head was in a spin. He was not the sort of person for planning about the future ever since the days when death hung over him like a shadow in the RFC and RAF and he had never envisaged his career being stopped so abruptly. He stood up and began to blunder unseeingly to the door. “My apologies, Bigglesworth.” “It’s all right sir,” he replied automatically, hoping it would be. The scene in his office afterwards was the hardest moment. "What did Raymond want, old thing?” Bertie asked nonchalantly. “He’s retiring me,” was Biggles’ crisp rejoinder. “What?!” came simultaneously from the other occupants of the room. “He’s retiring me from active service. Apparently I’m past the upper age limit set by those desk-flying bods who have no idea what we do and believe it’s their job to interfere in what doesn’t concern them,” responded Biggles bitterly. “But they can’t do that! Hasn’t Raymond tried to stop them?” Ginger said in disbelief. “Reading between the lines, Raymond has been putting them off for as long as he could. I’m not blaming him for what’s happening. Let’s face it chaps, I’m not wanted here any more and in a year or two, Algy will be surplus to requirements as well. I suppose our time’s been and gone.” “Didn’t Raymond propose anything instead?” inquired Algy, worried about his own future as well as that of his closest friend. “I don’t want to be moved to a desk job which the chief could have arranged for me. I think he knew I wouldn’t accept even if he offered it to me. There aren’t many other things I’d rather not do to see out my days. He did suggest I pop along to the careers people in case they have any ideas. I certainly hope they do since the last time I was in this situation was just after Algy and I were demobbed after the First World War. But I don’t think our solution then of becoming charter pilots and exploring the globe is going to be much assistance now. Not at my advanced age,” he finished with a rueful grin. Never one to put off unpleasant tasks, the following week saw Biggles being shown into a small room at the end of a long corridor in Scotland Yard. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 28th, 2003, 4:00pm “Good morning, Mr – er – Bigglesworth. I’m Mr Hargreaves.” The fresh-faced clerk greeted Biggles in the careers office. “Please, take a seat. Now, what area of work are you interested in?” “I don’t really know. Something active with variety in it. I couldn’t face working in an office. I don’t have a lot of qualifications though.” Mr Hargreaves intently studied the piece of paper in front of him. “I see you’ve been with the air section. Would you be interested in something in that line?” “Of course, if it was the right job. I’m afraid my age probably counts against me for most things and the drudgery of airline flying wouldn’t suit me at all.” “I see. I suspect in that case that it might well be difficult to find you anything in the aviation business. Do you have any other skills?” “Well, I speak French and German fluently, with a smattering of Spanish. Is that the sort of thing you mean?” floundered Biggles, feeling somewhat out of his depth after a career built on deeds rather than formal education. “Yes, precisely. That sort of thing widens the range of possibilities enormously. What about outside interests? Is there anything there that you could consider turning into a job?” “Not really. I’ve been interested in history since I was a kid but I suppose there aren’t many posts for which that would be a great help.” “You’d be surprised,” returned the clerk, jotting some notes onto a pad in front of him. “I’ll see what I can do and follow up some leads and get back to you if I find anything that looks like it might be suitable.” As a month passed Biggles grew more despondent. Each delivery of post to the Mount Street flat seemed to bring more letters of rejection. Though it was never stated explicitly, he felt keenly that each one reinforced his age and lack of qualifications, qualities that even the most glowing of references failed to compensate for. His expectations were no higher one day in early August when Ginger, tunelessly whistling, indifferently distributed the postman’s offerings. The usual plethora of bills and adverts were sorted without words until he unexpectedly paused and then with a puzzled cry of “Switzerland?” deposited the final packet, a bulky envelope, in front of Biggles. An observant bystander would have noticed Biggles flushed slightly when Ginger distributed the last item of mail. The others were all too intrigued by the postmark to do more than huddle round as the recipient casually slit it open. “The Chalet School?” gasped an incredulous Algy. “What on earth are they writing to you for? We haven’t heard from them in ages; not since we tracked down that millionaire’s daughter who was kidnapped from them! And every job we’ve done for them has come through Raymond, anyway.” “Angelica Granville,” smiled Biggles, whose flypaper memory ensured he still remembered the slightest details of the many cases they had tackled over the years. “Yes, I remember her,” mused Bertie, who had been rather smitten with the eighteen year old beauty. “Lovely girl.” “That doesn’t answer the question!” interjected an impatient Ginger. “Why are they writing to you?” Biggles rapidly scanned the first sheet of paper. “They are offering me a job, teaching mainly History but also some French to the Junior forms. I gathered from the interview that they have recently grown due to nearby boarding school closing because the Head was involved in a rather unfortunate skiing accident and will never walk again. Insurance premiums rocketed and the school just couldn’t afford them. That means they need to take on more staff to cope with the influx.” “But why you?” “How did you find out about it?” “But look here, old chap, you’ve never taught in your whole bally life!” Biggles grinned. “One at a time! Hargreaves at the Careers Section suggested it since nothing else seemed to be leading anywhere and I didn’t like to say no when he’s trying so hard to find me something. As for why me, Miss Annersley – you remember her? – seemed keen to have a male member of staff given the security issues they had with the American girl.” “That still doesn’t tell us why she chose to offer the vacancy to someone with no teaching experience or a degree when there must have been plenty of people who were much more suited,” argued Ginger. “My good fellow, I can’t fathom the way women’s minds work,” responded Biggles. “All I can say is that the head of history interviewed me and seemed satisfied that I knew what I was talking about. As you know, I’m a supporter of reasoning from cause to effect, which is their preferred method and I’m well practised in the art of it from my work in the Air Police.” “I suppose you do always have your head in a history book when you can,” conceded Algy. “But even so!” “I know, laddie. I’m as surprised as you are. My guess is that there weren’t too many male applicants that were willing to work in an all-female environment for half the year. I’m not sure I do either for that matter, especially if the girls are the hysterical type that I imagine they are at that sort of establishment.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 28th, 2003, 4:04pm A knock at the door interrupted the discussion and Mrs Symes, their faithful housekeeper, came in, firmly guiding a red-faced child in with her. “Good morning gentlemen. This is my granddaughter, Louisa. You remember I asked if she could meet you after reading all about you.” “Of course. Come on in!” The quartet rapidly made the girl feel at home and over a plate of biscuits and cups of tea, they did their best to answer her questions about what she had read, as well as finding out about her other interests. Books seemed to figure highly in her life, a fact which Biggles was appreciative of since he was also a voracious reader. “So what other books are you into? I can’t believe a girl like you only reads about aircraft!” “Oh, all sorts,” replied Louisa, or Louie as they had swiftly been instructed to call her. “I love the William books and L.M. Montgomery’s. But my favourites at the moment are the Chalet Schools. It’s lovely to have a school series where there are so many to read!” Louie could be forgiven for wondering why her apparently innocent statement resulted in four shocked faces. Despite helping the school out on a number of occasions, they hadn’t realised that books were written about it in the same way that they had a series devoted to themselves. “They’re set in Switzerland, aren’t they?” spluttered Algy. “The later ones are,” confirmed Louie. “The school was originally started in Austria, at Briesau, but after the Anschluss it had to be moved. That’s in my favourite one, ‘The Chalet School in Exile’. They began again in Guernsey but when the war started getting closer, they relocated to Howells in Armifordshire. But then the drains in the house they had there went wrong so they switched to St Briavel’s, the Welsh island. Later they moved back to the Alps, only to the Bernese Oberland this time.” “Really? That sounds fascinating,” replied Biggles with real enthusiasm in his voice. “I don’t suppose I could borrow a couple, could I?” The girl saw nothing unusual in the request and demanded to know which titles he wanted, adding that ‘Exile’ had to be among them. Biggles suggested that a few later ones would be fine and Louie was delighted that one of her heroes wanted to read her books. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 28th, 2003, 4:05pm The others returned from the Yard that evening to find Biggles stuck into ‘The New Chalet School’ with a large pile of other titles stacked on the coffee table. He looked up as they entered and grinned at their shocked faces. “Louie and I have been having a readathon this afternoon,” he explained. “She’s lent me the entire series! I’m actually quite enjoying these, though you wouldn’t think Girls’ Own would be my sort of genre. There’s plenty to go around. Ginger, you might like to begin with ‘Redheads at the Chalet School’ and you two can take your pick of the rest. Just be careful with them. Apparently they’re on the valuable side, being mainly first edition hardbacks with dustjackets.” “Oh, come off it!” retorted Bertie, shaking his head in disbelief. “What sort of a lunatic pays through the nose for some trashy girls’ book?” “I don’t know, but there certainly are some strange people out there. But they’re not half bad. Why don’t you read one before you’re so judgemental about them?” With that final comment, he buried himself into his own choice, leaving the others to stare at each other before doing as he suggested. Bertie reluctantly went for ‘Shocks for the Chalet School’ while Algy plumped for Louie’s favourite, ‘The Chalet School in Exile’. Silence reigned for some time before Algy exploded, “She’s written us out! She’s completely ignored the fact that we rescued the school from the Tyrol and made up some cock-and-bull story about an escape through the mountains!” “She can’t have! Surely that episode was exciting enough without her altering it! It certainly wasn’t plain sailing from what you told me about it.” Ginger shared Algy’s indignation. “I think I can explain,” replied Biggles calmly. “Before Louie came back, I scanned through the contract they sent me and there is a clause saying that Elinor M. Brent-Dyer has the right to alter any details about you or your activities on the grounds of artistic licence. Much the same as Capt. W.E. Johns does for us, I suppose.” “But even so! It’s a bit off!” “Yes, but remember that if the first dozen or so books are anything to go by, Joey Bettany has to be the centre of attention so I presume we stole her thunder somewhat.” “Too true,” groaned Algy. “In this one, she’s already tagged along to staff meetings, school outings, and then got engaged to a Dr Maynard!” “Then, if she’s now Joey Maynard, she’s still in the limelight in this one despite being on the other side of the bally world!” exclaimed Bertie. “Her seventh and eighth children have just being born, twins as well!” “Well, she’s up to eleven by this stage,” commented Ginger. “But isn’t she the woman who lives next door to the school in real life? Yet she doesn’t have triplets!” He glanced down at the book to check the names. “I thought Margot was almost a year younger than Len and Con! Or she was when Mrs Maynard insisted on dragging us off to be introduced to the whole clan after the Granville case. They looked so similar that I asked if they were or not and they laughed and said ‘No, not in real life!’ which seemed strange but I didn’t think any more of it.” Biggles laughed. “More artistic licence! Goodness knows what this Elinor Brent-Dyer will do to me!” “But I thought you had serious reservations about taking the job,” said Algy. “Oh, I did, but reading these has changed my view of this particular girls’ school, at any rate. They seem to be encouraged to be anything but the spineless jellyfish I was expecting. Given nothing else has turned up and I need to earn my daily crust somehow, I’m going to say yes.” “Won’t it be rather dull?” “Even assuming the author has done her worst at twisting events, I don’t think there’s much chance of me being bored. Besides, it’ll be a nice change not to have to go everywhere with my automatic on the off chance that I’m going to be caught up in a gunfight. I never did like shooting people much.” With that, he reached out for the contract and signed it with a flourish before placing it in an envelope, ready to be sent back to Switzerland. Settling himself more comfortably into his particular armchair, he became lost in the doings of another quartet, so different from his own friends. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Sep 28th, 2003, 4:08pm *giggling* more please Rebecca! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Sep 28th, 2003, 4:12pm [quote author=Rebecca link=board=drabble;num=1064761091;start=0#1 date=09/28/03 at 16:00:44especially if the girls are the hysterical type that I imagine they are at that sort of establishment.”[/quote] Hysterical? He's in for a surprise then. This looks interesting - but can you tell me how old he would be please? *Apologetically admitting that I've never read a Biggles book in my life. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lesley on Sep 28th, 2003, 4:34pm I like this - appeals to my warped sense of humour - MORE!!!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 28th, 2003, 5:08pm More please, this is great! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Sep 28th, 2003, 5:18pm I've never read a Biggles book in my life, but I'm really enjoying this. Would love to see some more! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Marianne on Sep 28th, 2003, 7:56pm LOL! ;Dhttp://URL |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 28th, 2003, 9:34pm I was hoping Biggles' age wasn't going to be mentioned, mainly because it's set about 6 years after Prefects so early 1960s (partly so I don't have to bother about anything else happening in the books and can just invent forms rather than trying too hard to work out who was where). However, I've set Biggles to be in his early 50s although by the dates given in 'Biggles learns to fly', he was born in 1898 or 1899. But if he was his actual age, so to speak, he would just become a pensioner so I've knocked about a decade off. I'm justifying that to myself by saying he was a pilot in WW2 which wouldn't work if he was the age given by Capt. W.E. Johns so I'm working on him being about 30 at the start of WW2 so he could get away with flying operationally. But it'll probably come out later that he was around in WW1 as well (the plot bunny is nodding violently) so just ignore dates like that. After all, since Capt W.E. Johns and EBD weren't consistent, I don't see why I should strain myself too much. ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Sep 29th, 2003, 12:00am Sorry - didn't mean to try and put you on the spot. I know how flexible EBD could be about ages, so I'm not asking for chronological accuracy - really I was just wondering at which age you saw him, I actually had the impression he was about 50 something and I would have hated to have got that fixed in my mind only to discover he was about 70! Even though I've never read any Biggles I'm really enjoying this, please continue.... |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 29th, 2003, 12:38am No trouble - I had the problem myself of trying to reconcile ages and it took me a while to figure out what I was going to do about them. And apologises for when Chapter 2 gets posted tomorrow. I'm well aware the publishing dates don't tally either! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Kathryn on Sep 29th, 2003, 12:59am More please. You'd better start soon or the chant will begin ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Sep 29th, 2003, 12:13pm I did read a few Biggles years ago. This is great. More soon please. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by COS on Sep 29th, 2003, 12:37pm The first few Biggles titles are set in WW1 - I took a big pile of them into hospital with me earlier this year. It proved a talking point with hospital staff :) Caroline |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 29th, 2003, 1:24pm *Righto, here's Chapter Two.* Biggles looked hopefully around the station platform for the stranger he was expecting to meet. The authorities had decided it was inappropriate for him to act as an escort to the returning pupils so he was undertaking the long journey to the Görnetz Platz with a doctor from the sanatorium established close to the school. There was no sign yet of Dr Mark Corristone, the young medic who had been back to his homeland for his great-aunt’s funeral. Keeping his eyes open for a dark, good-looking man in his early thirties, Biggles paced the platform impatiently. Truth to tell, he was rather apprehensive about the trip since it had been so long since he had been forced to rely on public transport and especially trains. Ideally, he would have flown over but his salary was hardly accommodating of such luxuries as a private aircraft and, like many pilots, he detested being flown by someone he didn’t know. Sadly, he reflected, the days were long gone when all of BOAC’s pilots were old wartime acquaintances of his. His rather depressed line of thinking was interrupted by a person matching the description of Dr Corristone approaching him. Mentally berating himself for his careless surveillance which, he reminded himself, could have resulted in his death during the wars, he noted the medic was dressed as predicted even down to the rather ridiculous sprig of heather fastened to the lapel of his sports jacket. “Morning! You must be Bigglesworth,” greeted the doctor in a friendly voice. “I’m Corristone, but please, call me Mark. This jaunt’s too long to stand on ceremony for!” Warming to his companion, Biggles replied in like. “That’s right, l’m Bigglesworth, Biggles for short.” Then seeing a familiar question in Corristone’s eyes, “Before you ask, yes, I am the pilot.” “Really? I had no idea it was you, so to speak. It’s an unusual name, but I assumed you were still flying somewhere. I certainly didn’t expect you to be teaching at the Chalet School.” “It’s a long story,” responded Biggles, trying to make light of what was still a sore subject for him. “I’ve retired from active service and needed to keep my grey matter ticking over somehow. Teaching seemed as good a job as any, and judging by the books I think there’ll be enough excitement for me here.” “Oh, you haven’t read the books, have you?” groaned Mark. “Don’t get me onto – “ At that point, he was halted by the train noisily pulling into the station. “I’ll tell you later,” he continued. “Let’s find our seats first and get settled.” The pair boarded the boat train and in what seemed like no time found themselves at the Gare de l’Est station in Paris, having taken the ferry across the English Channel to Boulogne before travelling by train once more to the capital of France. There they planned to take the Paris-Wien express to Basle and then catch a connection to Interlaken, the nearest mainline station to the Platz. Another doctor from the San would be there to meet them and drive the duo to their final destination. “Simple, isn’t it?” chuckled Mark as he outlined the route. “Never mind. I’d rather fly and I suppose you would too, but I guess I’m used to this way. Nothing to it!” They swiftly located their compartment within their next train and slung their cases onto the luggage racks provided before settling themselves down for the long journey. Mark delved into his bag and produced a sheaf of magazines as well as a large box of sweets. “I like to be prepared!” he grinned. “We don’t get into Basle until 6 a.m. tomorrow so there’s a fair amount of time to kill. Help yourself to the chocolates.” Biggles, more used to concentrating on his instrument panel and the horizon on long trips, stood up and searched in his bag for the latest issue of ‘Flight’ and several other publications of a similar nature. “I’ve got these to get through first. I like to keep myself up to date with what’s going on in the aviation world.” With that, he helped himself to a strawberry crème and buried himself in the magazine. Mark did likewise and silence fell over the compartment as the train sped through the French countryside. A silence that continued until Biggles had finished a couple of his magazines and felt he had to address the comment that had been nagging him since boarding the boat train in England. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 29th, 2003, 1:26pm “Why did you groan when I mentioned the Chalet School books?” he asked curiously. “Because of the way EBD treats me in them. You don’t recognise my name from them, do you?” “I don’t think so, though I’ve only read them once.” “She decided to rename me ‘Reg Entwistle’, to make my name more common and working-class, apparently. I hear that several fans dislike me because of that.” Biggles thought back to Louie’s discourse on Reg. “I don’t think that was the main thing that people have against you. It was more the fact that you asked a girl’s parents if you could speak to her in a few years - wasn’t she only sixteen then? – and then stalked her until she was practically forced into becoming engaged to you! The name thing was a secondary issue because no one liked you after your behaviour.” Mark blushed wildly. “I’ve heard several rants on the subject, but that’s one of the bluntest. Actually, I didn’t speak to Len’s parents until she was eighteen but they told me that they’d rather she went to university and met other men before making a decision like that. They were afraid that she would say yes and then become trapped in an engagement that she hated. Much as I disliked seeing her go to another country and away from me, I left the matter there for the time being. I certainly didn’t want to force her to marry me because she had only met a few other men at the time and find I wasn’t the one for her; it had to be because her love was genuine and nothing else. So we carried on as friends in all her vacations and didn’t get engaged until the summer after she graduated. Then a lot of the happenings in ‘Prefects’ actually occurred when she came back to teach at the school. We were already engaged when I had that accident with my back and it just made the pair of us more determined to get married, which we did about a year ago. Len would have come with me to the funeral but her youngest sister is very ill at the moment and she wanted to be there for her family. Incidentally, you should see a lot of her when school begins as she teaches modern languages there.” “I see.” Biggles was struggling to come to terms with the new state of affairs. It was difficult to believe that the friendly man opposite him that he had taken a liking to was in fact one of the most maligned characters of the entire series. While pursuing this train of thought, he realised Mark was glancing at him anxiously. “You do believe me, don’t you?” he asked apprehensively. “Some people just think I’m making the whole EBD thing up, trying to change the past into something more appealing. Honestly, I’m not that sort of person.” As Biggles nodded, he added, “Of course, I was treated wonderfully compared to Margot. Did you know those three aren’t really triplets at all? Len and Con are about a year older than Margot and she’s always resented the fact that they were much closer to each other while she was a singleton and felt lonely as a result. That’s partly why she had more of a problem with her temper and it was always a way of getting attention in such a large family. Of course, when she went off to Canada with Lady Russell and her family, it created another split and she thought the others were loved more than she was. That’s why Margot had a close friendship with Emerence Hope whereas the other two didn’t branch out so much until they were several years older. I think she resented her entire family at that stage in her life and wanted to get away from the Maynard tag, especially with Len and Con being so bright and successful.” “That hardly excuses the whole bribery issue with – “ “Ted? Well, no, but Margot was jealous that the twins had each other and it felt like they only gave her time on their terms and not hers. A lot of hurt from over the years came out then.” “OK, but what about hurling the bookend at,” he paused, “Betty, wasn’t it? I mean not only has she bribed another girl, no matter what the reasons were, but she’s almost brained a fellow pupil! Surely any other girl would have been expelled for that?” To his surprise, Mark collapsed in helpless laughter. Struggling for breath, he attempted to answer Biggles’ question. “Oh, that was one of EBD’s great master strokes. In fact, although the nearest object to Margot was the bookend, she snatched up her pillow and the squabble descended into a pillow fight! The two were at it tooth and nail and as one pillow burst, they grabbed another and continued until there wasn’t an intact one left in the dorm. Meanwhile, Len had gone to find Matey after attempting to separate them and when they arrived at the scene, the entire floor was coated in feathers and the air was so like a snowstorm that the lot of them were all sneezing within seconds of entering! The two were condemned to collecting the feathers, stuffing them in the pillows and stitching them back together, all in their spare time, not to mention lectures that had never been bettered from both Matey and Miss Annersley!” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 29th, 2003, 1:29pm *Grr. Silly 'post is too long' messages!* “Right.” Biggles wondered what else would be different when he reached the school and began teaching. So much seemed different from the books he had read that it hardly seemed like the same establishment. Perhaps the girls actually were the hysterical sentimental idiots he had first imagined. He began to wish that he had taken more notice of them on the brief occasions he had been in contact with them in connection with his occupation. However, despite Mark’s openness about some aspects, it was hardly the sort of question you could address to someone who to all intents and purposes was really a stranger. The train continued its long trip south into the night with its passengers sleeping peacefully on the bunks provided in the compartments. The train gradually started climbing into the more hilly regions on its route and small towns flashed by, all alike in the dark. The driver spotted headlights approaching a level crossing some miles past Chaumont which seemed to speed up rather than slow down as they approached the junction. Instinctively he slammed the brakes on, knowing that if the car was caught by the train, there was nothing he could do about it. There was no hope of his vehicle stopping in time. He watched helplessly as the train, still moving rapidly, struck the vehicle on the side. Sparks flew into the air as the car was pushed along for some distance by the train, badly crushing the side of it, before it was carelessly tossed aside and both vehicles ground to a halt. The noise and ceasing of motion woke several of the passengers, Mark and Biggles included. Quickly flinging on clothes, and with Mark only pausing to grab his small medical case, they dashed out of the compartment to find the cause of the problem, knowing only a serious incident would have resulted in such a disturbance. They heard voices coming from the front of the train so leapt down to the ground and sprinted to the engine. There the sight before their eyes made them recoil in horror though both were accustomed to dealing with grim fatalities in their daily life. It was Biggles, with his pilot’s fear of fire, who noticed the thin wisp of smoke rising from what remained of the engine, desperately close to the petrol dripping from the leaking tank. “Quick! Get them out! It’s going to explode in a minute!” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 29th, 2003, 1:32pm The train crew, though unable to understand his words, made no mistake about the urgency in his voice and under the direction of Mark they swiftly drew out the first inert body from the less affected side of the car. Peering into the wreckage, Biggles saw what looked like another person, horrifically mangled and deep in the heart of the crash. Surely no one could have survived the massive forces acting on this side of the car. About to turn away to safety, he saw the chest rise fractionally. With his somewhat diminished lightning-quick reactions, he dived into the twisted metal, attempting to disentangle the human within. Mark followed instantly and the two, almost suffocating in the petrol-soaked air, wrenched his legs free from the pedals and then tried to draw the person out between them. Exclamations in French reminded them of the danger they were in but it was only as they exited the car that the petrol caught fire. A huge fireball burst into the air, accompanied by a colossal explosion. The wall of air that hit them was so violent that it flung them over backwards and, as they discovered afterwards, completely removed their eyebrows and singed their front hair, luckily without causing any burns to the skin though at the time they were unaware of any pain. Breathless, they stumbled back to their feet with severely blackened faces and Mark instinctively turned to the former occupants of the car. Both casualties were in a bad state though the passenger who had suffered less from the brunt of the collision had a healthy pulse and no apparent internal bleeding. It was the driver who was critically ill. Mark doubted that he would survive even with the best medical attention from the start, let alone in a remote area of France where he only had the most basic of equipment. He did all he could while they awaited the ambulance that one of the crew had been sent to summon, but the fragile grip on life that the driver had slowly drifted away until his body grew cold to the touch. Mercifully his end had been without pain thanks to an injection administered by Mark but it cast a solemn spell on the group now sheltering in a carriage, out of the cold. At length the ambulance and firemen arrived and the passenger, his condition stabilised, was swiftly bundled up and placed in the emergency vehicle which tore off for the nearest hospital. The firemen soon extinguished the flaming car and departed from the scene, leaving the train driver to sadly examine the damage to the engine which he was unable to do before due to the proximity of the fire. He promptly declared that it was unsafe to continue due to the state of the engine and sent word to the nearest station, via another crew member, that the train could not make further progress. With that, Biggles and Mark promptly retired to their bunks, exhausted after their unexpected adventure. They knew it would be some time before another engine arrived and even longer before they reached Basle. Indeed, the sun was shining at its full strength when the train finally arrived at their destination. After a relatively hassle-free encounter with Customs, they made for the bathrooms for a quick wash to remove the traces of their adventure during the night and the dirt from what Mark termed “the filthy soft coal they use on the Continent” and emerged looking rather more respectable. Mark found a telephone to inform the San that they would be somewhat later than expected and the pair set off on the next leg of their trip to Interlaken where they would be glad to be free from the railways for the foreseeable future. Both were more shaken by the incident than they cared to admit, realising that it could easily have been so much worse. Instinctively they tried to focus their minds on other matters and forget about the whole experience. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Sep 29th, 2003, 1:58pm Thank you Rebecca ;D *enjoying this hugely despite never having read any "Biggles"* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rach on Sep 29th, 2003, 1:59pm This is fantastic, Rebecca! :) I love what you've done to Reg.... or should I say what you've done for Reg - renaming him makes a worryingly large difference to his character (I'm not really that superficial, am I?) More, please! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Toria on Sep 29th, 2003, 4:52pm This is brilliant! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 29th, 2003, 4:59pm MORE pretty please! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Sep 29th, 2003, 5:48pm Love the traditional train incident. Brilliant treatment of Reg, and the school books. Chanting starting now! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:14am Oooh I am really enjoying this - love the 'new' Reg (though I'm a little bit dubious about the sprig of heather), but whatever did Margot do to upset EBD? She must have done something to merit such treatment in the books! Maybe it we will learn that she didn't really become a nun? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:41am Oooh yes, definitely more. You haven't been influenced by the Real CS by any chance have you? ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:54am Chapter 3 should be ready for tomorrow (or later today given it's past midnight now). As for being influenced by the Real CS, this idea was buzzing around my head before that - I'd been talking this over with C_Rachel who was tickled that RCS sprung up at about the same time. Great minds and all that. Can't see mine heading in the same direction somehow! I hadn't considered what Margot must have done - maybe I can work something in later. *chews it over whilst wishing that Division One football highlights weren't on at such unsociable hours otherwise I'd be happily curled up in bed by now.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:16pm Chapter Three: It was much later than anticipated that Biggles and Mark arrived at the Platz. Dr Rosomon who had collected them from the station first dropped Biggles off at the school before continuing to the chalet nearby where Mark and Len lived. As Biggles trudged down the drive, he keenly felt the difference between the temperature on the Platz and that in Laurie Rosomon’s spacious convertible which had zoomed along the dusty roads, streaming the refreshing wind in their faces. He espied the form of Rosalie Dene, the school secretary, was comfortably reclining in a deckchair outside the school, half dozing in the heat of the Central European summer. Recognising her from one of his cases involving the school, he was loath to disturb her but the crunch of his feet on the gravel saved any awkwardness for her head lifted to locate the source of the noise. Recognition was instantaneous. “Mr Bigglesworth! What a pleasant surprise! I hear from Miss Annersley that you were badly delayed by an accident with the train so you must be exhausted by now. One never sleeps so well on the trains, anyhow, so after a disturbed night you must be more than ready to find a bed.” ”Yes, I am rather,” he replied, responding to her friendly manner. His team had been more than thankful for her presence in a job they had been called in to investigate. Several English-based schools in Switzerland had been burgled and the registers stolen. Rosalie herself had been woken one night by noises in the office. Arming herself with a convenient poker, she had interrupted a gang of intruders who had fled rapidly as she lashed out violently with the metal rod. Their haste had caused them to leave a few flakes of ash on the floor which, according to closer analysis from the experts at Scotland Yard, proved to come from a rare brand of Turkish cigarettes, only available from a handful of sources in Europe. This had directly led to the convictions of a number of desperate criminals who had stolen the registers in order to try to locate the daughter of an associate of theirs who had double-crossed them. The aim was then to use her to lead them to the man they wanted. All this flashed through his mind in an instant, his mind dwelling on her remarkable courage and initiative. “Not many women would dare to confront a gang like that, unaided and without a firearm,” he mused, unaware of the strict lecture the secretary had had to endure from the Head on the subject of her foolhardiness and lack of thought. “The rest of the mistresses are here already, of course,” Rosalie continued. “Some will go back to escort the girls out but the rest of us will be hard at work here, preparing for the term ahead. We’ve just been waiting for you to come before having the Staff meeting to arrange what needs doing and who needs a hand.” “I’m sorry if I’ve held things up – “ interrupted Biggles apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make it sound like it was your fault. If something can go wrong somewhere, it normally does with this school!” Rosalie wound up with a sound suspiciously close to a titter. Biggles frowned. After all, there hadn’t really been anything funny about what she had just said. His mind floated back to the books and he realised that, with hindsight, there had been an awful lot of laughing about things that hardly seemed to merit the descriptions of the hysteria experienced by the spectators. His initial stereotype of giggling girls lodged itself firmly into his consciousness and refused to be subdued with calming thoughts of artistic licence. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:17pm She led him up a flight of stairs and showed him into a small but adequate room. “This is your humble abode. I hope it’s all right for you. There are a few other mistresses on the corridor but it’s well away from the girls’ dorms.” Biggles glanced critically at the flower-smattered bedcover; he couldn’t recognise the type but they seemed to appear everywhere from the bedside rug to the cushions on the chairs to the prettily tied-back curtains. The overall effect was quite overpowering and he strode to the window to relieve his vision. There he completely forgot about the room and gasped aloud at the scene before him. Rosalie came to stand next to him as he stood in awe at the sight of row after row of snow-capped mountains rising majestically from the plains. “Something special, isn’t it?” she whispered in tones which were almost reverent in their intensity. “I’ve seen it countless times before but it never fails to amaze me. Our God is a truly magnificent creator. It’s so easy to feel close to Him surrounded by views like this.” Biggles glanced down in surprise at the fair-haired woman. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, probably some gushing remark that completely ruined the effect, it hadn’t been that. Truth to tell, she had actually enhanced it for him. He looked back through the glass. “Yes, you’re right. It truly is sublime,” he murmured softly. Neither of them liked to break the silence and it was only the arrival of Matron that forced them to look away, guilty at the length of time that had passed. “Oh, here you are, Rosalie. And you must be Mr Bigglesworth. I’ll speak to you later about how I like the beds to be made and what happens with laundry and mending and so on. Meanwhile, have you forgotten that the staff meeting was due to start ten minutes ago?” The two members of staff turned to each other and flushed as Matron left the room. “I’m sorry,” began Biggles. “I’m sure you’ve seen that view many times before, and I’ve made us both late.” “No, my fault!” laughed Rosalie. “How were you to know that there was a meeting now? I should have checked my watch. Anyway, we seem to be doing a lot of apologising to each other and unless you especially want extend that to the rest of the Staff, I suggest we make for the Staff room, pronto!” “Well, you know the way. Lead on,” grinned Biggles, though inwardly he was nervous about meeting the others for the first time. How would they respond to a male presence on the staff actually living in the school? A sea of faces greeted the pair as they entered, Rosalie taking her seat next to the Heads to make notes and Biggles slinking into a vacant chair at the foot of the table, acutely aware that the dirt and blood from the previous night’s happenings were still painfully obvious on his shirt. Although they both murmured an apology to the others, Miss Annersley merely smiled and began the meeting, settling her elegant pince-nez on her nose before referring to the sheet of paper in front of her. “Firstly I would like to welcome our two new members of Staff, Fräulein von Trappen who will teach Junior German and Mr Bigglesworth who will be responsible for Junior History.” “Please, I prefer that you would call me Gretl,” said the new German teacher shyly. “Of course. Mr Bigglesworth, would you prefer us to use your Christian name?” Biggles hesitated. It had been years since he had last been referred to as ‘James’, before he went to boarding school as a youngster of fourteen in fact. “My friends call me Biggles,” he responded. Miss Annersley exchanged glances with Miss Wilson. This wasn’t something she had been expecting. Nevertheless, if that was what he wanted, she could hardly force him to answer to another name. “Very well, Biggles it is. Now, there are plenty of duties for you all to do.” She smiled as groans arose from all corners of the room. “Those of you on escort duty have already being primed, I know. As for the rest of you, I know Rosalie wants two people to help unpack the stationary and Peggy needs someone to help her set up the gym. Biggles, Gaudenz, the handyman needs your assistance with a job outside, but from those of you left, are there any volunteers to aid with those jobs?” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:18pm Several mistresses cried off, citing their own workload while a few others claimed they also needed others to help out. To Biggles’ astonishment, the tasks were soon sorted out amiably and with the minimum of disagreements. A discussion on the new girls arriving that term followed, a surprising number of whom seemed to have ill relatives coming to receive treatment at the Görnetz Sanatorium and were thought to be at risk due to hereditary weakness. There was also a large influx from St Katherine’s, the nearby school that had been forced to close down, the majority of whom were English. Special duties were then distributed among the Staff and Biggles found himself allocated to helping the younger girls with their woodwork and other pursuits of a similar nature. As Miss Annersley commented, during the winter months it was sometimes impossible for the usual master to come and take the classes and by that stage of the term the girls would just be in need of supervision and occasional snippets of advice. This saw the end of the meeting and the Heads retired, leaving the Staff to discuss the arrangements over Kaffee und Kuchen which had been brought up by the maids. Matron paused only to speak to Biggles before following them. “Will you please come to my room after finishing your meal? There are several things that I need to speak to you about. One of the mistresses will show you the way.” Biggles nodded, feeling that he didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter. He swiftly drank his coffee, noticing it tasted rather sickly and flowery. “Just like nectar,” he noted mentally as he vowed to avoid it as much as possible in the future. Accosting the nearest mistress, a slim, pleasant faced young woman with shining brown hair and eyes, he asked her to accompany him to Matron’s room. “I’m afraid I don’t know the way yet,” he added by means of an apology. “Of course,” she replied, taking in his filthy clothing with a quick glance. “I’m Kathie Ferrars by the way. What does Matron want with you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Blushing as he felt her eyes rest on the assorted stains adorning his outfit, he replied, “I’m not sure. She did mention something about explaining how the laundry and mending systems work in this place, and how to make beds. By the way, I don’t normally look such a sight. There was a bad accident on the train I was on last night and I haven’t had a chance to change yet.” “Oh no! I am sorry. Was anyone seriously hurt?” “The driver of a car which crashed into the train was killed. His passenger was injured but not nearly as gravely. Mark said that he ought to live.” “Was that Mark Corristone? I didn’t realise he’d been over to England this summer.” “That’s right. I believe his great-aunt died and he was attending the funeral.” “Poor Mark. They were so close. He lived with her until he came out to Switzerland, ever since he was a boy,” she added as an explanation. “She was his last surviving relative and his last link with England. But didn’t Len go with him?” “Mark said that she was staying to be with her family because her youngest sister was ill. Otherwise I suppose she would have done.” “That’s a shame. I didn’t realise Phil, that’s her sister, had had a relapse. She was diagnosed with cancer last year and has been struggling against it, but she’s so weak. She had several serious diseases when she was younger and never really recovered, certainly not to what she was before they came.” Kathie’s voice broke with emotion. “The poor thing’s still only eight and has been through so much already.” Biggles was unsure what to say in response. Thankfully, as far as he was concerned, at that moment they reached Matron’s door and after thanking Kathie for her assistance, he knocked heavily and entered on her command. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:19pm Matron turned around as he entered, her uniform crackling with starch. “Ah, Mr Bigglesworth. I want to speak to you about bed making.” “Biggles, actually,” he replied, before catching a look in her eye and subsiding. “Are you able to make a bed?” she queried. “Of course!” he responded, indignant that she was questioning him about the subject. She pointed at a beautifully made example in the corner. “Then please strip that down and make it again.” Staring at her and realising that she was deadly serious, he set about his task. Sheets and blankets were piled onto the back of a chair and he looked up for her approval. “You’ve forgotten to hump the mattress in the middle. It allows the air to flow around it.” Biggles rapidly remedied his mistake and, at a sign, began to remake it. Almost immediately he was stopped by Matron’s voice. “Hospital corners, please!” The blank look she received in turn confirmed her suspicions that her intervention had been necessary. She deftly demonstrated and insisted that her pupil should practise until he could make a bed with equally sharp creases. Biggles was scarlet by this point. In all his years, he had found tucking the sheets under any old how was perfectly adequate and there was no need for this regimental nonsense. Worse was to come. “Can you sew and darn?” was Matey’s next question. “All Staff do their own mending without exception and that rule applies to you too.” As Biggles shook his head, she tried again. “What about buttonholes, or even a simple running stitch?” Scraping the bottom of the barrel, she was reduced to asking, “Have you ever threaded a needle?” Miserably Biggles admitted that even this elementary feat was beyond his skill. He was beginning to regret ever entering Matron’s presence. “Very well. We might as well commence at the start. You do have a work basket, don’t you? I’m sure Miss Dene would have mentioned in the paperwork sent to you that one was essential.” By this stage Biggles felt that Matron would not want to hear his excuses about thinking that that didn’t apply to him so slowly shook his head again. Matron looked aghast. “I must ask one of the mistresses on escort duty to buy one for you in Interlaken on the way to Paris. There is no time for you to go there and I hardly think that you would know what to purchase.” “No, I wouldn’t,” agreed Biggles. “Meanwhile, I had better give you a lesson in basic mending. I don’t know how you have survived so long without being able to sew even the simplest of things.” She produced a needle and cotton and set Biggles to work on threading the needle while her own flew through the sheet hem she was busy with. Three minutes later, Biggles looked up triumphantly and showed her the needle sliding from one end of the cotton to the other. Matron demonstrated a number of simple stitches and how to start after frowning at the large knot Biggles had tied in the end. With that, he was set the task of completing lines of even stitches of several types before he was allowed to go. “We’ll tackle darning another time,” decided Matron after noticing that an hour and a half had disappeared when her pupil handed over his work for her approval. “That’s not too bad for a first attempt, Mr Bigglesworth, but I think it would be best if you let me inspect any mending you have after you’ve worked at it. It may need redoing if it is not to spoil the garment.” “I think you may well be right,” Biggles conceded, ruefully surveying his handiwork. “It will improve with time,” encouraged Matron, her tones becoming friendly as her supremacy was established in this area at any rate. Secretly she had been upset by the idea of having a master living in the school and resented the fact that her attempts at fighting burglars seemed to have been forgotten with his arrival. At that point Matron announced it would soon be time for Abendessen and reminded Biggles that it would be polite for him to change before the meal given the state of his current outfit. “Of course,” replied Biggles, hoping he could find the way back to his room but relieved that his ordeal was over. “I’ll see you soon then.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 30th, 2003, 12:54pm Rebecca, this is brilliant! That last scene is just wonderful!! *weeping with laughter at Matey and Biggles* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by crashbb on Sep 30th, 2003, 1:04pm I loved the scene with Biggles and Matey!!! More Please. Chelsea *who supposes it was too much to hope that the endless sewing and Matey's attitude was artistic liscence* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Sep 30th, 2003, 3:00pm on 09/30/03 at 12:17:26, Rebecca wrote:
:o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o Miss Annersley needs glasses!!! More please Rebecca! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 30th, 2003, 3:22pm Cumbrian_Rachel, as Rebecca's sister, it is your responsibility to make sure she's writing! It's your duty to nag her!! We're all relying on you! ;) ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Jennie on Sep 30th, 2003, 3:28pm This is hilarious! Typical of Matey to treat him as if he were an incompetent Junior. ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Sep 30th, 2003, 3:42pm on 09/30/03 at 15:22:22, Vikki wrote:
I will do my best although I don't expect I'll be able to drag her away from Biggles the Movie which she is currently watching. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Sep 30th, 2003, 4:06pm Chortle chortle - can just imagime Matron peering at Biggles over her glasses. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 30th, 2003, 4:14pm on 09/30/03 at 15:42:50, Cumbrian_Rachel wrote:
You could always disable the TV! ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Sep 30th, 2003, 4:38pm I could... but I feel that would be a little harsh. I'm going to sit and wait patiently and hope that the next installment is all the better for Rebecca having watched some Biggles. I think she gets her writing inspiration somewhat later in the day than this anyway! There's something about afternoons that aren't good for working in (speaking from a maths point of view here although I don't see why it couldn't apply to story writing). *waiting patiently on the edge of her seat* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by NickiL on Sep 30th, 2003, 5:08pm Biggles and Matey! hehe!! ;D ;D This is good. More please ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 30th, 2003, 5:41pm *wonders if Rebecca's Biggles movie has finished yet?* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 6:55pm Yes, but I'm out this evening ;). Still, the next chapter OUGHT to be done by tomorrow morning/afternoon/when I get up. It's going to seem a bit random unless anyone's read a cracking but obscure book called 'Nellie's Memories' (written in 1868 by Rosa N. Carey) in which case it clearly has great significance. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Sep 30th, 2003, 7:14pm *giggling like several lunatics rolled into one* thank you Rebecca! *eagerly awaiting the next installment* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Sep 30th, 2003, 7:35pm *Pondering what exciting moment from Nellie's Memories Rebecca could possible be using. Could it be some stroking hair lovingly without words? Will someone refuse a potential suitor because they love their brother more? Will someone build a bridge with a rusty nail because people are scared of the stepping stones? Will there be a boating accident we only hear about in passing? Will there be an appropriate number of deaths (Nellie's Memories averages more than one death every 15 pages!)? So many unanswered questions! When will I know the answers!* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Sep 30th, 2003, 8:53pm *deeply intrigued and very curious to read 'Nellie's Memories'* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Sep 30th, 2003, 9:03pm The Matey and Biggles scene will now live forever in my memory. Wonderfully funny. Well done, and more please. I would love to see more of Nellies Memories, who wrote it, when, what storyline, is it available anywhere. I've never come across it. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by alicosten on Sep 30th, 2003, 9:24pm Hmmmm, Gretl von Trappen? I presume there will be much singing in the mountains and possily an interlude with a lowly goatherd. ( Consider me to now be yodelling expertly as all chalet members seem to be able to do!) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Sep 30th, 2003, 9:59pm Always thought it was a lonely goatherd myself, but subtitles do unspeakable things to movies on occassion! I loved that scene with Matey, but am having trouble visualising those elegant pince-nez.. ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Sep 30th, 2003, 10:35pm *or will it be the vicar's lunatic wife who kills their son and dies later in the book?* I haven't read Nellies Memories yet but I have every intention of doing so at some point - Rebecca having told me some edited highlights of it when she was reading it. It's an interesting sounding book from 1868 and I have to say, it sounds like they don't write books like they used to! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Sep 30th, 2003, 11:33pm Here's a random excerpt from Nellie's Memories. Hubert is the vicar, Harriette his lunatic wife and Amy the girl he really loved but who married Sir Ralph instead. Herwald is a friend of Nellie's who used to live with her family after his mother died and his father couldn't face him. 'So Hubert took her home to the gray old parsonage; and in the parsonage pew, where he had hoped to see the sweet girl face framed in its golden hair, sat Harriette Clive with her dusky face and luminous black eyes. 'Oh, woe for the day when he took her home as bride; before two months were over that awful temper displayed itself, which was the precursor of insanity. Almost before the honeymoon was out he had seen the dark handsome face convulsed and livid with passion, and had heard words that "vexed his righteous soul." 'What he suffered that year is known only to him and heaven; Hubert sometimes compares it shudderingly to a hell upon earth; sensitive as a woman, and with the finest moral feelings, he felt himself defiled, coming in contact with that stormy debased nature. Then and not till then he knew who originated and widened the breach between him and Amy; who had encouraged Sir Ralph, and assisted them in their work of treachery. Every occasion he gave her for jealousy; and hers was "cruel as the grave," and could be evoked by a trifle; she tore open the festering wounds; she taunted him with the old dear life; and had not this time had an end, Hubert must have died, or fled, or gone mad; the man was growing haggard and miserably ill. At last to Harriette was vouchsafed the divine rights of maternity; and there was given to her a boy, beautiful as an angel, and with his father's eyes. 'When Hubert took his first-born in his arms, his whole inner being was stirred within him, and a flood of tenderness rose up in his heart for the boy. He forgot it was Harriette's and not Amy's child, he forgot the cruel taunts and sneers, the old miserable life, as he wept and prayed over his treasure. Long hours he watched silently by the cot of the wondrous boy; stroking the crumpled fingers and gazing on the innocent baby face - but alas for him, Heaven had not ordained that this should be the "son of his consolation." One night when the drowsy nurse slept, Harriette rose up and strangled her child.' 'Oh, Herwald, Herwald,' I half screamed, 'how horrible.' |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 1st, 2003, 1:31am Deeply sorry for Phil Mynard, but still chortling over the scene with Biggles and Matey - so funny to see her trying to assert her superioity in this way, but Nellie's Memoeries? What a contrast, I can't even begin to imagine how this is going to fit in with the next episode. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 1:25pm *Chapter Four, not in the style of Nellie's Memories as I don't reckon I could do that, but instead scousing the idea of bridge building - the perfect opportunity for a male bonding session...* The Headmistress accosted Biggles straightaway after Abendessen. “I hear from Matron that you were busy and couldn’t go and help Gaudenz this afternoon. He still needs your assistance this evening with whatever it is that he’s working on so, if you wouldn’t mind, will you go and find him now? He should be in the sheds. If you go to the left of the main entrance and then round to the side, past the form flowerbeds, you ought to find him.” He suspected that there wasn’t much of an option in the question and besides, he quite fancied acquainting himself with the other main male presence in the school’s daily running. It was certainly preferable to an evening of sewing and mending – he shuddered at the thought as memories of the afternoon came flooding back – or whatever other feminine pursuits the Staff had to occupy their spare time. “Of course, I’ll be happy to.” A few minutes saw him striding round the corner of the main school building, suitably dressed for a few hours of manual labour in rough overalls which he normally used to perform engine overhauls in. As a result they were generously bespattered with oil and grease and he grinned to himself as he reflected that the Staff must think that all of his clothes were coated in filthy stains of some description. He easily located the sheds and spotted a man entering the dilapidated buildings, correctly surmising that this was Gaudenz. Closer inspection showed him to be a thickly set man with a bristly beard and gruff voice and manner. “So. You come, heh?” were his first words of greeting. Biggles suspected that English wasn’t his first tongue so made his remarks in his fluent though somewhat antiquated German he had learnt whilst spying for the Allies behind the German lines during the First World War. Indeed, it was lucky that most of Biggles’ encounters requiring German after that had involved his former arch enemy, von Stalhein, whose speech had also not moved on noticeably since the days of the Kaisers. Gaudenz stared at him, obviously not understanding more than an odd word here or there. He rattled off a few sentences in what Biggles could only assume was a local dialect, and later discovered was Schwyzerdutsch, but Biggles was lost. He decided to return to the English that Gaudenz appeared to know the rudiments of. “What’s on the cards?” “The cards? I do not understand. But we must a bridge build, nicht wahr? The men, they have a new stream for more water dug out and there is need for a bridge für die gnädige Fräulein. Komm! We must our wood and tools get.” With that, Gaudenz disappeared into the sheds and Biggles followed. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, he spotted Gaudenz delving into a pile of wood and was handed a number of splintered planks and lengths while the handyman burdened himself with a motley collection of rusty nails and heaped a load of assorted tools and packets onto a trolley. With that, he strode swiftly out of the sheds, pushing the trolley in front of him, making for a far corner of the grounds, while Biggles half-trotted along beside him trying to keep up with his long paces. Like most airmen, Biggles hated physical exertion and much preferred measuring his speed in miles per minute from a cockpit rather than by the hour on foot. He rarely walked anywhere if he could avoid it, relying instead on private transport or a taxi. As such, he was on the tired side when Gaudenz finally stopped by the side of a deep trench. He noted several stepping stones provided a means of traversing the obstacle but these were rough and not especially flat. He rightly guessed that the school would not want the girls using this precarious means, especially when they were wet or icy during the winter. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 1:26pm “The Miss Dene, she has already slipped and her ankle sprained from these,” explained the handyman. “She has me asked a bridge to construct.” “OK,” agreed Biggles. “How do you build a bridge?” Gaudenz looked shocked. “You do not know how a bridge to make?” “No,” returned Biggles, slightly put out that this specialist skill was considered basic knowledge by his companion. “I’ve never needed to build a bridge before.” “You have never built a bridge?” Gaudenz looked bewildered. “Then I will teach you,” he added, smiling broadly. He, like Matey, had been afraid of being usurped by the newcomer but it was now apparent he had nothing to fear in that respect. He began by instructing Biggles to dig two holes in the bank on which they were standing. Biggles started attacking the earth with a shovel while Gaudenz’s pick flew through the air, scattering stones and pebbles far and wide. In time they had a pair of decent sized shafts, “Down which the poles we put,” explained Gaudenz. He chose two suitable tree trunks from his load and bade Biggles to cut one to size while he saw to the other one. His accomplice was rather intimidated by the magnitude of the axe he was presented with and struggled to lift it above his shoulder, let alone put any power behind it to make an impression on the hefty trunk. Gaudenz had no such problem and was happily chopping away, oblivious of his companion’s position. It wasn’t until he had finished that he noticed Biggles had hardly started. “You never have a tree cut?” he asked incredulously. Was there any limit to his assistant’s ignorance? “You never have an axe used?” “Er, no,” admitted Biggles, feeling that Gaudenz was stating the obvious. “But you know why we so far from the bank build?” “Of course. When the thaw comes it may flood so if the bridge starts some way back it can still be used.” Gaudenz felt relieved. It was pleasant to know that Biggles’ ignorance was not a bottomless pit and there was the beginnings of a practical knowledge somewhere inside his mind. “Ach so. That is richtig. Now we chop your trunk and place into the pit.” He deftly cut the wood to the right length and handed it over to Biggles while he began to mix the concrete from cement, sand and water. Biggles managed to put the length where it was required and turned to watch the craftsman at work. The free and easy movement of his wrists as he twisted the shovel this way and that to stir the parts together amazed his onlooker. “That’s very impressive,” he commented. “How do you do it so easily?” “Do what?” Not for the first time that evening, he was confused. “Mix it up. I couldn’t do that without spilling the stuff everywhere and making a complete pig’s ear of it all.” “I too would struggle to make a pig’s ear out of it,” said Gaudenz seriously. “It is concrete I am making.” “Oh, that wasn’t what I meant. No matter. Is it done yet?” “Yes. Shall I it into the holes put or would you like to do?” “I think it might be for the best if you did it,” acquiesced Biggles knowing he would probably miss the pits as he watched Gaudenz calmly scoop it up. “What next?” “Now we the same on the other bank do. I will you show where to dig.” Thus the task was repeated on the other side of the trench and more concrete was mixed, this time by Biggles under the watchful eye of Gaudenz, and the posts were secured. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 1:28pm “Next we put planks to join the opposite poles. No, not that way round but so the thin edge on top is. Ach so, das is gut! That means there is a large area to secure to the pole. You see, ja?” Biggles felt more at home as he happily hammered the nails into the wood. Surely this was one task he could accomplish by himself while Gaudenz sawed small pieces of wood that would form the planking to the correct length. So it was some pride that he showed his handiwork to his supervisor. “No, no, no!” cried Gaudenz. “You must not the heads leave out! All the way in, nicht wahr?” Just one of those days, Biggles reminded himself as he set himself to hitting the nails even further in. Thinking it through, he could see the wisdom of not leaving rusty objects sticking out where a girl could easily catch herself on one. His next job was to hammer on the planking sideways onto the main spars, taking care to ensure that the heads did not protrude. Gaudenz himself was busy sanding down the round length that would act as a handrail. He was intent on making sure there were no splinters that the girls could - and would! he reflected – cut themselves on for he knew Matron would trace the source back to him and subject him to a lecture he would rather avoid. At length the bridge was complete and Gaudenz was contentedly stamping on it to ensure it would support the antics of the most lively Middles while Biggles looked on, admiring the object that he had helped to construct. Rosalie Dene strolled over at that juncture to inform the pair that hot drinks were being served back at the main building and they were to come back as the night was drawing in. She was surprised to see the bridge complete, suspecting correctly that Biggles was a total greenhorn where practicalities of this nature were concerned. “I didn’t expect you to be done so soon! It looks marvellous! May I try it out? I suppose you know that I have reason to hate these stepping stones with a passion so I’m most grateful for you and your hard work.” “Naturlich,” granted Gaudenz, pleased at her praise. “I trust it safe is.” Rosalie stood on it and gracefully walked to the far end. “It feels very secure. I’m sure that – Ouch!” She stopped short and, on looking at her hand, began sucking it. “There’s a nail sticking out here. I’ve been an idiot and managed to cut myself on it,” she mumbled. “I’m afraid that was my fault,” apologised Biggles. “I must have forgotten to hammer it all the way in. We’d best get you to Matron to put some iodine on it.” Gently removing her hand from her mouth, he examined it carefully. “Yes, not too deep but you might catch goodness knows what from that nail.” Rosalie laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. But you’re right, I had better go and see Matey before she finds out I’ve done it. She’s more than capable of lecturing the Staff as well as the girls you know!” Gaudenz glared at Biggles, feeling he had let down his previously unblemished reputation as a constructor. Rosalie intercepted it and attempted to pour oil on troubled waters. “Never mind. The bridge is fine apart from that, and you’ve done a great job Gaudenz. We always can rely on you to get a task like that done as quickly as possible. I’m sure it can’t have been too easy working with someone like Biggles who’s probably never tried anything like this prior to coming here.” She grinned at Biggles as she concluded her remarks before heading back towards school. “I’m sorry, old chap,” grovelled Biggles. “I know you wouldn’t have made such a simple mistake. I’ll go and check all the nailing I did to make sure there aren’t any more that need hammering in.” With that, he wrenched the offending nail violently from the wood-work, grimacing at the rusty mark it left on his hand, before pounding it back in. Reconciled by this and Rosalie’s comments, Gaudenz smiled and began to tidy away the tools scattered on the ground. “That was not for a first go so bad,” he said. “I know you will better get.” Biggles was pleased by such praise, however undeserved it might be. “Thanks for putting up with me!” was his only remark as the two wheeled the trolley, piled high with tools and off-cuts of wood, back towards the sheds and the hot drinks awaiting them. *Quite a short one and I've got the rest of the day free so Chapter Five might arrive later.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 1st, 2003, 7:05pm Poor Biggles, between Matey and Gaudenz he is having a hard time! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Oct 1st, 2003, 7:36pm *disappointed that the vicar's lunatic wife didn't make an appearance* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:30pm *Rachel - she died, remember? Anyway, I've had quite a productive day so the first part of Chapter Five is complete...* Biggles looked down from his place on the daïs at the rows of schoolgirls. They appeared extremely trig in their smart uniform of gentian blue (he was unsure exactly what a gentian was but guessed it was a type of snake found locally, probably poisonous judging from the colour) with crimson and silver trimmings. The faces turned up towards the platform all looked happy, from the smallest Junior to the tall Seniors of approaching eighteen at the back. The girls were all listening intently as Miss Annersley announced the prefects in her beautiful voice which did not need to be raised to be heard in the furthest corners of the room. Which, contemplated Biggles, was hardly surprising when there was an extremely expensive sound system installed with speakers discretely positioned at various points throughout the room. Gaudenz had proudly given him a tour of the layout the previous evening after the girls had had an early night following their day’s travelling. Biggles had not admitted that his knowledge of electronics was even smaller than that of wood-work so had merely agreed enthusiastically with Gaudenz's comments and praised the system at every opportunity. “Head Girl, Samaris Davies.” A short, slim girl with a long black pigtail rose and came to the platform to receive her badge, blushing wildly as the rest of the school applauded enthusiastically. Biggles recognised the name from ‘Two Sams at the Chalet School’ where she had been a thirteen year old who was found to be related to an older girl, Samantha van der Byl which had been discovered through the similarity of their names. Surely she should have left the school by now? He resolved to ask the other mistresses about it at the first opportunity. “Second Prefect, Robina McQueen.” “Games Prefect, Lysbet Alsen.” A list of twelve or so names followed these three and the rest of the Prefect body approached the daïs individually as their names were read out to collect their badges, each one clearly extremely pleased to be honoured in this way. Miss Annersley concluded by exhorting them to make it a good term by working their hardest. To Biggles, seated high above them, the rows of heads nodding simultaneously and earnestly made him feel slightly seasick as it appeared that the entire room was moving. Miss Lawrence, Head of Music, at a sign from the Head spun round on her stool and pounded out an inspiring march on the piano causing the girls to stand up, turn and briskly exit the room. The majority of Staff rapidly followed them before Miss Annersley beckoned Biggles over. “I’ll take you along to your formroom and introduce you. The Lower Fourth aren’t renowned for being a difficult group but this year there are a few potential firebrands to look out for. Helen Carter and Emma Rogerton have come from St Katherine’s with a reputation for mischief, but it’s a nice mischief by all accounts and they are straight and honest. One you should probably keep an eye on is Penny Drinfield who has just lost her father and is still grieving. Try to go easy on her for the time being; she’s an emotional soul. As for the others, Mrs Maynard’s Cecil has got her remove and - here we are.” She strode through the open doorway and silence fell as the girls rose to their feet and stopped their chatter. “Sit down, girls. This is your new form master, Mr Bigglesworth. Now, Abigail Halcot.” “Yes, Miss Annersley?” The girl standing was fresh-faced with startlingly bright blue eyes and a mass of brown curly hair, tied back with equally startling large bows. “Please tell Mr Bigglesworth anything he wants to know. Thank you, girls.” With that she swept out of the room, her gown almost whisking a vase off a shelf, and Biggles found himself alone with the girls. This, he decided, was quite as frightening as single-handedly fighting a squadron of Huns. Plucking up his courage, he somehow found his way onto the platform at the front of the room and sat down at the desk. The register lay before him and he concluded that this would be a good place to start. Stumbling over the pronunciation of a number of the foreign names, Janeczka Przbylinski being the worst, he tried to memorise the faces of the owners. Cecil was easy since he had been introduced to her several years ago and she had changed very little, but he could foresee a torrid time ahead in differentiating between the Welsh twins Nesta and Nerys Llewelyn who, though not identical, closely resembled each other with their dark hair and eyes. It was Abigail who stood up to offer to take the register to the office, explaining that they liked to have them in as soon as possible. Biggles assented and proceeded to organise voting for the various posts within the form: Stationery, Flowers and Tidiness. The seven new girls could not join in with this so the positions were soon decided with Giorgia Cacciatori being put in charge of stationery, Katie Egerton elected to flowers and Anaïs Pelletier selected for tidiness. All three appeared to be the responsible type and seemed happy enough with their roles, though the contrast in looks between Giorgia’s typical Italian darkness and olive skin, and the peaches-and-cream colouring of blonde Katie was marked. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:32pm Biggles recalled that the girls still had to collect their textbooks and exercise books and asked for volunteers to do so. To his amazement, the entire form waved their hands wildly in the air, almost, he reflected, as if they wanted to cart armfuls of books from one end of the school to the other. Picking out Abigail, Cecil, Nesta and Nerys as the four he was sure he could remember the names of, he sent them to bring back the piles of stationery required. “Shall I see if Miss Dene is ready for our form yet?” asked Janeczka. Biggles frowned inwardly as he realised it would be some time before he addressed the girl by her full name and was not anxious to hear her opinion on his Polish pronunciation, but readily agreed with her request, remembering that Rosalie had mentioned that she would expect him to send a messenger when he was at a stage to receive the textbooks. The girl soon returned to inform the master that Miss Dene was ready and would he please dispatch half a dozen people to transfer the items. Having reached the limits of his memory and deciding that twelve year old girls all looked far too similar, Biggles was reduced to asking girls for their names before conveying them to the office from whence they quickly returned bearing their burdens. These, along with the exercise books and other stationary, were soon distributed among the form and the girls were all engrossed in tidying their desks to the standards expected when the bell for Break went. “Well done, girls,” congratulated Biggles. “I’m glad we’ve got that task over with. Stand and go to the Speisesaal for your milk and biscuits.” The form instantly obeyed and escaped from the room, bent on discussing their form teacher who was not only new but also male. Biggles, meanwhile, was thankful to make for the Staff room. He was exhausted from the intensity of the morning session and the strain of feeling that all of his pupils were intently watching his every move, particularly since he was none too sure of himself in the unfamiliar situation. He found refuge in a group of the older mistresses; the younger ones, though friendly, were very distant from him in both age and their seemingly carefree approach to life. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:34pm “How did it go?” asked Mlle de Lachennais. “Oh, all right, I suppose. It all seems so new and different that I’m not sure of myself. I’m terrified that I’m going to make some mistake and the girls are going to remember it and hold it against me for ever more.” She laughed. “We all feel like that at the start. It is not uncommon and it will all come together in time. The girls all know that you are new and will make allowances.” “At that age?” Biggles couldn’t believe that twelve years old would give him any slack. He thought back to the boys of a similar age at his own school who would rag a master at any opportunity. He comforted himself with the notion that perhaps girls were different in that respect. “Ah, Monsieur, you will find it is true at the Chalet School. We encourage them to consider others, even from such a young age.” “But it is a nice form you have,” commented Frau Mieders with just enough intonation to show that she was a native German speaker. “They are keen and hard workers.” “The Head warned me about a couple of potential troublemakers in there,” reflected Biggles. “English, both of them and from St Katherine’s. But the girl who stuck out most to me was Penny Drinfield. She could hardly stop staring at me for the entire period!” “I hardly think she will be the cause of any trouble,” was the comforting opinion of Jeanne de Lachennais. “She is a quiet soul. It is the others you must keep your eyes open for, though they are generally well-behaved.” “And they will seek to find out your limits, regardless of how good they are in general,” put in Sarah Denny. “They will try and discover how far you are prepared to let them go, but you have to draw the line for yourself and punish anything beyond that.” Miss Ferrars overheard these comments and stuck her oar in. “On the other hand, be flexible if you find you’ve drawn it too tightly. I did that in my first term and found I had to allow more slack. Be ready to adjust as the need arises.” “By gad, that’s a lot to try and get right.” Biggles was trying to take in the advice that was bombarding him from all sides as he tried to force down a mugful of the sickly coffee that seemed to be served in season and out. “It sounds deuced complicated.” “Oh, it’s not so bad,” seemed to be the general opinion. “Still, there was one other thing I wanted to know,” remarked Biggles. “Samaris Davies, the Head Girl. Shouldn’t she have left by now? Judging by the books, she must be more than a trifle too old to be jaunting around this establishment.” “EBD!” chorused all those in the vicinity. Miss Denny elaborated. “EBD had an obsession with the Fourth forms in the later books. Every new girl introduced was a member of the Fourth, even Samaris who was actually an eleven year old in one of the Thirds. She’s been here six years now and is one of the best girls we have. I feel sure she will do an excellent job as Head Girl.” Miss Annersley had approached the group unnoticed in time to hear the last few comments. “Biggles, could I have a word in my office, please?” she requested, the ghost of a smile crossing her face. “Righty-ho,” he replied, standing up to follow her to the wing of the building known as the Annexe where the office and her room were, puzzled as to what on she could want with him. “Come on in,” she invited in queer tones. “I need to talk to you but I didn’t think that it was appropriate for the rest of the Staff to be listening and I felt it wasn’t something that really should be discussed in front of them.” “That’s fine,” said Biggles, wondering what on earth could be coming next. *Should get around to posting the rest the chapter tomorrow* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:36pm Thank you Rebecca ;D *giggling happily at the gentian-snake* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:39pm Fun. ;D Of course in a book discussion we would now compare Biggles first morning with that of Kathie, Compare and contrast? ;D I am enjoying thos drabble so much, do continue please. Makes me think that maybe I should read a Biggles book, are any available on line? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:45pm this is fantastic! More please. I like the bit about the sound system....after all no matter how good your voice is, never having to raise it sounds a little well, unlikely! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 1st, 2003, 10:56pm Carolyn - it ought to be very similar to Kathie's first day since I used 'New Mistress' heavily (a slight understatement perhaps) as a source for what would be happening. I've never come across any online but then I have most of them so I've never looked. I don't know how similar they are to this, to be honest. It's more CS than Biggles. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 1st, 2003, 11:16pm Well, I'm enjoying it immensely, despite never having read a biggles book!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 2nd, 2003, 12:05am Great stuff - keep it coming - can't wait to find out what Miss Annersley wants to say to him - just wisj I didn't have to wait untilo tomorrow. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rachel on Oct 2nd, 2003, 12:22pm on 10/02/03 at 00:05:51, Esmeralda wrote:
Surely it has to be his language??? "Deuced complicated", "by gad" and "righty-ho" in the space of about two minutes. Surely that isn't going to go down terribly well with the beautifully spoken and always grammatically coreect Abbess? And Rebecca I'm having a guess here - is Janeczka pronounced "Yan-esh-ka" ?? Rachel ~ looking forward to a little more as and when the plot bunnies allow |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 2nd, 2003, 1:04pm LOL! That's what I thought too. At least as he hasnt committed the cardinal sin of confusing can with may he may yet be let off with a gentle lecture about the richness of the English language.. Although, if anyone has seen that new James Blond? installment, that takes the richness of the Abbess' language to quite another level....... ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 2nd, 2003, 1:17pm *Brownie points for everyone who guessed slang. As for Janeczka, I've no idea how to pronounce it. I just found it on the internet and it didn't give any hints. Don't worry Carolyn, I think Biggles should get a happier time of it after this.* “It’s about your language,” she started awkwardly. Reprimanding Staff was not something she enjoyed doing, especially so soon in anyone’s career. “Suffering Icarus! What in blazes is cockeyed with my language?“ he broke in. Miss Annersley gasped inwardly at his expressions which were unfamiliar to her. She made a mental note to ask him for them later to add to the list of forbidden words before she continued. “As you know, this is a school for girls from many different countries and one of the reasons they are sent here is to learn foreign languages effectively. That includes English,” she emphasised. “One of our rules is that no slang is spoken in any language. Parents don’t want their children to return home speaking like that so we try and ensure that they don’t learn any. We can’t stop their little playmates teaching them but we can make sure that Staff and Prefects set a good example and fine them if they catch them using forbidden words. In general, it works well, but we can hardly admonish them for something that we ourselves do. That would soon set them complaining and I could hardly blame them in the circumstances. I’m just warning you to be careful about some of the language you use. I know it’s not necessarily bad but we can’t have it overheard by the pupils. That wouldn’t be good for discipline.” “Holy Smoke!” exclaimed Biggles before he caught her eye. “Oh, sorry. I suppose that phrase is off limits as well. It’s just a bit of a shock to me. I understand where you’re coming from but it’s going to be hard for me to stop using words that I’ve been speaking for more years than I care to remember.” “I know. It is difficult. Some girls have been here for several years and still find it hard to remember, despite not being surrounded by slang as they are at home. For that’s one thing that will make it easier,” she pronounced. “You won’t hear as much around you as you probably would back in London. If other people all speak in one way, you mimic them. It’s the principle we use for teaching languages so intensely.” Biggles nodded. He understood all right but was having serious doubts about whether he would be able to live up to the school’s high standards in this area. What had seemed a straightforward job when he applied and accepted now bristled with difficulties. He dreaded to think what Algy, Ginger and Bertie would make of his speech when he returned to the Mount Street flat at Christmas. “Thank you. I don’t want you to feel like I’m criticising you but it’s something that’s important to our way of thinking. I’m sure you’re doing a good job.” With that she smiled and rose, making it was clear that the interview was over. Biggles left the room and departed for the haven of the Staff room. When he thought about it, the Staff in general did speak English that was rather more pure than his own, yet without being totally starched. It was just as well that he had always held swearing to be a waste of time and breath as he could just imagine the reaction of the Staff, and especially the Head, to some of the outbursts he had witnessed in his life, especially criminals he had just apprehended. He chuckled as he pictured the Staff’s faces, much to the surprise of Miss Moore who had been walking up the corridor behind him. “Something funny?” she asked, with the merest hint of ice in her voice. Biggles turned scarlet. He prudently decided that this was one idea he was not going to share, and mumbled a few non-committal comments about a humorous thought before walking off as quickly as was politely possible. Rosalind stared, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Had the Chalet School Staff collected a maniac? She had never approved of the employment of a male and her worst fears seemed to be justified after the encounter. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Oct 2nd, 2003, 3:17pm *giggling happily to herself* (good thing Miss Moore isn't about to witness it I suppose!) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 2nd, 2003, 3:27pm Oh don't do this to me! I read the first few lines properly and wanted to laugh but being surrounded on all sides thought it was a bad idea. Now I have to wiat til i get home to check again and enjoy my laugh in peace!! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Jennie on Oct 2nd, 2003, 4:29pm This is terrific, poor Biggles, totally out of his depth, bullied by Matron, and used as a sort of handyman to help Gaudenz! I'm starting to feel really sorry for him, in between mopping up the tears of laughter that will keep rolling down my cheeks. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Oct 2nd, 2003, 9:27pm Aww poor Biggles I hope it will all come out right in the end. Hint hint - Isn't it time we had some more? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:17pm Rebecca, can we have more please? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:28pm *It's coming but I've just realised there's a slight RSGism in it which needs fixing. Shouldn't take long.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:38pm Chapter Six: As the days passed, Biggles gradually settled into the routine of school life. He got to recognise the girls in his form, though Nesta and Nerys remained his downfall and the correct pronunciation of Janeczka’s surname was an enigma yet, and found History a delight to teach. It had been a hobby of his for years and he was passionate about the subject, an attitude his students soon recognised and copied as his words, still stilted by the Head’s edict, traced out scenes that became real to his eager listeners. Miss Charlesworth, in overall control of the subject, was extremely pleased with his efforts although complained in private that he did appear to rather overemphasise the importance of arguing from cause to effect and vice versa. Sitting in the Staff room one evening, having finished his marking, he was deeply engrossed in some practice sewing that Matron had doled out to him, oblivious to the heated conversation going on around him about how the next day’s weather would affect the state of the hockey pitches. The result was that he literally jumped into the air when Rosalie Dene plumped down on a chair beside him and made an opening gambit. “What?” he gaped, struggling to maintain his dignity in the situation. She chuckled in a friendly manner before repeating her statement. “Joey Maynard rang up Hilda a few minutes ago and, together with her husband Jack, has invited you over to ‘English tea’ at Freudesheim on Sunday afternoon.” “Does that mean real tea rather than this omnipresent coffee?” asked Biggles with more than a hint of a twinkle in his eye for he knew Rosalie was a confirmed devotee of the latter. “Of course,” she replied, refusing to rise to the bait. “Do you want to go or not? I warn you that Joey will take it most personally if you don’t, and you’ll probably enjoy meeting another man apart from Gaudenz,” - she had a shrewd suspicious that the two were very different specimens of the male species – “and Jack must be about your age. Besides, Freudesheim is exactly that, a happy home, and while I hope the school is a happy place for you, I know it’s no substitute for a home. Joey’s house is as close as most of us can get to that up here. Still, if you prefer sewing – “ She left her sentence unfinished and Biggles grinned. “You know I hate the bally stuff! I think I’m getting better though.” He brandished his work and Rosalie was hard-pressed to keep a straight face as she examined the filthy piece of material with seemingly random lengths of cotton decorating it in a haphazard arrangement. “That doesn’t answer the question,” she said diplomatically. “Well, I guess I’d better, hadn’t I? It sounds like I’ll be in trouble all round if I don’t.” Then, as a violent expression crossed her face, he adjusted his answer, “OK, OK, I’ll be glad to go. I’m quite looking forward to it as a matter of fact. It’ll be interesting to see how different Joey is in the flesh compared to the books. I know I’ve been introduced to her before but that was only briefly. I’m not sure I would recognise her again.” Rosalie’s face grew solemn. “It’s hard to say how she’s different. I’ve known her for donkey’s years so it’s difficult to see her as outsiders do but possibly quite altered at the moment. They are really worried about Phil – you know she’s ill, don’t you? She’s stable at present but she’s not strong at all. The whole experience has aged Joey and,” she paused, “the rest of us as well. What affects the Maynards affects most of the Staff, especially those of us who have known them for years.” “I suppose it does. Tell Joey I’ll be delighted to accept. Meanwhile, why is Rosalind Moore glaring at me like that? I’ve noticed she’s fixed her eyes on me on several occasions recently and it’s quite unnerving.” Biggles left his suspicion that she was in fact a lunatic of some description unsaid. “You must be imagining it. I can’t think of any reason why she’d be doing that. Anyway, I’d better go and tell Joey your answer.” With that she jumped to her feet and left Biggles to his detested sewing. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:39pm The result was that the weekend saw Biggles traipsing over to the Maynards’ home. The ground was more than a little boggy underfoot due to the amount of rain that had characterised his stay in the Alps so far and he carefully side-stepped the more obvious puddles. Despite his caution, his feet were on the damp side by the time he reached the side door of Freudesheim and was ushered into the warm interior by a tall, black-haired lady. There he swiftly changed into his house shoes, leaving the muddy ones to dry, before being whisked into a cheerful salon. “Lovely weather for ducks, isn’t it?” his hostess proclaimed in a golden voice. “I hope you’re not too wet, Mr – “ There she stopped for a moment. “I don’t believe Hilda mentioned your Christian name to me and I’ve no intention of referring to you as Mr Bigglesworth. Life’s too short.” “Actually, I’m generally known as Biggles,” replied the owner of the name. “I can’t remember the last time someone called me by my first handle.” Joey laughed. “I forget you men are different to us females when it comes to things like that. Very well, Biggles it is. It’s just as well you’re not one of the girls really. A few shorts we do allow but nicknames are definitely out. Somehow I can’t imagine Hilda agreeing to an abbreviated surname too readily. Still, you’ll forgive me if I don’t use it in my latest book?” Biggles readily agreed, deciding it would be tactful not to point out that she would be breaking all sorts of copyright laws if she had mentioned it in a novel, and shook the hand of the fair man who had just entered the room. Though no film star for looks, Jack Maynard had a pleasant face with well-cut features and an honest expression. The two men felt an instant bond and readily settled down to a conversation while Joey departed to bring down the youngest Maynard, five year old Robbie, from the nursery. They were interrupted by the arrival of a brown-haired freckled youngster with a nose suspiciously tending towards a snub. “A right hop-out-of-kin, isn’t he?” remarked Jack as the child flung himself on his father. “I understand Cecil is in your form and I guess you know Len and Felicity by sight but you can’t say he looks like any of them in the slightest.” “That’s right,” agreed Joey. “I know there’s no monotony in this family but I thought number twelve might bear some resemble to at least one of the others. Anyway, I’ll go and get us some tea. Do you want tea, Biggles, or would you rather have coffee? There’s always chocolate as well if you would prefer that.” “Tea for me, please,” replied Biggles, thankful to avoid coffee for one meal at least. “Oh, you’re another person who hates Karen’s coffee, are you?” asked Jack after Joey had exited the room. “I can’t stand it either but someone raved on about it once in the school’s dark ages and she’s produced it by the gallon ever since, and, worst of all, nothing else for the Staff, at any rate! I try to avoid their meetings as much as possible though Joey often pops over.” “I thought it was just me,” said a surprised Biggles, referring to the first part of Jack’s statement, though secretly agreeing with the sentiments of the final comment. “They all seem addicted to it at the school and when I made some remark about it not being particularly nice, extremely politely of course, the entire room fell silent and everyone stared, very eloquently too.” Jack chuckled. He knew the reverence surrounding the drink among the Staff and had produced a similar reaction himself once. As a doctor, he suspected that the Staff were dependent on the caffeine found in Karen’s brew and that went some way to explaining their devotion to the vile concoction. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:40pm Joey reappeared at this juncture, pushing a tall trolley groaning heavily with freshly made cream-cakes, dainty cups and crowned with a giant teapot. Robbie at once went to help her drive it along, trained as he was to assist his mother, but skidded crazily on the highly polished floor in his haste. The only thing within reach to support him was the tea trolley and he clutched wildly at it. His action caused the trolley to be shoved violently into Joey’s midriff, forcing her to the floor temporarily winded, while the trolley careered madly into the fireplace. Cups and plates noisily scattered themselves in smithereens all over the ground and cream-cakes splattered onto the walls while the teapot flew gracefully through the air to land in Jack’s lap. Yelling with pain, he instinctively flung the scorching object away from him, resulting in it hitting the antique coffee table and decanting its contents all over it. Robbie was bawling his eyes out at the scene so Joey, trying to gulp away her hysterics, immediately went to comfort him while Jack surveyed his reddened hands ruefully, thankful the damage was no worse. “There, there, Mama’s little man,” soothed Joey. “Mama knows it was an accident and isn’t cross. I’m pleased that you came to help me in the first place and we’ll soon replace all of the broken items. Go and fetch Anna, darling, and ask her to bring a broom and mop, will you?” Screwing his hands into his eyes to dry his tears, the boy obediently trotted off to find Anna and Joey turned to the two men. “I’m sorry about that. These sorts of things always seem to happen to me! I promise you will get your cup of tea, though this room’s hardly fit for doing anything in now.” Jack merely looked concerned. “Are you sure you’re all right, Joey? You did fall awfully heavily.” “I’m as fit as the Irishman’s flea,” retorted his indignant wife. “Don’t you worry about me and don’t you dare send me to bed for the rest of the day either! No sedatives for me either! I know your ways all too well by now.” Biggles felt a pang of loneliness. The pair, though happily sparring away, were clearly devoted to each and very much in love, the sort of relationship that had never seemed to work out for himself. He reflected back on his previous flames as the Maynards, ably assisted by Anna, set to work to make the room presentable after waving away his offer of help. First there had been Marie Janis, the beautiful woman he had met after landing in the grounds of her house with engine trouble during the First World War. Love had blossomed but she was exposed as a German spy who had used Biggles to send a message to her contacts on the other side of the lines to bomb his aerodrome. Later it was revealed that she would have saved him from being caught up in it before fleeing from the area. He didn’t know whether she was dead or alive and the whole affair had led to him losing his nerves and being shot down, fortunately surviving the crash. It was many years after the incident, after the Second World War in fact, when he had met her again. She had changed so much that he had barely recognised her and though he had helped her escape from Czechoslovakia and settle in Hampshire, any spark between them had clearly died. The second, and only other, woman he had ever loved, he had met whilst trying to rescue her from Monaco during World War II. Princess Marietta de Palma was a Sicilian and fiercely anti-fascist. She had been arrested in Italy by Mussolini’s police and though she escaped their clutches with the help of friends, she was on the run from those who would rather see her dead. Biggles had been sent in, on his own, to rescue her but in the attempt had been seriously wounded and was only alive because of her bravery. The two were forced to hide in a remote area since Biggles was extremely weak as he had lost a large amount of blood and in no fit state to make for safety. There they had stayed until Biggles’ partners traced him but the experience had made him respect the Princess immensely and the two grew close in their enforced detention. However, he knew nothing could come of it and the two had not remained in touch after returning to Allied territory. “Biggles! Are you OK? You look lost to the world.” He shook his head to clear the thoughts that had been clouding it. It was too late now, he pondered. He was past fifty and had never lived a lifestyle that would be compatible with married life. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I was miles away.” He apologised profusely, not meaning to be as rude as his behaviour implied. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:40pm *giggling like a the lunatic Biggles suspects Miss Moore to be* thanks Rebecca ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 2nd, 2003, 11:41pm “Anyway, the room’s decent again. Do you still want a cup of tea?” asked Joey. “It won’t go on the floor this time.” “That would be lovely,” he agreed. “Tea’s one of the things I really do miss up here.” This time tea was served without any hiccups apart from the boisterous introduction of Bruno. Luckily Biggles was reasonably fond of dogs and, unlike many of the mistresses and girls who found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer bulk of the creature, was perfectly capable of sticking up for himself and remaining on his feet as Bruno flung himself at Biggles’ chest. The slobbering wet kiss, however, was beyond Biggles’ endurance and with that he begged mercy, wishing inwardly the Maynards had seen fit to give the dog some training at least. Bruno, content that he was master over yet another visitor, was content to sit quietly on the floor, happily thumping his tail occasionally, for the rest of the evening, only stirring to follow Joey’s movements as she wheeled the trolley out and took Robbie upstairs to bed. When she returned, she was clutching several photograph albums depicting various legends and occasions from the school’s history. Armed with so much ammunition that the two men could do nothing about, she insisted on recounting numerous tales from the school’s past. Jack had heard them all before, many times, and Biggles recognised the glazed expression in his eyes. He was still polite enough to chip in on occasions with extra details or corrections, but on the whole, his mind was elsewhere. Biggles had no such excuse but was surprised to find himself fascinated by the scope of tales connected with the establishment. Lots had him laughing out loud and he was surprised to find that four hours had passed when Joey finally stopped at the end of the first book. “That takes us up to the end of our time in the Tyrol. I was always sad that we had to leave there; it was such a beautiful place,” she remarked wistfully. “We do have a holiday home there,” reminded Jack, trying to cheer his wife up. “True, true. I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you about our dramatic escape from the Tiernsee, is there?” Biggles grinned. “I can still remember it to this day,” he recollected as he thought back to the dramatic lakeside rescue involving an amphibious aircraft which he had organised. “Besides which, have you seen the time?” interjected Jack. “Oh, heck! I didn’t realise it was that late. I must be off, but thank you for a lovely time, both of you. I’ve really enjoyed myself.” “Nice to meet you,” commented Jack. “Come again.” “Especially if you have any problems connected with school that you don’t want to take to anyone formally. I’m always here to lend an ear and dispatch wisdom,” added Joey. “I’m the oldest of Old Girls so what I don’t know about the school isn’t worth knowing.” With that Biggles departed back to the Chalet School, leaving Joey and Jack to discuss his visit. “Seems a decent enough fellow,” was Jack’s opinion. “I suppose so,” mused Joey, “but – “ “But what?” demanded Jack. “Out with it!” “I just wonder how he’s going to fit in with the rest of the Staff and the girls as well. Rosalind Moore was over the other day, raving about this madman that the school seems to have unearthed from somewhere – “ “Madman? Not Biggles, surely?” interrupted Jack, more than a little rudely. “Not on that appearance I grant you. And he’s always seemed perfectly sane when we’ve met in the past. But she claims to have come across him wandering around in the corridor outside Hilda’s office, cackling to himself, and reacting very guiltily when she confronted him,” continued Joey. “I’m sure there’s some perfectly rational explanation,” answered Jack, rather uncertainly. “I hope so, but I can’t think of one, can you?” “No-o, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Quite possibly she merely misinterpreted his actions. He deserves the benefit of the doubt, anyhow.” “You men are all the same, clinging together against us females,” said Joey despairingly. “Oh, I’m sure you’re right, but it is strange, isn’t it?” And from that position she refused to be shifted. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 3rd, 2003, 12:00am That was great Rebecca, really good fun - I especially liked the bit about wishing that Bruno had benn given some training. I suppose the Biggles incidents described really happened in some of the books - I must try to seek some out. BTW I don't know whay iy says about me but I really didn't notice the impurity of his language - must come from being at work with about twenty men for the previous eight hours, not that they consider swearing to be a waste of breath! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 12:05am Most of the Biggles incidents do, though I've invented a couple involving the CS. For details of his love life, see 'The Camels are Coming', 'Biggles fails to return' and 'Biggles looks back', and if you find a copy of 'Looks Back' let me know because it's super rare and I've never read it so I'm basing what I've written on a synopsis. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 5:04pm *Chapter Seven - I figured it was time for some letter writing.* From Biggles to Algy, Ginger and Bertie What ho, chaps! How’s life treating you? It’s not so bad here once you get used to the all-encompassing female presence. Bertie, old thing, you’d be in your element. Thankfully there are plenty of doctors from the San up the road to break the monotony and I’ve become friendly with a couple of them. We’ve been practising our clock golf – according to the locals it’s all the school can think of to amuse men at their sale of work in the summer term. There’s a fierce rivalry between Jack, who’s head of the place, and the other doctors, particularly Mark Corristone (he was the person I travelled out with, remember) and Neil Sheppard. No one’s managed to knock him off his pedestal yet, but he has got years more experience than the rest of us. I think they expect me to implement some new ideas to keep them entertained this summer, but I can’t see the Head letting me set up a firing range somehow. Of course, I’d almost certainly beat the lot of them at it but that isn’t my sole reason for thinking of it. Really. Apart from that, there isn’t a great deal happening. History’s going well and I’m really enjoying that side of things. The girls seem responsive and the Head of History is pleased with how I’m faring. Which reminds me, the Staff are uncommonly friendly here. A group of the older ones seem to have taken me under their wing and decided to ‘mother’ me. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that since they are mostly younger than I am, but I’m reaping the benefits and they are making me feel settled. I think they believe men are just helpless creatures at the end of the day and can’t possibly survive without their assistance, particularly a specimen like me who’s lived a bachelor lifestyle for the last goodness knows how many years. In fact, the Head has taken me aside several times to reprimand me, very gently, about my language (no slang please), posture (hands in pockets is definitely out), whistling and what have you in an attempt to improve me. The down side is that I’ve got to do my own mending. In fact, I now have my own work basket, and very dainty and flowery it is too. Stop smirking! I can see you are from here! Not that my sewing is anywhere near good enough for Matron to let me near any of my own clothes, but I like to think that by the time I reach retirement age, I’ll be capable of replacing my own buttons at any rate. Rosalie Dene, who’s secretary here, has been giving me a few pointers and the others haven’t been far behind in their, mostly constructive, criticism. It’s not like they’re just average sewers either, they all work on the most exquisite embroidery in their spare time. Which reminds me, the Head has already banished my model aircraft manufacture from the Staff room. The heaps of sawdust weren’t a good start but when I managed to “completely stink the place out with that filthy dope” which was worse than “a shed of skunks” to quote Joey Maynard, it was decided to shift me out to the sheds. I honestly didn’t notice a thing, though I remember Mrs Symes ticking Ginger off for the same thing in his extreme youth. But on that memorable occasion, I think it was the chunks missing from the dining table which tipped her over the edge. Thankfully, I didn’t go that far! All in all, there are only two clouds on the horizon. One is a Geography mistress, Rosalind Moore and the other is a girl in my form, Penny Drinfield. Starting with Miss Moore, there have been several occasions when I’ve caught her staring at me. I know that sounds really pathetic, but I don’t mean an idle glance; it’s a full-on glare. It’s not remotely friendly either, there seems to be fear, distrust, anger almost in it. None of the other mistresses that I broached the subject to have noticed anything out of the ordinary and I hardly like to make a fuss. But it is unnerving and I don’t like it yet I can hardly confront her, can I? It doesn’t help that she always seems to bump into me when I’m musing over some private joke, and I don’t need to tell you that there are some things you don’t bring up in decent society and inevitably it’s this sort of thing that I’m thinking of. Result: I usually mumble something and try and walk off as quickly as possible. The other problem is Penny. She is your average twelve year old, except that her father tragically died at the San of TB during the summer though as far as I can tell, she is close to her mother who has a chalet at Ste Cecilie just along the shelf. But yet, she seems fixated by me. In class, I often catch her gazing at me but if I catch her eye, she blushes and immediately becomes engrossed in her work. A couple of times I’ve felt someone watching me outside in the Staff’s area of the garden or I feel like I’ve been followed down a corridor by someone who doesn’t want to be seen and though I’ve never identified anyone, I can’t help but think it’s Penny. It’s as if she has a crush on me, but I can hardly believe that she would fix her eyes on someone like me for that sort of thing. After all, I’m old enough to be her grandfather! It’s got me completely stumped and it’s not the sort of thing I’m used to investigating either. Give me a good old case of drug traffickers or a murder inquiry to deal with and I know where I am! Anyhow, send my regards to the boys at the Yard, Biggles |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 5:06pm From Ginger to Biggles Good to hear from you, Biggles. It’s on the quiet side down here at the Yard – Algy’s off in France liasing with Marcel over some smuggling while Bertie’s giving Eddie a hand in the States with a forgery case that might involve us. I’m just manning the fort here with no more than the occasional low flying aircraft and registry details to keep me from total boredom. Those people at the school sound weird. Maybe the teacher resents a man being appointed to the post? It must be unusual to have a male around after who knows how many years of just females. How’s that side of it going, anyhow? At least it seems like the rest of them have accepted you. As for the girl, it sounds like a typical teenage crush but I wouldn’t have thought you’d be on the receiving end. I mean, you’re balding for goodness sake! Sounds like there’s something else at the bottom of it but I can’t think what. You always were a better detective than I was – use your skills from the force. After all, you’ve had enough experience over the years. Raymond wants a word so must stop now. Yours, Ginger |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 5:11pm From Rosalind Moore to her sister Nell Seymour Dear Nell, I’m thrilled to bits that the baby and you are both doing well and I’m honoured you’re calling the darling after me. Send me some snaps when you can, won’t you? I’m dying to see what she looks like. My life isn’t nearly so simple at the moment so I hope you don’t mind me unburdening my woes on you. Besides, what else are older sisters for? Anyway, starting at the beginning, I never thought I would doubt the combined wisdom of Hilda Annersley and Nell Wilson but I’m dubious about their decision in this instance. They’ve employed a male teacher, if you please, not only to teach History to the Juniors but also to help with any security issues that arise. That side of it I don’t have a problem with and it is a comfort to have a male to rely on, after all, there was all the stress of the Granville girl not so long ago. But the person they’ve taken on is rather queer. He doesn’t seem to possess a first name but insists we call him ‘Biggles’, short for Bigglesworth, and I’ve caught him lurking outside the Head’s office on more than one occasion. He’s never had a reasonable excuse for being there and reacts most guiltily. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’s asked him to her study several times, saying she doesn’t want to discuss the matter in front of Staff. If I didn’t know her better, I’d suspect her of encouraging him! I’ve been trying to keep an eye on him to see what his secret agenda is but I’ve had no success so far. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 5:13pm From Nell Seymour to Rosalind Moore Darling, thank you so much for your lovely letter. Little Rosie is doing really well and putting on weight at a rate of knots. I hope you like the photos I’ve enclosed – she looks ridiculously like Keith, as I’m sure you can tell. I’m sure you’re making a mountain out of a molehill concerning this new master. The Heads are aware of what they are doing and I know they would check up on any candidate’s background before employing them. After all, they have the responsibility of several hundred young girls on their shoulders. It just sounds like he’s struggling to settle in and it almost certainly is a very different environment to what he’s used to. Regarding the name issue, don’t you sometimes refer to the other Staff by their surnames? I’m sure I’ve heard you talk about Dene and Derwent, for example. Just because someone prefers their surname is no excuse for disliking them! What if the poor thing is called something like Lancelot or Horatio? Wouldn’t you rather be called Biggles? As for the Head, she is probably just helping him adjust and making sure he keeps to the straight and narrow. I well remember your rants about having to bear in mind that you weren’t use slang, especially in front of the girls, and it’s Keith’s opinion that men find it even harder. I’m sure there are other things that he’s striving to cope with and you know you always said Hilda Annersley was very helpful when you first arrived. I really wouldn’t waste any more time dwelling on the matter. Wouldn’t you rather hear more about your adorable niece? I could talk about her all day! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 5:15pm *On a completely different note...* From Penny Drinfield to her father Dad, I miss you so much. There are so many things that I feel I want to tell you and then I remember you’re not here and I can’t. It aches so much. I know you told me to look after Mum and we’re pals and all that, but I always was a daddy’s girl. I want you here. The others in my form are all very sweet about the whole thing but I can tell they feel awkward about the situation. They don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to say to reassure them so we go on pretending it’s all right when it isn’t. And then almost every night I end up crying myself to sleep. I know Matey suspects I do but I curl up under the covers whenever she looks in at me. I couldn’t bear for her to know how much it hurts me still. The only thing that keeps me going is that it feels like you’re still with me. At the bottom of my heart, I know it’s all silly and I’m not going to put it into words because that would shatter it, but you are, in more than one sense. It’s so important to me and helps me so much. I love you, Dad. Penny |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 3rd, 2003, 5:17pm *And on yet another note, Cumbrian_Rachel insisted I add post this bit although it's completely irrelevant to the rest of it.* From Adrienne, formerly of the Chalet School and now studying at the Sorbonne, to her cousin Soeur Marie-Cecilé And now I wish to ask you about another matter. It is that I want to give Mme Maynard a present for Christmas and I do not know what to get her. She has been so good to me ever since I first arrived at the Chalet School and I will be spending the Christmas holidays with her and her family. I am looking forward to it so much and want to get her something that she really wants. Reply from Soeur Marie-Cecilé to Adrienne I am glad that you are enjoying your studies so much and loving Paris. It truly is a wonderful city. Now, about the matter of Joey’s Christmas present. Perhaps it may be best to get something practical, that she can use in the kitchen for instance. Why not a set of carving knives? Joey has told me often that hers are old and not as sharp as they could be and it would be an exceedingly useful purchase. Let me know what you decide, ma petite. And it may be stated here that Joey did receive her knives for Christmas. “Adrienne, how lovely! Anna will love you for these and it will be so nice to have a functional set!” Adrienne blushed. “It was not my idea but that of dear Cousine Marie-Cecilé.” “Robin? I should have guessed,” cried Joey. “She always did have a mysterious fascination with knives, even when she was a child. I don’t know what the attraction was but I was forever terrified she was going to cut herself.” “But how strange!” exclaimed Adrienne and there the subject dropped. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 3rd, 2003, 7:46pm I love that interpolation. Carving Knives and Robin, of course! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 4th, 2003, 2:11am *still spluttering over the last letter, and it's response!!* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 4th, 2003, 1:00pm *Time for some action...* Felicity Maynard, 15 years old and a shining light of Vb, woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. Her mouth was in agony. She had suspected for some time that one of her teeth was deteriorating and her pain seemed to confirm her thoughts. Like her mother and older sisters, she had a deep-seated fear of all things connected with dentistry, despite never having to endure any tortures there. But with relatives who turned faint or hysterical at the prospect of facing a check up, any other response would be little short of a miracle. However, though easily the quietest of the Maynard girls, she had a brave interior under her reserved shell. “It’s not bad enough to disturb Matey with at this time of night,” she decided firmly, speaking aloud. “I’ll see if I can get back to sleep and go and see her in the morning.” Unfortunately for her, Matron, whose hearing was the subject of legends in the Chalet School, had woken at the sound of her words, in spite of sleeping on a different floor and opposite end of the wing, and immediately resolved to investigate. Sliding on a pair of extremely warm and extremely fluffy slippers and swiftly tying a matching pink dressing-gown around her waist, she left her room in search of the source of the noise. She began by searching the dormitories nearest to her, working along the corridor and shining her torch into every cubicle, before moving up to the next storey. Meanwhile, Felicity was finding getting back to sleep more difficult than she had anticipated. Even her reliable method of remembering the theme of every play, panto and sale since the school started failed to be effective. In vain, she decided that Matey must be sought if she was to get any more sleep that night. She draped on her well-worn blue dressing-gown, formerly the property of Len, Margot, Steve, Charles and Mike, and snuggled into her rather odorous blue slippers, which had also been worn by five older siblings. “I wish boys’ feet didn’t smell quite so strongly,” she chuckled to herself as she set off on her mission, not realising that her footsteps had roused another member of staff, Biggles. He always slept with half an ear open and indeed would have organised watches throughout the night out of force of habit if it wasn’t that he thought the rest of the staff weren’t up to the job. “I wonder who that could be,” he mused as he slid silently out of his room, his automatic nestling in his right hand. “Could be anyone from a common burglar to a kidnapper. Still, it’s always best to be prepared for anything.” With that, he crept silently up the stairs to the source of the sounds. He didn’t know that stepping on a creaking floorboard on his way upstairs had woken up a light sleeper at the end of the corridor, Rosalind Moore. She sat up in bed, wondering what had made her wake before hearing the sound again. “I wonder what the monkeys are up to,” she speculated. “No good I’m sure, especially if they’re in this part of the building. I’d better go and investigate.” With her intentions decided, she paused only to put on her black dressing-gown which matched her dark hair and slippers. By this time Matron had located Felicity and had brought her down to her room where she administered chilli paste to soothe the pain. “Thank you, Matron. That feels a lot better,” she admitted. “Good. I’m glad you had the sense to come and find me straight away. I know what your family are like when it comes to anything connected with the dentist. Anyway, settle down here for the night and try and get some sleep. If you wake up with pain again, put some more paste on. I’ll leave it beside the bed. If you still can’t sleep, wake me and I’ll find something stronger to help.” Matron departed from the room, leaving Felicity much more comfortable and more than ready to go back to sleep as she snuggled into the strange bed. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 4th, 2003, 1:03pm Biggles had failed to locate the pair as he prowled round the dimly lit corridors, ducking into doorways to avoid being seen by any intruders. As he paused to listen for noises, he was amazed to hear the quiet pat of footsteps some way behind him. “Someone must be following me,” he reasoned as he turned to retrace his steps, making sure his gun was poised for action. A shadowy figure dressed in a dark belted overcoat creeping along caught his attention. He hid in a doorway, waiting for the person to pass him. As the individual glided by, he silently pounced, brutally shoving his gun into her side and clasping a hand over her mouth, though not before she let out an ear piercing scream. As his captive struggled and attempted to break his iron grip, he became aware that her garment actually didn’t feel like an overcoat at all, but more like, well, a dressing-gown. Surely he couldn’t have ambushed one of the girls by mistake? Hearing a noise behind him, he swivelled round to see the occupants of Cornflower, Poppy and Pansy staring open-mouthed at him. Glancing upwards, he noticed the girls from several more dormitories leaning over the bannisters, wondering what his next move would be. One darted off down the corridor muttering, “I’m going to get Matey,” while another screwed up enough courage to ask the question they all wanted answering. “Mr Bigglesworth, why are you holding Miss Moore like that?” He turned the prisoner round slowly and his worst fears were realised as the angry features of Rosalind Moore came into view. He swiftly released his grip. “Just what do you think you’re playing at?” she hissed furiously. “Did you think I was a robber or something?” At this point Matron, having been attending to Felicity when she heard the scream, made her second outing of the night. She hurriedly whisked into the corridor not expecting to find a tableaux of two members of Staff being watched by numerous dormitories. Whatever her private thoughts, she knew her first duty was to make sure the pupils returned to bed safely, none the worse for their unplanned excursion in the chilly Alpine night. “Girls! Go back to bed immediately! I’ll be round shortly to give you hot milk in case of colds and I expect to find you all tucked up ready.” When the spectators had departed, she turned to the cause of the scene. “Biggles! Rosalind! What are you playing at?” Then her eyes noticed Biggles’ attire. “And where are your slippers and dressing-gown, Biggles? Do you want to catch your death of cold? Come with me, both of you, and I’ll fetch you a hot water bottle and a drink of warm milk. And I want an explanation of your conduct. I can’t think of any excuse for screaming outside the girls’ dormitories and waking them up so it had better be good.” The two marched meekly behind Matron to her room, as subdued as any girl was when facing her wrath. “I want an explanation for your behaviour as well,” whispered Rosalind, still worked up about the incident. “This is something between us and not Matron,” replied Biggles softly, anxious that Matey should not overhear their plotting. “I will explain but not in front of her. I don’t want to complicate things any more than they already are.” “Promise?” asked Rosalind doubtfully. “Yes, definitely. There is a good reason for it,” was Biggles’ fervent response. “Very well. I’ll tell Matron I saw a mouse – and goodness knows I’m terrified enough of them! – and that you were first on the scene. I don’t think she saw the gun otherwise she’d be even more annoyed,” decided Rosalind. “Thank you.” Matron turned to face them after checking on her patient as they entered her room. “Keep your voices down please. Felicity Maynard is asleep next door with toothache and I don’t want her disturbed. Rosalind, you first. Why was the meaning of all the commotion? I assume it was you who screamed.” “Yes, it was.” Rosalind recited the story she had concocted and Biggles nodded to confirmed it. “Really! You should have better self-control at your age and know better. I just hope the girls don’t suffer from their disturbed night. Next time you two choose to make a spectacle of yourselves, please choose a place where you’re not likely to disturb the girls. Rosalind, go back to bed. Biggles, you had better have some warm milk and hot water bottle in case of a chill before I go and dose the girls.” The pair obeyed instantly, indeed few people ever ignored Matron’s commands, and Biggles soon found himself being escorted to his door, armed with a hot water bottle after being forced to choke down his milk under Matey’s gaze. There she left him, sparing him the indignation of tucking him back in, and he entered the room. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him. *The rest to follow at some point...* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 4th, 2003, 1:33pm on 10/04/03 at 13:03:13, Rebecca wrote:
Rebecca!!! Don't you think we already have enough cliffs to hang off? *Seriously contemplating retrieving Biggles' revolver and holding it to Rebecca's head until she agrees to write more. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Oct 4th, 2003, 2:06pm Rebecca!!!!!!! You, you, you, *searching for a word that won't result in her being fined* mean!!!!!!! *desparate for MORE* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 4th, 2003, 6:05pm More Rebecca- anmd sooner rather than later ;) *wondering what Xanthe will be reduced to should KB decide to put 'mean' on the Index...* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Oct 4th, 2003, 8:07pm Rebecca - wish I hadn't cut my nails now! They are too short for these cliffs. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 4th, 2003, 9:14pm *You're in luck! Crystal Palace won today so I'm in a good mood.* Rosalind Moore was calmly seated in his comfy armchair, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. “What are you doing in my room?” he demanded angrily. “You promised me an explanation and I want it now,” she coolly replied. “I shan’t feel safe in my bed until I hear your excuses so this had better be good. Do you normally attack members of Staff with a gun in the middle of the night?” Biggles felt relieved that Matron hadn’t spotted his gun which he had hidden in his pyjama pocket. He had a feeling that he would have received a thorough lecture on the subject if she had. “Of course not. I thought you were an intruder in your dark attire. You have to admit that if you were, you wouldn’t have had a chance.” Rosalind was in no state to acknowledge such things. “If I was a burglar, I would probably have been male and a tiny bit stronger. You must be so proud of yourself for managing to restrain little me,” she added cuttingly. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Obviously I wouldn’t have done it if I had known it was you. And, please don’t talk about this to anyone. I don’t want any rumours flying around.” “And I do?” she asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your secret’s safe with me, though how you’re going to stop the girls talking, I don’t know.” “I’d forgotten about them,” exclaimed Biggles, horrified. “At least they didn’t see the gun but we must have looked suspicious enough without that.” “You don’t say! After all, it’s not every day you see two of your Staff clutching each other outside your dormitory in the middle of the night accompanied by some rather effective screaming.” “I suppose it had better be the truth that I thought you were a burglar. I can’t think of any other story that fits the bill. When do we explain?” “Not tonight, that’s for certain. Matey would kill us for waking the lambs up again. It had better be first thing in the morning. It’s probably worth telling them not to discuss it again. They won’t, you know, and that’ll be the end of it.” “OK. I’ll do an announcement to all of those dormitories that look out onto the landing when they’re queuing up before coming down. But,” he asked, rapidly changing the subject, “what I do want to know is why you hate me. You’re always glaring at me as if you’re waiting for me to put a foot wrong.” “I’m just watching out for the school’s sake. Every time I see you outside of the Staff room, you’re grinning like a madman and lurking outside Hilda’s office. This night-time experience hasn’t really altered my concerns either. What am I supposed to think?” Biggles stared. He hadn’t realised his actions had been interpreted thus, though he could understand her suspicions, especially after being held up with a gun. “The only reason I’m always coming out of Hilda’s office is because she’s always taking me aside to correct me on some matter. Slang, whistling, posture and all that. It’s hardly the thing to discuss in the Staff room, is it?” It was Rosalind’s turn to stare. She hadn’t realised how much correction the Head had needed to give. “Really? I had no idea. I’m sorry. But why are you always smirking crazily and never willing to stop to talk?” Biggles reddened. He had hoped that she wouldn’t delve that deep. “It’s difficult to explain. I suppose you know that I’ve been in the Air Force and since the war I’ve been working for the Special Air Police based at Scotland Yard.” He paused, not noticing Rosalind’s chin dropping. “It means I’ve spent most of my life with males, and often rough specimens at that. After being lectured on my behaviour and speech, I usually end up thinking of someone I know from that time who was a lot worse than I ever was. Criminals I’ve arrested, for example, frequently treated me to an outburst of language that I wouldn’t wish to repeat. Then I picture the Head reprimanding them for it and the image makes me laugh. But it’s not the sort of thing I really want to tell anyone about, is it? It just makes me feel better about being the most uncouth member of Staff here.” Rosalind was struggling to come to terms with this new state of affairs. She had never made the connection between the Inspector Bigglesworth mentioned in passing who had helped rescue Angelica Granville and the Bigglesworth now on the Staff. “So that’s why you’ve got a gun,” she faltered. “Yes, though the Head’s the only person who knows about that. We decided it was best to have one handy but didn’t want to alarm the rest of the Staff. You do understand about the whole thing, don’t you? I’m not a lunatic, really,” he reassured her. “I think I see. I never realised you were the policeman; I had you down as some sort of private tutor since you obviously know your subject but have never taught in a school before. But it does explain a lot of things. It must be awfully difficult to come into a strange situation like this.” “It is,” agreed Biggles. “It’s a very different life and it’s more years than I care to remember since I was at school myself.” Rosalind smiled. “I’m sure you’ll settle in fine. You’re doing extremely well considering.” With that she rose and retired to her own room for what remained of the night, comforted in her mind that she was safe from any psychopathic maniacs on the Staff. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by xanthe on Oct 4th, 2003, 9:38pm Thank you Rebecca ;D *wishing Crystal Palace many many victories if it means we get more story* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 5th, 2003, 3:40am More please Rebecca!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Oct 5th, 2003, 2:15pm Lovely - more please |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 3:03pm There were several developments as a result of the night’s events. One was the declaration of peace between Rosalind Moore and Biggles, much to the relief of the Staff who had begun to notice the strained relationship between the pair. Another was the extraordinary announcement made by Biggles before Frühstück to the dormitories concerned in the affair of the night before, secretly disappointing a number of people who were looking forward to speculating on the reasons behind the scene. The third was the inevitable dental inspection for the entire school, Staff included. Matron had her own doubts about whether Biggles’ standard of tooth-brushing was adequate but felt she could hardly single him out. The result was that a total of sixteen girls and two of the Staff were found to be in need of Herr von Francius’ attention. Matron was secretly rather smug that Biggles was one of the Staff who needed seeing with a total of four fillings, two crowns and one sharp edge to be dealt with, and argued long and hard with Rosalie Dene that it was necessary for her to go as well. “But, my dear, that tooth of yours is in urgent need of care. If it is seen to now we may be able to save it but it won’t be too much longer before it is past that stage. Would you like to be like Joey who hardly has a single one of her own teeth left thanks to avoiding the dentist at every opportunity?” contended Matron. “No-o, but I can hardly afford to take the day off. And a day trip it has to be when we’ve got to travel to Berne.” “Nonsense! Clare Kennedy is perfectly capable of looking after the administration for a few hours. After all, she has been here for almost a year and you’ve trained her well. It’s one of the reasons she’s here in the first place!” “Well, I suppose I could get a few books and things that we need in Berne while I’m there,” admitted Rosalie. “Exactly!” said Matey with a note of triumph in her voice. “Besides, Biggles is the other member of Staff needing to visit the dentist and I’m hardly going to let him go to a city he’s barely been to before with a group of the girls. Anyway, I’m sure Hilda will insist on a female presence, especially with the nervy specimens in the party and you’re the obvious person to choose. Make the most of your day off and take the girls to see the sights of Berne when you’re done. I know they won’t be fit for work until the day after.” “Oh, is Biggles the other Staff member going?” asked Rosalie. “Then you’re right - we can’t exactly let him take the girls by himself. I suppose I would enjoy a day out in Berne and the girls love the bear pit. It’ll help take their minds off the pain.” And thus it was agreed that the trip would occur in two days time when Herr von Francius would be free to devote a good part of the early afternoon to them. Biggles did wonder inwardly why the dentist should be able to fit in so many extra patients at such short notice and, from what the Staff had said, was always happy to do so but wisely kept his doubts about the practitioner’s ability to himself. The party left the Görnetz Platz early in the morning to catch the eight o’clock train down the mountain. Biggles was moved to wonder aloud what would happen to them all if the couplings broke. The youngest members of the party looked terrified as they thought of the possibilities before Rosalie could reassure them that the railways were checked frequently and there was no need to fear the grim end they had imagined. Biggles merely grinned wickedly as she grimaced at him for upsetting them so soon after setting off. They carried a light picnic lunch between them to consume soon after arriving in Berne and were armed with toothbrushes to use before reaching the dentist’s. Rosalie had efficiently checked all of the baskets off against the list provided by Karen, a safeguard, recently introduced, against leaving the drinks behind as had happened on several other outings in the School’s history. “And it always was the drinks,” commented Rosalie. “Never the sandwiches or cake which we could easily manage without.” Berne was reached by eleven o’clock without incident, apart from small Yvonne Ducoste of IIa being distracted by a passing horse in Interlaken and almost being left behind by the party. There Miss Dene outlined their arrangements for the rest of the day. “First we are going to have our meal; I know it’s early but it will give you time to digest the food before going to the dentist which is our next stop. Then we’ll go to a restaurant for our Kaffee und Kuchen which Miss Annersley has booked for us. Afterwards, we’ll have time to explore Berne before catching the train back to school.” “Please, Miss Dene, can we go to the bear pit?” asked Yvonne anxiously. She had heard all about it from her classmates and was eager to see the famed creatures for herself. Rosalie’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure you can,” she responded. “We may if there is time.” Yvonne reddened, having been thoroughly drilled in the difference between ‘can’ and ‘may’ by several English mistresses at the Chalet School but her enthusiasm was undampened. “Then, may we? Please!” The two Staff smiled at each other. “If there’s time, we will.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 3:04pm It was early in the afternoon before they reached the dentist. The group had enjoyed their meal in a delightful public park and incorporated a short rest into their schedule. However the general cheerfulness was somewhat diminished as they walked down the quiet side street where Herr von Francius’ premises were. Biggles volunteered to go first and then rather regretted his impulsive decision after the dentist sadly shook his head after examining his teeth. “But mein Herr, do you brush your teeth regularly and often? No, do not answer, I fear I know the truth.” Biggles was relieved he wasn’t expected to speak as the dentist’s tools were probing his mouth at the time but his complacency vanished at Herr von Francius’ next words. “This one, it is beyond help and these two need crowns. As well, there are three which must be filled and this sharp edge may cause difficulties for you.” It was some time later that Biggles emerged from the surgery, tenderly feeling his jaw and wondering if any of his teeth were left untouched. He was older and wiser on the issue of teeth brushing after being given a lecture that the shocked dentist had never bettered on the subject and was quite resolved never to skimp on it again. The girls all bravely faced their various fates before Rosalie made the final visit of the trip. She had been dreading it and the reality was no better than she had expected. The result was that when she exited the room, her face was noticeably white and drawn. The girls were all busy chattering quietly and looking forward to their refreshments so it was only Biggles who spotted the change in appearance of the secretary as she walked quiveringly towards the group. “Rosalie! Are you all right?” he queried in a concerned undertone. She managed a small smile before replying. “It was worse than I was expecting. It don’t think my mouth will ever be the same again! As for the tooth – he thinks he can save it but I wish he had just yanked it right out. But don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Let’s go and find that café and get a drink. I’ll be better for having a coffee inside of me, though something stronger wouldn’t go amiss either!” Biggles readily agreed and the group soon found the establishment. He insisted on leaving them to collect the materials ordered by Rosalie, much to her relief as she didn’t feel up to carrying the goods around the city before getting something to eat. On his return, he was pleased to note that there was a hint of some colour in her cheeks and he suggested they wander over to the bear pit. Yvonne was barely able to conceal her delight at the prospect and practically danced along the streets to get there. It was some time later before the band made their way back to the station and caught their train for Interlaken. Uncharacteristically for the Swiss railways, it was running late and caused them to miss their planned connection to the Platz. “Never mind,” comforted Biggles as he studied the timetable. “We’ll be able to get a later train and still make it back tonight. It’ll probably be dark by the time we arrive but that doesn’t really matter.” “I’ll ring up Miss Annersley and let her know what’s happened,” decided Rosalie. “She may be able to get one or two of the doctors to pick us up from the station and save us the walk. One or two of the girls look all in after their busy day and the dentist.” “You’re not really much better yourself,” commented Biggles thoughtfully, noting the dark shadows under her eyes. “I’m OK,” she insisted. “I don’t say that I won’t be glad to get back to school but there’s no need to worry. We had better take the girls for a meal because we’ll miss Abendessen and they need something before we get back. I know a cheap restaurant nearby where we can get a reasonable feed and hopefully they won’t be too busy yet as it’s still early in the evening.” “Sounds good to me,” replied Biggles. “I’m about ready for some tucker now you mention it. Lead on!” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 3:06pm The sun was low in the sky by the time the group arrived back at the station feeling revitalised by their meal. Biggles eyed the sky meditatively. “I don’t know about the weather-lore in this part of the world but I would say that that sun says there’s trouble coming, and soon.” “I think you’re right,” agreed Rosalie. “Storm, I reckon and probably a bad one. Look at those clouds in the north-west. You can see them moving straight towards us. I only hope we get back before it hits.” However, Rosalie’s wish was not to be fulfilled. They boarded their train and found it so full with other people that only the girls could find seats, leaving the two members of Staff to stand at the rear of the compartment. It was halfway towards their destination when the sun suddenly vanished and only the carriage lights illuminated the scene. Silence fell, only to be broken by a colossal peal of thunder, following a dazzling bolt of lightning, and the hammering of thousands of raindrops. Some of the more nervous Juniors gasped at the force of the storm but managed to maintain their self-control. The next instant the train ground to a jarring halt and was plunged into darkness. Then it slowly began to slide agonisingly backwards down the mountainside. It was the final straw for Rosalie. Under the strain of the day’s happenings and delays, and the pain of her tooth, she let out a small cry and fainted, plummeting to the floor. Biggles sensed rather than saw her movement in the pitch-black conditions and leapt to her rescue. He managed to break her fall but she still tumbled heavily onto the wooden boards. “Rosalie! Can you hear me?” he cried. He cradled her inert form in his arms as he slowly moved her into the recovery position, oblivious to the shrieks of terror rising from his charges in the rows in front as they heard her fall and the note of dread in Biggles’ voice was all too clear. When no response was forthcoming, his heart missed a beat. He was very close to panic and despair as he desperately wracked his basic medical knowledge for some means of reviving her. The few minutes before she came around seemed like an eternity as he crouched in the darkness only relieved by the recurrent flashes of lightning which served only to highlight the situation. “Wh-where am I?” Rosalie asked shakily at length as she opened her eyes and was unable to see anything. “You’re in the train. The storm made it stop and the lights go out,” he replied softly as he supported her shoulders when she attempted to sit up. “What ha-happened to me?” she wondered. “You fainted when the lights went and the train jerked downhill for a short time.” He hesitated to say more when he felt her body tremble with reaction as she realised that she had been out cold. “What about the girls? How are they coping?” she queried anxiously. Biggles looked over the backs of seats to the group several rows in front. “They seem calm enough though the Seniors are comforting the younger girls.” He turned back to Rosalie and glanced down at her, worried about how well she really was. Her pale face looked up at his concerned features. “I’m glad you stayed with me,” she murmured. “But we must go and make sure the girls are managing. They’re bound to be upset, especially if they saw me keel over like that. It’s too much of a responsibility for the Seniors to have by themselves. I think Felicity Maynard is the oldest and she’s only fifteen.” “Very well. But are you feeling up to walking?” was Biggles’ only concern. “You really should be sitting down for the rest of the journey, however long that will be. Goodness knows when the train will start moving again!” “I’ll be fine, I hope!” she grinned. “Here, let me have your shoulder to lean on and we’ll see how it goes.” Biggles was only too happy to offer his assistance and the two slowly made their way over to the rest of the party, thankful that the lights returned to working order at that moment. Rosalie, though she wouldn’t admit it, was still more than a little wobbly and gratefully accepted the seat immediately offered by Felicity who was scared by the pale appearance of the school secretary. “Are you OK, Miss Dene?” she asked. “We saw you faint and were awfully worried.” “I’m fine,” Rosalie responded. “Luckily Mr Bigglesworth was here to catch me before I could do too much damage to myself. I’m still a bit shaky but it’s nothing to worry about.” She smiled up at the concerned girl. “I’m glad,” Felicity began, but what she might have said was lost in the noise of cheers as the train began making its way up the mountainside once more. “And thank goodness for that,” commented Biggles, attempting to raise morale amongst the group. “We should be back in no time and imagine what a tell you’ll have to tell the others.” “That’s right,” reinforced Rosalie. “Just think, Mrs Maynard may use this in her next book!” This idea buoyed up even the most terrified of Juniors and they eagerly began discussing how she would incorporate it, encouraged by Felicity who was doing her best to make sure the girls were responsible for no further alarms. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 3:10pm It was not long before it drew up at the station where Jack and Mark were waiting to drive them to the school buildings. As they thankfully decanted from the train, Jack greeted them with a note of annoyance in his voice. “What kept you? We’ve been waiting here for ages.” “We got held up by the storm,” explained Biggles. “The train stopped with its lights out for ages, though goodness knows why. I just glad you’ve turned up – we’re all more than ready for a spot of blanket drill.” “In that case, I’ll let you off,” laughed Jack. “Are you all OK?” “I managed to pass out,” admitted Rosalie. “But I feel absolutely fine now so don’t worry. I will tell Matey and she’ll make sure I’m up to scratch.” “I’m glad that’s it. Come on and get in the cars. You must be more than ready for a hot bath and bed.” “Is there room for a little one?” asked a new voice belonging to a slim fair-haired stranger who had crept up unnoticed to the party. “Mary-Lou!” exclaimed at least half of the group. “What are you doing here?” asked Jack. “You weren’t meant to be here until tomorrow!” “Just popping in,” she chuckled. “I did mean to spend the night in Interlaken and not come up tonight but this train was later than I thought so I decided to give you all a surprise. Hope you don’t mind too much.” “Not at all. Hop on in,” said Jack. “I’m sure Joey can find space for you somewhere with all the rooms we have.” *There might be more to follow tonight but I'm off to uni tomorrow so I don't know quite how soon the rest will be up. Unlike last year, I won't have a convenient computer room at the bottom of my staircase. Grr.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 5th, 2003, 3:31pm What!! You've started the story, got us all hooked and engrossed, then you coolly say you're going to uni, with no handy computer room?? Aaaargh. I don't suppose you'd consider taking a gap year? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 4:13pm Oh, it isn't that I won't have computer access, it just means it's about three minutes walk away rather than 30 seconds and I won't be going to bed and thinking, 'Oh, I'll just pop in and check e-mails etc' and spend half the night in there. So the rest ought to appear this term at some stage. As for a gap year, I've already done one year of my course and my tutors would love me if I said I had to take a year out to post a story on the net (as well as giving me some strange looks - I haven't told them I quite enjoy writing stories). On the bright side, Chapter 10 is going swimmingly and C_Rachel has given what she's read her vote of approval so it might appear before I go. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 5th, 2003, 4:28pm *Thankful for small mercies, and very much hoping to see the next part tonight. I don't suppose you're doing a subject where writing stories could come in useful? I had one assignment where one of the options was to write a M&B type story in 5000 words - that was the best mark I got all year - the only wonder is that I managed NOT to exced the word limit, or not by more than about 70 words anyway. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 5th, 2003, 8:42pm Thank you Rebecca! Please keep writing!! I'm addicted! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 9:27pm *Chapter 10. Esmeralda - I'm doing Maths so there isn't much (any?) scope for creative writing in it.* Samaris Davies, Head Girl of the Chalet School, entered the Prefects’ room and heavily slammed her books down on the table. “Listen up, you lot!” she irreverently addressed her fellow Prefects. “Have you all forgotten it’s our evening to amuse the school this Saturday? The Abbess just asked me what we had anything planned and I felt like a right fool when I said we hadn’t done anything about it, I can tell you!” “My only Aunt Seraphima!” exclaimed Robina McQueen. “It can’t be that time already.” “Well, it is. We’ve got exactly four days to come up with an idea and I want to be original if we can. We can’t let standards slip! Has anyone got any inspiration at all?” The circle of empty faces staring blankly back wasn’t too promising. Samaris resorted to the tried and tested method for getting ideas described in the Chalet School books, hoping it wasn’t an EBD invention to pad out the text. “Right, everyone, you’ve got five minutes to think of something! Go!” Silence reigned for a time but most faces remained vacant and uninspired. Sam felt despairing as it seemed that even EBD had failed her. When the five minutes were up, she asked for their thoughts. Emmy Friedrich was close to hysteria. “I – I thought, though I know we would never be allowed to do it, that we could put them in small groups and get them to make their own indoor fireworks. Points for the most explosive and colourful and – “ She was unable to continue as giggles overwhelmed her. The picture of smoke and detonations enveloping Hall caught the fantasy of the rest of the prefect body and it was some minutes before anyone could speak again, especially after Sam innocently added that if they could see Miss Annersley helping to wantonly destroy the building, they had more vivid imaginations than her. “How about a Murder Mystery?” chipped in Robina. “We could have clues and have a victim, probably one of us, with a weapon like a carving knife hidden somewhere and get them to try and solve it like a treasure hunt.” “Do you want to give the lambs nightmares?” Sam retorted crushingly. “I can’t see the Staff letting us go ahead with something so bloodthirsty and gory, can you? It’s more likely she’ll ask for an inspection of your reading matter, Prefect or not.” “Perhaps we could have some sort of fancy dress?” was Hilda Wendt’s suggestion. Celia Thornton chimed in. “I was thinking the same but with some theme and they must manufacture their own costumes during the afternoon and then they can guess who the others are. We could give prizes for the best guessers and best costumes.” Samaris looked thoughtful. “That might do. Can anyone think of a theme or what they could make their dresses from?” “How about newspaper and cardboard?” put in Clarissa Dendy. “We’ve got any amount of either and all least you can cut them up, unlike that awful sheets-and-pillowcase game we normally get landed with. Even the Juniors could do something by themselves.” “Yes, brilliant!” responded Sam. “Though it might be as well to get them to wear their velveteens underneath in case the costumes get ripped. Now we just need a theme.” Historical figures was rejected as being too difficult and types of flower too impractical to make. Emmy’s idea of book titles seemed best, as long as they kept to well-known titles. “And we can go as ‘Prefects of the Chalet School’,” chuckled Robina. “That means we can just wear our velveteens with oversized badges made of card and spend the afternoon sorting out refreshments instead of making costumes.” They fell on this inspiration with wild laughter and set to deciding on details and working out what prizes they could donate. “I’ve got some hankies I won at Progressive Games last term,” offered Sam. “And there’s that horrible vase that’s been doing the rounds, probably since the Tyrol, that I ended up with. You’re more than welcome to it!” added Marie Angeot. Hilda volunteered several of the pincushions and scented sachets that she had acquired at various events and was closely followed by Celia’s contribution of wooden animals. “After all, I’ve got a perfect zoo in my room and I know Matey thinks it’s excessive. The Juniors will like them at any rate.” “But ma chérie, why you have so many?” asked Lizette Thomé. “Same as why everyone’s donating. ‘Cause at every entertainment we have, I always get the wooden animals. I’ve got at least thirty St Bernards and twenty bears in various postures!” With that, the Prefects sorted out the finer details, including the playing of Progressive Games and other favourites for when the Juniors had gone to bed, and set their artistic members to designing invitations for the school and Staff after getting the go-ahead from a quietly amused Miss Annersley. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 9:28pm It soon came round to Saturday and the girls shrieked with horror when they saw the card on the school noticeboard. They had no idea how to construct a costume on the theme or what book to choose. Matron hustled them back to their common rooms on hearing the commotion and there they found piles of newspaper and cardboard awaiting them. “What on earth are we going to do?” wondered Nesta Llewelyn to a select bunch of Lower IVb. “I’ve got no idea at all.” “Let’s pick a book first,” suggested Abigail. “The shelves!” shrieked Emma Rogerton and she dashed across the room to the are where several rows of books were kept for their perusal. The rest of the form followed in her wake and they began scanning the contents. “We can’t possibly dress up as most of these,” decided Nerys disgustedly. “I mean, ‘Nellie’s Memories’, ‘Tessa in the Tyrol’, and most of the others are just as uninspiring.” “Eureka!” yelled Katie Egerton who had reached the Chalet School section. “Let’s go as ‘Chalet School Fête’!” “But how?” asked Anaïs Pelletier. “Easy! We’ll all pick a stall and put cardboard over our heads to form a table top. We can always reinforce it with rulers or something, and then hang rolls of newspaper down to make table legs. And then we’ll make the stuff on the stalls out of newspaper as well. We’ll be wearing our velveteens anyway so it’ll obviously be Chalet School, won’t it?” The girls applauded this idea and set to work. Similar scenes were being repeated all over the school. Gretl von Trappen had been persuaded to appear as ‘The New Mistress at the Chalet School’ and was busy manufacturing an academic gown out of newspaper, Rosalind Yolland was constructing herself an elaborate chalet for 'The New House at the Chalet School’ and Hilda Annersley, Rosalie Dene and Jeanne de Lachennais were sellotaping themselves into a colossal tent to represent ‘The Chalet Girls in Camp’. Biggles soon decided that he wouldn’t really fit any of the EBD titles unhelpfully suggested by Kathie Ferrars and Nancy Wilmot, who were engaged in weaving kilts and plaids from cardboard to be ‘The Highland Twins at the Chalet School’. He sedately made his way upstairs to his room and glanced down the updated list of books featuring himself that Captain W.E. Johns had sent him recently. “Surely one of these will fit,” he said to himself. Swiftly discarding ‘Biggles and the Little Green God’, ‘Biggles and the Leopards of Zinn’, and ‘Biggles in the Underworld’, he fixed on ‘Biggles, Foreign Legionnaire’, concluding that even he could manage some costume resembling that of the French Foreign Legion. With that, he returned to the hive of activity in the Staff room and began work on a complicated kepi before tackling the rest of the uniform. Freudesheim was in the same state of heightened excitement as Joey and Mary-Lou were invited to the entertainment. Mary-Lou, not surprisingly, had plumped for ‘Mary-Lou of the Chalet School’, while Joey was dithering between ‘Jo of’, ‘and Jo’, and ‘Jo returns’, before picking the first. It was early in the evening when the Prefects gathered in Hall. A spread to delight the stomachs of all their guests was prepared and they were eager to see what everyone else had come as. “If there’s one thing we can depend on, it’s that they will have used their imaginations. We’ve never been short on creativity,” proclaimed Robina as she sat by the door, ready to take down a list of correct answers and the corresponding people. First to arrive were a trio from Va, dressed in their velveteens but with no other distinguishing features apart from their newspaper wigs; one a ponytail, one a pigtail, and the other short and curly. Hot on their heels were a group from Inter V, also dressed in their uniforms with paper handcuffs linking them securely together, and four Juniors brandishing cardboard swords and pistols. The Staff wandered along in small groups, with Biggles, at least, feeling rather uncomfortable in his get-up. His attempt at a kepi had not been a distinguished success and resembled “something the cat had brought in,” according to Joey when she later described the scene to her husband and the less said about the rest of the uniform, the better. It is on record that not a single person managed to identify his costume though wild guesses ranged from ‘Robinson Crusoe’ to ‘The Ragamuffin Mystery’. However, when the girls paraded round for the Prefects to judge the costumes, they noticed a certain repetition in the dresses. All of the girls were clearly wearing their velveteens to denote the words ‘Chalet School’ in the title with the exception of Kit Lucy whose skin-tight outfit had a large J emblazoned on the front and a flapping cloak billowing out behind. Several groups had chosen to dress up as the entire Maynard clan to be ‘Joey & Co in Tirol’ and ‘Three go to the Chalet School’ was another popular choice. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 9:31pm “I really don’t know who to pick,” sighed Sam. “Normally it’s because they’re all so good but it’s because they’re so similar. No one seems to have shown a spark of originality. I vote the Staff prize goes to Mr Bigglesworth. I’ve no idea what he’s meant to be but at least it’s not Chalet School.” Robina glanced at her list. “I do know and I’m still not sure how he represents it! But that’s one done. What about Carlotta von Eschenau and her gang for the Senior prize? They’ve done ‘A Leader in the Chalet School’ awfully well with them following her around all evening and I don’t think anyone else has.” “OK,” agreed Lysbet. “My suggestion is Rachel and Ruth Cottingham for the Middles.” “Where are those twins?” asked Celia. “Oh, with the two and one on their fronts. Yes, that’s rather good. What about the Juniors?” “Let’s have Marie Courvoisier. She’s over there with the wild hair and bandanna round the head. I can just hear Matey on the subject of her appearance if she appeared like that at any other time!” The Prefects chuckled. Marie looked so different from her usual self in her outfit. The lists were more easily judged. Len Corristone was a clear winner for the Staff, Felicity topped the Seniors and Cecil the Middles, though Lois Graves prevented a clear sweep by the Maynards by beating the other Juniors and was delighted with her prize of carved wooden bears. Biggles tried to look equally pleased with the scented handkerchiefs he was presented with but it was only the comforting words of Rosalie that maintained his forced smile. “Don’t worry. The next time the Staff entertain with something like this, you’ll be able to provide something with no problem whatsoever. Most of the prizes are onto their third or fourth owners, at least!” Several of the girls grumbled in an undertone about “that dratted Maynard favouritism again” but made the mistake of doing so in the hearing of Mary-Lou who was famed for being unable to resist interfering with any and everything. She noted those who were complaining and made a mental note to have a word with them at some point. She knew Miss Annersley wouldn’t mind her taking them out of lessons to straighten out their thinking. Hall then emptied as the girls and Staff went to remove their outfits, thankful in the main to be rid of them. A sizeable number sported smudges from the newspaper ink, including Matey who had a rather fetching one on the tip of her nose where she had unintentionally brushed against her costume. Then they went to the Speisesaal for the extravagant tea provided by the Prefects. Prayers followed before the Juniors reluctantly trailed off to their dormitories, leaving their elders to continue the fun. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 5th, 2003, 9:33pm When they returned to Hall, they found that small tables were set out for a series of Progressive Games, a device frequently employed to keep large amounts of people amused which required very little effort on behalf of the entertainers. The challenges thought up included answering a series of questions in rhymes, a lollipop licking competition, identifying countries from a typical example of a car number plate, and constructing several biros from a wild assortment of parts. No one could say the Prefects had given them an easy time of it. Biggles was surprisingly successful at the car number plate challenge thanks to the amount of travelling involved in his career and rapidly moved on to the rhyming game where he wasted a large amount of time trying to claim that ‘pine’ and ‘time’ rhymed in answer to a query about how long it took to cut down a tree. Brigit Ingram who was supervising the game was ruthless and would allow no false rhymes at all so Biggles found himself relegated back to the number plates. His incompetence at rhyming ensured he remained alternating between the two games for the entire duration of the session and he was more than grateful when they moved on to the next part of the evening. Instead of their normal dancing, Joanna Feetham, a quiet American girl and the prefect responsible for the libraries, had, at the insistence of the other prefects, arranged to teach the rest how to line-dance. She was an extremely keen dancer herself and had already shown the remainder of the prefect body the basic steps so they were reasonably confident. In order not to give away their secret, Marie Angeot had learnt to play a tune they could line dance to on the school piano and soon the Hall was ringing with ‘Yee-haws’, stamping feet, and the sounds of thighs being slapped. Miss Annersley’s expression was mildly disapproving. She didn’t mind some lightheartedness but to her, the girls were behaving in a rather unladylike and rowdy manner. The rest of Staff had no such concerns and enthusiastically joined in though Joey beat them all for eagerness and her cries rang out loudly above the rest. The unfamiliar steps caused most of the girls to do no more than stumble through the initial routine and it took several attempts before they were all at least facing the right direction most of the time. As they became more accomplished, the routine became slicker and even Joanna was impressed by their progress and even began on another dance to satisfy their appetite. The majority were disappointed when Miss Annersley declared it was bedtime for everyone, Middles and Seniors, and more than one girl asked Joanna if they could learn some more on another occasion. At length only the Prefects remained in Hall as they began tidying up the few items left. “I think that went rather well,” declared Sam. “Did you see the Abbess’ face when Joanna introduced the yee-hawing?” laughed Lysbet. “It was a picture!” “I noticed she didn’t join in but I guessed she didn’t feel up to it and wanted to sit out,” commented Joanna. “I hope she didn’t mind too much, especially since the girls seemed to enjoy themselves so much. You did mention the line-dancing to her beforehand, didn’t you?” “Yes, though I’m not sure she knew exactly what it was,” explained Robina. “We didn’t really know ourselves then because you’d only given us a quick demonstration.” “Oh, well, it doesn’t really matter,” decided Emmy. “There’s not much she can do about it now and I’m sure Mrs Maynard would talk her out of it. She enjoyed herself!” There the conversation ended as the room was tidy and the Prefects hurried up to bed, knowing Matron would not spare her tongue if she thought they were taking excessively long. *I didn't think that the titles were that hard to work out but C_Rachel struggled more than I thought. However, in true EBD style, I'm not going to tell you and C_Rachel is sworn to secrecy as well.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 5th, 2003, 10:15pm Please tell us what the titles are Rebecca! I've worked out quite a few, but a couple of them have me stumped!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 6th, 2003, 12:06am Huh - I've only got one, but then again I have been up since 05.00. Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 6th, 2003, 7:11pm Well, the only one *I've* got- I think!- is Coming of Age. Still trying to figure out the bandana one though. *wishing some nice person would see fit to donate a pc/ laptop to Rebecca for her room (assuming there's a phone line!) so that we don't need to wait for the next installment. * |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by crashbb on Oct 7th, 2003, 2:56am I cannot get the bandana either. But I loved Jo to the Rescue. Chelsea *off the look at the CS titles list to figure out some more* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 7th, 2003, 3:16am The only thing I can think of for the bandana is "A Rebel at the Chalet School"? ??? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by crashbb on Oct 7th, 2003, 3:49am Or a Genius?? Thinking Albert Einstein hair. Chelsea *who will scream if she ever hears the word influenza again* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 9:48am *Oh, go on then!* A trio from Va, dressed in their velveteens but with no other distinguishing features apart from their newspaper wigs; one a ponytail, one a pigtail, and the other short and curly - Chalet School Triplets Hot on their heels were a group from Inter V, also dressed in their uniforms with paper handcuffs linking them securely together - A United Chalet School Four Juniors brandishing cardboard swords and pistols - Chalet School at War Kit Lucy whose skin-tight outfit had a large J emblazoned on the front and a flapping cloak billowing out behind. - Jo to the Rescue “Where are those twins?” asked Celia. “Oh, with the two and one on their fronts. Yes, that’s rather good. What about the Juniors?” - Coming of Age of the Chalet School She’s over there with the wild hair and bandanna round the head - Rebel at the Chalet School |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 9:52am *Does my generosity know no bounds? Here's the next installment (luckily the uni computers are quite happy to open what I've done already which was what I was afraid they might not do).* Chapter 11 The next day Mary-Lou abruptly burst into the Head’s office, demanding to speak to the Middles who had accused the school of favouritism towards the Maynards. Miss Annersley looked up from her correspondence and frowned at the former Head Girl. “Have you forgotten to knock before entering?” she asked icily. “Oh, I thought that didn’t really matter since I’m not a pupil any more,” Mary-Lou responded breezily. “I know Joey doesn’t always and I didn’t think you’d mind.” “It’s hardly the done thing. After all, I could have had parents or one of the girls in here and I wouldn’t want you to interrupt me then.” “Oh, OK. I won’t do it again. But when may I speak to the girls?” Miss Annersley reflected that it was a shame that the school hadn’t had a greater impact on the girl. She had no idea of courtesy and how to behave appropriately and the school had merely reinforced her attitudes rather than corrected them. “I’m not going to let you take them out of lessons. They are here for their education, after all. You may see them this afternoon when they would normally have games. It won’t hurt them to miss it for once, especially if this matter is as urgent as you say it is. It is essential, isn’t it?” “Of course! They need their thinking straightening out and I think I can help them see where they’re going wrong. I’ll take them over to Freudesheim and have a chat and hopefully that’ll do the trick. Thank you so much Auntie Hilda!” Mary-Lou’s enthusiasm was obvious. She had always enjoyed correcting the faults of others and butting in wherever she could. The result was that the afternoon saw three members of Upper IVa wandering reluctantly over to the Maynards’ house. They were all keen on sport and deeply resented giving up their practice to see Mary-Lou, or “that interfering beast” as Aimée Brissac re-christened her. Phyllis Glenbaron and Heidi Lilienthal nodded their agreement. They correctly decided that Mary-Lou must have overheard their comments but made a pact to stick to their opinion. “After all, we’re in the right. They are favoured, them and all their relations and that lot with Guernsey connections. I guess the only reason Mary-Lou got as far as she did was that she knew the Maynards before she came to the school. It’s so unfair! They can get away with murder and we get pulled up for the smallest thing!” ranted Phyllis. “And remember, as long as we’re not too rude, it doesn’t matter too much what we say,” added Heidi. “She’s not Staff or a Prefect so there’s nothing to fear in that direction.” So it was that Mary-Lou met a rebellious trio when she ushered them into the Saal of Freudesheim. Though she noticed their resentful faces, she concluded that they were upset about missing hockey but decided that they would soon forget about it and be grateful to her when she began talking to them. With her, to think was to act and she got to the heart of the matter once they were comfortably seated. “I suppose you who why I wanted to speak to you,” she started. “Because you eavesdropped on our conversation and wanted to apologise?” flung back Aimée who possessed most of the cheek of the trio, particularly when she was wound up. Mary-Lou brushed aside the accusation. “Hardly! It was more the subject of the conversation I wanted to discuss.” “Discuss or lecture?” queried Heidi who managed to inject a considerable amount of sarcasm into the three words. Mary-Lou gasped. She had happily thought that the entire school had fond memories of her and was oblivious to the resentful undercurrent that accompanied her reputation. The attitude of the three Middles was unlike anything she had come across before. Still, that was another thing she could address, she thought cheerfully. “It’s quite wrong you know,” she began again. “The Maynards aren’t favoured above other families. Why would they be? Isn’t it natural that they would be better at remembering Chalet School titles than other people when they’ve grown up with it?” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 9:53am “Oh, this isn’t about last night specifically,” said Phyllis bluntly. “It’s about the attitude of the entire school towards them. I mean every other Maynard, Russell and Bettany has been Head Girl, even when there have been other equally good candidates. The Maynards always have to be at least two forms higher than their contemporaries and at least second prefect in that form.” “Not only that,” continued Aimée, “but they can get away with anything that any other girl would be expelled for. Look at Margot blackmailing Ted for instance. Anyone else would be out on their ear, and rightly so.” “And they get more of the Chalet School series devoted to them than anyone else,” carried on Heidi. “Who wants to hear about their holidays anyway? Half the things that EBD claims happened to them happened to other people and their lives are really just as boring as ours when all’s said and done.” Not for the first time that afternoon, Mary-Lou was taken aback. “So you’re all jealous, really? Jealousy is a horrid thing in anyone and a hard habit to fight. I’ve got some tips that I think might help – “ “We’re NOT jealous!” stormed Aimée, rudely interrupting Mary-Lou. “We just want some equality!” “I beg your pardon?” responded Mary-Lou in chilly tones, wishing that all Middles were as pliable as they were when she was Head Girl. “Really, we’re not,” replied Phyllis in a calmer voice. “But think back to when the school moved out here. Why were the three oldest Maynards allowed to attend this branch when they weren’t old enough? It’s favouritism, plain and simple, and we’re sick of getting the short straw. “But they were going to live next door,” faltered Mary-Lou. “It was the logical place to come.” “Why? Mrs Maynard has always been perfectly happy to send her boys off to English schools from here at an even younger age. The girls could quite easily have stayed at the Carnbach branch for a year or two. It would hardly have killed them, would it?” reasoned Heidi. Mary-Lou hesitated. She had been confident that the girls would admit they were wrong, probably cry, and then be grateful to her for the rest of their lives. This calm and logical arguing was beyond her powers. Thankfully for her, she heard the front door slam and deduced that Joey must have returned from one of her frequent visits to Phil at the San. She decided that Joey was the ideal person to tackle the defiant trio and jumped up to fetch her. “Mary-Lou, my love! Have you had a nice day?” Joey greeted her visitor. “Actually there’s something I need your help with,” admitted Mary-Lou. “Go ahead!” “It’s these three Middles. They think that the school shows favouritism to your lot and all their cousins as well as the Lucy-Chester-Ozanne clan. I’ve been trying to persuade them otherwise but I’m not getting through to them and I thought you might be the one to do it.” Joey looked queerly at the girl, usually so confident and sure of herself. “I think we need to have a talk after I’ve spoken to the girls. Go up to your room and I’ll be up when I’ve finished. I presume they’re in the Saal.” Mary-Lou nodded. What on earth did Joey need to talk to her about? Probably to thank her for noticing the girls were upset and doing something about it, she decided. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 9:54am Meanwhile, Joey strolled into the Saal and sat down beside the trio. “Let me see, it’s Phyllis, Aimée, and Heidi, isn’t it?” They assented and wondered what she was going to say next. They hadn’t banked on involving Joey in their disagreement. “Mary-Lou tells me that you feel that my daughters and nieces are favoured, along with certain other families. Well,” she continued, “you’re quite right. Of course, they’re favoured! After all, they are all relations of one sort or another of Lady Russell who owns the school.” The trio looked flabbergasted. Whatever they had expected, it wasn’t a calm agreement with their point of view. “But – but that’s awfully unfair!” cried Aimée. “I suppose it is,” admitted Joey. “But the fact that so many have been Head Girl, for instance, is due to the fact that at any other school they would be candidates at least and here the relationship swings the balance their way. You can’t say any of them have been bad for the school and those like Sybil or Con who wouldn’t have made a good Head Girl in the first place, didn’t get the position. The same principle applies to form prefectships and it’s written into the school’s constitution, in fact.” “Why?” demanded Heidi. “Oh, Lady Russell is always being asked about the school and how her girls and nieces are doing there. One of the perks of being married to a world expert on TB, I presume. She enjoys boasting about how well all her relations are getting on and if she can throw into the conversation that one’s Head Girl and the others are responsible prefects, or form prefects, or Head of the Middles, or whatever, she feels it reflects well on her and her family. That sort of thing’s always been important to Madge,” reminisced Joey. “Where does that leave the rest of us?” asked Phyllis. “It means we’ve no chance of important posts in school unless we’ve got the right connections.” “It’s all in the prospectus,” explained Joey. “That all relations of Lady Russell have first claim on posts in school. It’s in the midst of all that small print at the back. You can’t say we weren’t honest about it.” “Yeah, like anyone reads the prospectus,” rubbished Aimée. “That’s what we hoped for,” agreed Joey. “After all, we didn’t want to put people off sending their children here, but Lady Russell does have the final say regarding things like that. But please don’t go telling the other girls about this. I don’t want them to resent my relations for something they can’t help.” “You mean you want us to pretend there isn’t this whole devious side to selecting people for posts?” asked Phyllis. “Please,” responded Joey. “It really isn’t fair on the girls.” “But this isn’t fair on us,” claimed Heidi. “Well, there you go then, two wrongs don’t make a right.” retorted Joey with rather dubious logic. The girls looked at each other and sighed. “You haven’t really left us with a lot of choice. I suppose you probably have the power to expel us if we spread it around,” said Aimée. “How did you know that?” asked Joey, amazed. “I thought you hadn’t read the prospectus! You aren’t the only ones to know this, you realise, though no one has twigged for a while now. Eilunedd Vaughn was the last one and we just set EBD on her instead since it was her final year.” The three Middles looked horrified at the prospect. They had all read ‘Peggy of the Chalet School’ but had mentally brushed the idea that Eilunedd had a point under the carpet. “I suppose we’ll have to keep quiet then,” decided Phyllis, with obvious reluctance. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 9:55am “But what I want to know,” demanded Heidi suddenly, “is why Margot was treated so badly by EBD. Why didn’t she make her the almost perfect student like Len and Con?” “Oh, she was fascinated with this whole idea of splitting me up between the three of them,” explained Joey. “Len and Con, as you probably know, are fairly similar to how they were portrayed and that only left my bad side for Margot to be lumped with. Being a year younger meant her sisters got their parts staked first so she had no say in it. I suppose she was naturally more mischievous than the other two but not nearly to the extent that EBD made her seem. But then Len was always too busy being responsible and Con was away in her own dream world most of the time for them to think of anything too evil to do. Margot was always a live wire and in the thick of things, including any pranks and tricks.” “Wasn’t Margot upset to see herself like that?” wondered Aimée. “I know I would be.” “Yes, of course she was,” confirmed Joey. “And it didn’t improve her temper at all. EBD tended to bring out the worst in her and that provoked her to do even worse things. That’s one reason why it sometimes seemed like Miss Annersley was being lenient with her. I’d have done exactly the same in Margot’s shoes so maybe EBD wasn’t so far out in giving Margot some of my characteristics.” “But I can’t see you becoming a nun!” protested Heidi. “Or Margot for that matter, not based on the books anyway.” “Remember EBD only ever showed one side of Margot’s character,” warned Joey. “She wasn’t forever raging about something or about to fly off the handle. Those moments were few and far between but just got exaggerated out of all proportion by EBD.” She paused for a moment, wondering how much of Margot’s story she should tell but decided that they deserved to hear at least the basic outline. “Did you know that she didn’t actually consider becoming a nun until a few years after leaving school? Obviously she grew up a lot in that time – university is a broadening experience – and though she had thought about it before, it had only been thoughts. Both Dr Maynard and myself are happy that she’s chosen the right path. In fact, now it’s hard to think of her devoting her life to anything less worthy. But EBD wanted to hurry the whole thing along, like she did with Len and Dr Corristone, and wind the series up beautifully. By the time she was writing, Margot had already made her choice so EBD merely fitted it into ‘Prefects’. Now, any more questions?” “My head hurts!” murmured Phyllis discreetly to Aimée before phrasing her query. “So let me get this straight. Lady Russell has already decided which of her relatives is going to be Head Girl and who’s going to be form prefect. But EBD can change things that happen at school in her books and completely alter characters as well to make a good read.” “That’s the gist of it,” concurred Joey, “though EBD has sometimes got involved in the school appointments and has been behind several choices of Head Girl that were no relation of Lady Russell. Of course, your parents all had to sign a document allowing EBD to change your career as she deemed fit but that didn’t mention her exact role in choosing girls for posts and most parents don’t think anything of it. I know I treated it all quite lightly and it wasn’t until Margot was getting such a raw deal that I thought to try and get out of it, not that that was possible. Still, is that all?” The three looked at each other and nodded. “Good!” cried Joey when no one replied. “If you’ve any more questions, just ask for leave to come round and visit some time. I’ll sort it out with Miss Annersley. Now, would you all like some cream cakes and tea before going back to school? There’s some just baked fresh today and I’m sure you’ve got lots to talk about without the rest of the form overhearing.” They agreed enthusiastically to the idea and tucked into the delicious fare provided by Anna while Joey went upstairs to deal with Mary-Lou. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 9:57am The girl was seated on a wicker chair, staring out of the window at the delightful Alpine scene. She turned at the noise of Joey opening the door and her face lit up. “Joey! Have you sorted out the Middles already? They do get some strange ideas, don’t they?” she laughed. Her hostess squatted on the side of the bed, knowing Matron would have a fit if she could see her. “Why do you think it’s a strange idea?” she asked. “Well, it’s preposterous! As if the school would discriminate against people based on their families!” “Mary-Lou, they do,” replied Joey, very gently. “Only if they are good enough for the post in the first place but it’s often the deciding factor.” “So they were right after all?” “Yes, though they know not to spread it around. Even my family don’t know about it. It’s between the Heads, EBD, Madge and I.” “EBD?” “Of course. Sometimes she wanted a girl to be Head Girl to provide her with material for her books. That’s why Marilyn Evans was during our days at Plas Howell. She wanted to see how a girl who was so committed to work would balance the pressures. As it turned out, the experiment wasn’t a success but the others agreed to it.” “So why was I Head Girl and not Vi Lucy? Surely she had a better claim than I did?” wondered Mary-Lou, her head spinning as it tried to take in the new ideas. She had always had a nagging suspicion that Vi was equally suited but tended to be pushed into the background by Mary-Lou’s own domineering personality. “Actually, your appointment was due to EBD. The others wanted Vi but she pointed out that she had made you form prefect all the way up the school because you were good at butting in so Vi had had no leadership experience.” “Does that mean the Heads didn’t think I was the right person? They really wanted another Head Girl?” Joey nodded reluctantly. She was deeply uncomfortable at the sight of the expression on Mary-Lou’s face. In it she saw disbelief, anger, and sorrow. “So my entire school career has been a complete lie? You didn’t really want me helping the other girls out at all? After all I did for your three after the blackmail incident as well!” “But don’t you realise, Mary-Lou, that you were telling Len off for the very thing that you were doing? The problem wasn’t that you were always seeing things that others didn’t, or even that you wanted to help. But sometimes, your help wasn’t appreciated. You made situations worse by interfering or misunderstanding and several of the girls resented that. For that reason alone, you weren’t the best Head Girl we could have chosen, not when the whole school wasn’t behind you and some pupils openly hated you.” “The – the books – “ stuttered Mary-Lou. “Didn’t everyone see me like that? I – I thought I was doing a good job.” “EBD loved you. She saw you as a second me, in fact she said as much in several places. But you were more intense than I ever was and a number of the girls detested you for it,” explained Joey. “Go away!” raged Mary-Lou. “I need time! Time to take in the fact that how I saw myself is a complete myth. Time to see that the thing I was most proud of in life, being Head Girl, was just some writer’s device to make a good book. Go away! I hate you! All of you!” Joey left, upset by the situation. She hadn’t wanted to tell the girl the truth but she couldn’t have avoided it. The irony was that Mary-Lou would still be in ignorance if it wasn’t for her interfering nature. It was some time later when she heard the front door slam loudly and saw Mary-Lou storming down the path, case in hand. “Mary-Lou! Come back!” she shouted but the figure continued walking stonily on. Joey ran up the stairs and found a note on Mary-Lou’s pillow, explaining that she didn’t want to have anything more to do with the school. She felt let down and had her own life with her husband now and no further need for the institution that had played such a major part in her development and youth. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 7th, 2003, 4:40pm Wonderful. Loved to see ML being told some home truths and to see some honesty from Joey as well ;D MORE PLEASE MORE PLEASE |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 7th, 2003, 4:41pm Rebecca!! You wrote out OOAOML!!!!! :o :o Please write more!! (Oh and thank you for explaining the book titles, I think I'd worked out most of them, in the end!) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by crashbb on Oct 7th, 2003, 5:39pm Thanks for the answers. I had most of them. But I thought the group that was "War" was showing "Fued". Chelsea *willing to argue that Fued and War pretty much mean the same thing anyway* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 7th, 2003, 5:41pm your generosity is appreciated Rebecca, thanks for explaining Margot, and the scene between Jo and Mary Lou was priceless ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rosalie on Oct 7th, 2003, 6:57pm Well I'm just impressed with the moving 'More please' message... Story's not half bad either ;D Though I do feel vaguely sorry for Mary-Lou, which is odd cos I found her insufferable before! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 7th, 2003, 7:19pm Glad you're enjoying it. I suppose you can have half marks for Feud, though I'm sure it mentions in one book that they weren't allowed things which were 'practically the same thing'. I'm not sure when the rest will follow since I spent the morning helping to make several hundred cookies and the afternoon in the pub with the freshers. Maybe I'll type some more this evening - I don't think the freshers have found the computer room yet! Incidentally my college daughter's grandmother has a complete collection of CS books but she's only read them once or twice. And one of the other first year mathmos is just raring to get her Bodleian card so she can get rare books out of it (Sadler's Wells, I think she wanted)! Rosalie - I know exactly what you mean. OOAO annoys me so much every time I read a book with her in but it felt rather mean to get at her like this, a bit underhand almost. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 8th, 2003, 11:11am *A not unproductive evening, so here's the start of Chapter 12.* The days following the departure of Mary-Lou saw the clouds descend onto the Platz and the advent of the wintry weather. A blizzard unrivalled in intensity in the memory of the school raged for four days without ceasing and the girls grew crotchety as they were confined to the building. The lights burned all day long to combat the darkness outside and it wasn’t long before the younger girls?excess energy was turned to alternative pursuits. “I am so bored," complained Helen Carter of Lower IVb as they huddled around the stove in their common room. “What do you people do all winter when the weather’s this ghastly?" “This is your first winter in the mountains, nicht wahr?" asked Isolda Werden. “Here we have many storms, both this term and next and one gets used to being kept indoors. One must have patience." “But I don’t know what to do," repeated Helen. “I’ve read till I’m blue in the face, I’m sick of board games and jigsaws are just repetitive. When you’ve done one, you’ve done the lot." “Do you not sew?" inquired Anaïs Pelletier, who was renowned for her placidity. “The time, it passes quickly then." “Oh, shucks to that!" retorted Helen. “Don’t you have any fun?" “What sort of fun?" wondered Janeczka Przbylinski. “Have you any new ideas?" “I might do," said Helen tantalisingly. “My younger brother taught me a wizard game in the hols that he learnt at his prep school." “Go on," encouraged Emma Rogerton, Helen’s usual partner in crime. “I know Eric is great for new crazes. Anything to break the boredom!" “Yes, do!" echoed at least half a dozen more restless souls. “Well," began Helen, “it’s called ‘Mercy'." “That sounds suitable enough," interjected Nesta. Helen giggled. “No, not really. What you do is find a partner and hold each other’s hands. Then try and make the other person say “Mercy!' by twisting their arms or whatever. What do you think?" “Let’s try!" enthused Emma and four others immediately signed down. “Me, I will not," decided Anaïs. “It sounds rough and violent and I do not think that the Staff would wish us to hurt each other." With that she diverted her attention to the elaborate afternoon tea-cloth that she was embroidering and left them to their own devices. “Fine, goody-goody!" sneered Emma. She turned to the other rebels. “I hope none of you are baby angels." They fiercely denied the accusation and set to work. Their cries of pain were quiet at first though Abigail, as form prefect, asked them to stop playing. “I don’t think you ought to be doing that," she protested. “We don’t want the Staff or prees coming over to find us wrestling with each other and Matey can smell something like this a mile off." “Rats to that!" scoffed Helen. “We’re not scaredy cats! It’s not like we don’t know what we’re doing." “It wouldn’t take much to sprain a wrist or do something even more serious. Come on and play ‘Impertinent Questions' with the rest of us and leave it alone." “Or what?" “Or I’ll have to report you." “Sneak!" cried Emma and Helen together. “No, this wouldn’t be sneaking," replied Abigail firmly. “If you don’t know the different by now between sneaking and reporting you must be even bigger dolts that I took you for." Her tactless comment did little to calm the wrong-doers and they ignored her helpful advice. Abigail felt she had no option but to go and seek a person in authority, reflecting that someone might find the culprits first judging by the loud shrieks that were being emitted from the common room. One particularly loud effort pierced even the quietness of the Staff room, disturbing the card game in progress. “I wonder what the little dears are up to now?" mused Kathie Ferrars. “Any volunteers to come and investigate with me?" Nancy Wilmot lazily stirred from her cosy armchair. “Oh, I suppose I might as well go and see what original sin they’ve discovered this time." As they strolled through the corridors, a white blur charged out in front of them, clearly in a hurry, with a Middle trailing in her wake. The two friends looked at each other. “Matey?" "Must be urgent," deduced Kathie. “Maybe we’d better hurry up." In no time at all, they found themselves in the Junior Middle common room and their eyes were instantly drawn to the scene at the far end. A girl was seated on the floor holding her left arm and sobbing piteously. Matron was attending to another pupil who was slumped on the floor, ominously grey and still with blood oozing from a cut on the back of her head. A crowd of girls were huddled around silently, not wishing to draw notice to themselves. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 8th, 2003, 9:29pm Thank you Rebecca! More soon please, I want to know how they've managed to damage themselves quite that badly!! I'm also curious why you have "&nsbp" sprinkled plentifully through your post?? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Oct 9th, 2003, 12:14am Well done Rebecca - glad you found a computer. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 9th, 2003, 9:18am *I was hoping the '&nsbp' were just showing up on my computer and not anyone else's! Obviously not. I don't know why it's done that but it made a bish of copying from Word. Oh well, I'll go and edit.* Matron looked up at their arrival. “Thank goodness you’re here! Miss Ferrars, go and ‘phone the San as quickly as you can. Nesta’s out cold and isn’t responding. We need an ambulance as soon as possible. Miss Wilmot, will you check on Janeczka?” Kathie dashed off for the nearest telephone and was relieved to get through to the Görnetz Sanatorium with her first go. She was reassured that an ambulance would be on its way and hurried out to the front of school to direct the medics, pausing only to visit the Staff room to ask for support from her colleagues. Three or four rapidly followed her instructions and made their way to the common room where they found the same scene. Matron was having no success in reviving Nesta though Janeczka’s crying had abated. Rosalind Yolland was first to respond to the situation. “Girls! Come with me to the Senior Middles’ common room, please,” she commanded, deciding that it would be best to remove them from the accident as quickly as possible. Most obeyed as well as their shaking limbs were able though Nerys flatly refused to leave her twin. “I can’t go until I know she’s going to be OK, if she’s – “ She was unable to finish the sentence but shook her head stubbornly at Miss Moore’s raised eyebrows. At that juncture several doctors from the San burst into the room along with Kathie. They immediately assessed the situation and gently moved Nesta onto the stretcher they had carried. One remained to examine Janeczka’s wrist, though it proved only to be a minor, albeit painful, sprain. The rest rapidly left the room, determined to get the casualty back to the Sanatorium and their more advanced equipment as soon as they could. Matron put her arm tightly around Nerys’ heaving shoulders, gently restraining her. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go with them. They’ll be busy with Nesta and you won’t be able to be with her at the San.” “I know!” sobbed Nerys, her attempts at self-control evaporating at the sight of her sister disappearing through the doorway, frighteningly pale and inert. “She will be all right, won’t she? I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.” “We can pray for her,” comforted Matron. “Meanwhile I think a lie-down will be the best thing for you. Go to your cubicle and I’ll bring you a hot drink of milk. That’ll help soothe you. As soon as the doctors ring to let me know what the situation is, I’ll come and tell you.” “Really? Thank you Matron. I do feel tired.” She ended her remark, voiced shakily, with a yawn, feeling glad she didn’t have to face her form-mates and their questions in her current state. The news, when it did come, was as good as could be hoped for. Nesta was sleeping naturally, though there was a large lump on her head. The bleeding from the cut had been stemmed but it had been deep and required several stitches. As for Nesta herself, no one could say how she had responded until she roused though they suspected concussion. Nerys was comforted by the bulletin delivered by Matron and demanded to be allowed back into school in the evening. “I feel much better now,” she begged. “Please, I don’t want to miss anything and it would help take my mind off things.” Matron relented and decided to let her have her way. The twins were both sturdy specimens and not prone to dwelling on the past. She said nothing of the dangers that still remained for Nesta, deciding that it would be healthier for Nerys not to know and worry needlessly about the possible, though unlikely, outcome. “She’s only twelve and has had a big enough shock for now,” Matey said to herself after ushering the girl downstairs. “There’s no need to scare her even more when the chances are that her sister is going to make a full and quick recovery.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 9th, 2003, 9:25am Retribution fell on the sinners the next day. Janeczka was back in school with her wrist heavily strapped though Nesta would remain in the San for the rest of the week. She had woken with a blinding headache and the doctors deemed it best for them to keep an eye on her though they were happy that there was no permanent damage. Miss Annersley made her announcement after Prayers in the morning. “Would the girls responsible for the injuries in the Junior Middle common room please stand,” she pronounced ominously. The sinners rose reluctantly to their feet, their faces crimson with shame. “Very well,” she continued after subjecting them to an appraisal that made them squirm uncomfortably. “You five little girls will go to my study after Prayers and see me there.” They thankfully sank back onto their forms, aware that the worst was still to come and wondering what excuses they could offer for their behaviour and what their punishment would be. They were soon to find out. Miss Annersley sat in her office, listening intently for the timid knock she knew would herald the arrival of the culprits. It was so quiet that if she hadn’t been prepared for it, it would have passed unnoticed. The five crawled into the room in response to her “Herein!” and lined up before her desk. “Please be seated,” she said in her most chilly tones. The Middles were only too anxious to obey her and took their places on the chairs provided and sat there primly, intently studying the floor. “I wish to know how Nesta and Janeczka injured themselves yesterday afternoon,” she asked. “It was me,” began Helen before Miss Annersley cut in. “You mean, ‘It was I’. Please do not forget your grammar, Helen.” Seeing her friend was unable to continue, Emma attempted to carry on explaining with more pluck in her words than she felt. “We were just playing ‘Mercy’ and it got a bit intense.” “You were playing ‘Mercy’? Explain more precisely,” requested the Head. Helen stumbled through an outline of the rules and Miss Annersley’s face grew grimmer. “You mean to say that you deliberately tried to hurt each other?” As the girls nodded, she added a cutting comment of, “I would hope that even the Juniors would show more common sense than that.” Nerys’ eyes began to water at the Head’s words and the others were not far behind. “Will you explain how Nesta came to be unconscious?” was Miss Annersley’s next query. “She –she slipped and hit her head against the stove,” described Helen. “Do you realise that she could have been killed?” asked Miss Annersley. “She is extremely lucky only to have a headache at the moment.” The girls gulped. Only Nerys had reached that stage and it was a shock to the others to realise that their actions could have resulted in the death of one of their friends. Miss Annersley let them dwell on the thought for a minute before continuing. “What excuse can you offer for such recklessness?” Helen was the only one with enough bravado left to respond. “We – we were bored with being shut in for so long. There was nothing – “ Her eyes met the Head’s icy gaze and she faltered. “Indeed? It that sufficient reason to injure another girl?” she inquired dryly. “I – we didn’t – think “ stuttered Helen before lapsing into silence. “You didn’t think?” Miss Annersley repeated, letting the full seriousness sink in. “At your age, you should be more aware of the consequences of your actions. Your conduct means that we, by which I mean the Staff, are unable to trust you alone,” she continued in her most stately manner. “We clearly cannot rely on you to behave in a manner suiting your age and therefore you must be supervised by the Staff in your free time until we know we can trust you.” This was the end for the rebels and all five were weeping copiously into their sodden handkerchiefs. To be told they were no better than Juniors and were untrustworthy was deeply upsetting. They also knew that the other Junior Middles would strongly resent having their freedom restricted and would not spare their tongues in telling the group what they thought of them and their bright idea. “Furthermore,” she went on, her beautiful voice emphasising every word, “since your behaviour is more similar to that which would be more understandable, though not acceptable, for Juniors, you will lose all privileges which they do not have for the next fortnight. That includes staying up later and invitations to some of the evening entertainments.” She paused to allow them to think about the awfulness of the edict, a silence only interrupted by sobs and sniffles. “That is all I have to say on the matter. Please return to your lessons.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 9th, 2003, 9:28am The five stood up shakily and barely managed to remember to curtsey on exiting their headmistress’s office. They made for the nearest Splashery to tidy themselves before having to endure a short lecture from Miss Wilmot on the subject of their tardiness after which they buried themselves in their work for the rest of the day, in an attempt to avoid the hurtful comments and glances from their angry form-mates. “We don’t want to be treated like babies, just because you play infantile games!” cried Katie Egerton. “I did warn you,” reminded a rather tactless Abigail. “Now we all have to suffer because of you,” rubbed in Cecil. “Thanks a bunch!” It is on record that the punishment meted out to the girls served to contain their wildest ideas and they managed to contrive to think more carefully before carrying out their craziest pastimes. Miss Annersley heaved a sigh of relief when she thought of their improved behaviour, thankful that she seemed to have nipped the trouble in the bud and turned her mind to the more pressing issues in a Head’s life, namely the Staff prediction league on which girl would be next to be summoned to the office for a lecture. She reflected sadly that Rosalind Yolland had gained four points for correctly predicting four of the five Middles which pushed her up to third place, only behind Anna Mieders and Matey who both proved to be shrewd guessers. The league table did not make pleasant reading for the headmistress who was firmly rooted to the bottom with no points. Even Biggles had gained three! Although she had no desire for the lime-green twin set which had been donated as a prize from the previous year’s Sale - it had been left over because Joey, the only person who could carry off such an outfit, complained it wasn’t her size - she felt her position in the school meant she should be higher up with her reputed understanding of the girls. The thought briefly crossed her mind that since she was the only person with access to the predictions and was in charge of compiling the league table that was posted on the Staff noticeboard after every event, it would not be difficult to change the standings but she swiftly gave herself a lecture on the subject of honesty and set about her other duties. *Blame C_Rachel for the ending - she wanted to know exactly what Miss A's pressing issues were!* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 9th, 2003, 11:50am *giggling at the thought of both the prediction thingy and the lime green twin set. go on give it to her. dont forget the gold lame miniskirt either111 |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Susan on Oct 10th, 2003, 12:23am Love the prediction league. The lime green twinset sounds dreadful - would love to hear what happens if Biggles wins it. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 10th, 2003, 1:10am on 10/09/03 at 09:28:14, Rebecca wrote:
Thank you Rebecca!! (And thank you Cumbrian_Rachel!!! ;)) More soon please! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 10th, 2003, 9:10am Thanking you both! Of course Miss A could just ensure she summonsed the girls she had predicted! Why are the predictions secret? Loving this story, can we see some more of Biggles again soon? The idea of the prizes going round and round is excellent, and so believable!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 10th, 2003, 10:12am *Re the prediction league, MIss A is in charge of compiling things so it isn't that they're secret, just that everyone trusts her to be honest with it. I've a feeling it's going to crop up again later...* Chapter 13: The Staff were busy enjoying some precious free time in the Staff room during the evening. Many were hard at work sewing and one or two were catching up on some leftover marking. Biggles was engaged in an intense game of Scrabble with Kathie, Nancy and Rosalie. The rules were somewhat different to the version he was used to and he was struggling to adapt. “You can use words in any one of English, French or German,” explained Nancy with a chuckle. “But definitely no slang!” Already he had been pulled up for ‘lubber’, ‘bilge’ and ‘grog’, words which had caused Kathie to wonder aloud at what he had been reading recently. “I’ve always been interested in pirates,” admitted Biggles. “Haven’t you read ‘Biggles flies west’? I would have thought that my fascination came across quite clearly.” Only Rosalie admitted to reading the publication in which Biggles helped a young lad to find a pirate treasure in the Caribbean and discovered a pirate fort, complete with cannon, pistols and cutlasses, while doing so but Kathie’s eyes widened. “So you’re the Biggles?” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realise! How strange that the hero of one well-known series should turn up in the setting for another!” Biggles blushed, embarrassed at the word ‘hero’. Adulation from the general public had never been something he had grown accustomed to and though he didn’t mind meeting children who had liked the books, adults tended to be another kettle of fish with their gushing comments and ridiculous or awkward questions. “That’s me,” he remarked ungrammatically, annoyed at himself for letting out his secret. Miss Moore had not mentioned the fact to anyone and no one else who knew had thought to comment on it. “Did all of those adventures really happen to you?” Kathie wanted to know. “I’m well aware that EBD changes ours to make them more suitable for writing but I never thought that the Biggles books were based on a real person.” Biggles hesitated before answering. Parents usually asked this question in front of their naïve children and he had never wanted to shatter their illusions. But, he concluded, there were no young people present so he was free to tell the truth rather than recite one of his stock replies. “Yes and no,” he said. “All of the war stories happened to me in one form or another but the later Scotland Yard ones used a fair bit of artistic licence.” “How do mean?” asked a curious Nancy. “Well, there were more than four of us in the Air Section,” he explained. “Some of the tales happened to other members of the Force but Captain W.E. Johns pushed them off onto me to get material more quickly. He was really into detective novels by then so some of the plots are his own invention though he didn’t mention that to the publishers or the public. No one suspected since we kept it quiet and it was all in my contract, of course.” “Will he be writing one about you coming here?” Rosalie wanted to know. “I wouldn’t have thought so,” laughed Biggles. “I don’t think his target audience of young boys would be interested in what goes on at a girls’ boarding school. I suppose he might if he can make up a story about some behind the scenes event or mystery but my guess is that he’ll carry on getting material from the other fellows at the Yard and use my name with it.” Kathie wanted to know more but Nancy drew her attention back to the game in progress. “If we want to finish this before bed, we’d better hurry up. It’s your go, Biggles.” Biggles looked down at his letters. R O M G A N T. Surely there must be some word that could come from them, he thought. Then inspiration struck. “A R R,” he announced. “A noise made by pirates,” and he demonstrated vocally, causing several members of Staff to turn round at the hearty noise. “No!” cried the three other players. “You can’t have that,” added Rosalie. “It’s not a word!” “What rot!” retorted Biggles. “It’s perfectly above board!” “Shall we have a vote?” suggested Kathie. The others agreed and Biggles was forced to search for another idea. “There! M A G N E T O. Now that’s a legit word if ever there was one.” “What’s a magneto?” asked Nancy. “It sounds rather like slang for magnet to me.” “An electrical generator using permanent magnets, especially for ignition in internal combustion engines, which produces the required intermittent high-tension current independently of a battery,” he recited a trifle smugly, thankful that he still remembered the definitions from his first flying course almost forty years ago. “Oh, a magneto!” said Kathie. “I didn’t quite catch what you said. Of course we’re acquainted with what a magneto is, aren’t we?” The two other females nodded knowingly while Biggles chuckled to himself, pleased that he’d finally managed to outwit them. Nancy, as maths mistress, had the job of totting up points and was busy counting when Matron approached the group. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 10th, 2003, 10:14am “Biggles, I need to have a talk with you,” she said in a strange tone of voice. “Right-o,” responded Biggles cheerfully, only too grateful to leave the torturous game behind. “I suppose I’ll have to leave you chaps to finish off the game without me.” “We don’t mind waiting until you get back,” innocently chuckled Nancy. “No, really. I’ll be fine,” he assured and he left them to it as he followed Matey out of the room. “What’s the problem?” he inquired when they reached her quarters. “It’s about Penny Drinfield. She’s in your form, isn’t she?” said Matron. “Yes. What about it?” he asked, trying to get to the heart of the matter. Matron picked up a photograph from her table. “It’s something I hope you can explain more than anything else. I was doing a last minute check on the dormitories and found the poor child crying her eyes out over this. It, apparently, is her father who died during the summer.” Biggles took the picture and gasped. It was like looking back in time to a younger version of himself. “It’s not just me seeing things, is it?” questioned Matron. “There really is a strong resemblance to you.” “Yes,” he stuttered. “But I don’t see how there can be. I’ve no relatives alive apart from cousins on my mother’s side. But this man is a Bigglesworth, not a Lacey. My mother’s relatives all look very different but he looks just like my father going by this photo.” “What about brothers, or no, it would have to be an sister otherwise Penny would have your surname. Do you have any?” wondered Matron. “My only brother was killed during the Great War,” recalled Biggles. “He was several years older than me and very different in temperament so we never were close. There were just the two of us. Couldn’t you ask Penny, or maybe her mother would be better, about her family history?” “Not at the moment,” replied Matey forcefully. “She’s in the room over there by herself at the moment, obviously still very upset and I don’t want her to disturb the others in her dorm. Today was his birthday and she’s been close to tears all day. I’ve given her a sedative to help her sleep so she should get some rest.” “Poor kid,” sympathised Biggles. “My own mother died when I was born and I know my father never really got over it. He just buried himself in his work out in India until he volunteered to fight in the trenches in 1914. I think it was a release for him when he was killed soon after. That only left my cousins and my father’s eccentric brother after the war.” “Did he have any descendants?” asked Matron inquisitively. “No, he was far too busy exploring the globe, especially South America. I joined him on a couple of jaunts but he was soon too old for that sort of thing and died not long after,” he explained. Matron felt confused with developments. She had felt sure there would be some straightforward reason for the resemblance but Biggles seemed to be devoid of any possible relations that linked to the girl. She was certain that the likeness between Biggles and the photo was too strong to be a distant bond but all close possibilities appeared to be exhausted. The only remaining course of action looked like interviewing Penny’s mother to see what she knew of her former husband’s family. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 10th, 2003, 10:15am In accordance, the next day saw Biggles, Matron and Penny ski over to St Cecilie to visit her mother. Luckily the blizzard had ceased and the snow had frozen to a perfect state for the sport. All three were competent and flew along the trail. Penny had only been given the briefest outline of the purpose of the visit; Matron and Biggles deciding that it would be unfair to needlessly raise her hopes of finding relations. “There it is,” pointed out Penny as a simple chalet came into view and the trio swung towards it. They were soon ushered in by Mrs Drinsfield who was plainly still upset about her husband’s death. The house were dusty and untidy as if she had neglected it for some time and photos of Harry Drinsfield were clearly visible in every room. Penny was oblivious to the state and only had eyes for her mother who she hugged fiercely. When the welcome was over, the two members of Staff were introduced and invited into the sitting-room where they were rapidly served with coffee, much to Biggles’ disgust. “Now, how may I help you?” asked Rosemary Drinsfield when they were all seated comfortably and sipping their drinks. “It’s about this photograph,” outlined Matron. “As you can see, there is a definite resemble between your husband and Mr Bigglesworth who is a master at the Chalet School. He cannot think of any way in which he could be related to you and we were hoping that you knew something about your husband’s relatives which would shed some light on the matter.” “I’m certain that if there is a connection, it has to come through my father’s family,” put in Biggles. “My father, brother and I all look fairly similar and very different from my mother’s side.” Rosemary looked thoughtful. “You know, the name Bigglesworth does ring a faint bell somewhere but I can’t remember why.” “You’re not thinking of the books written about the pilot, are you?” wondered Biggles. “No, no, something connected with my husband’s family,” reassured Rosemary. “As I’m sure you know, it’s an unusual name and it stuck in my mind. Harry never really talked much about his family and I never knew his parents. They both died before then in an epidemic, as did Harry’s younger brother and sister. He was only twenty at the time and the time held too many dreadful memories for him to discuss it in any depth.” Penny had been listening intently before adding her suggestion. “What about dad’s old Bible? That had a family tree in it, didn’t it?” “How do you know about that?” asked her mother, slightly angry, though Biggles and Matron could see no reason for it. The girl flushed. “I sneaked a look one day when you were both out. I didn’t think you’d ever find out and I was curious.” Rosemary justified her annoyance to the two outsiders whose confusion was apparent by their expressions. “The Bible is very old and fragile and Harry and I were worried that Penny might be unintentionally rough with it. As she says, it does have a family tree in it, from your grandmother I seem to remember, and a lot of other information relating to her family. We hardly ever looked at it ourselves in case it disintegrated.” “Oh, I see,” chimed Biggles politely as the woman rose to fetch it. When she returned, her concern over the book was clearly warranted. The cover and spine were almost detached and the pages were frail to touch. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 10th, 2003, 10:17am “Let me see,” murmured Rosemary as she slowly and carefully turned the pages. “Here we are.” The other three crowded round but were unable to make out the tiny and untidy script which made up most of the recent lettering. Mrs Drinsfield pored over it. “Here’s your great-grandmother and father, Penny, Edward and Mary Thompson. And there’s their children, all girls weren’t they? Mary, the oldest, she was your grandmother and then Katherine, Grace and Jane.” Penny leant over to get a better look. “Then where does Dad fit in?” She traced the tree down into a messy tangle of lines and dates. “What happens there?” “I’m not sure, dear. Will you get my magnifying glass for me?” Her daughter obliged and soon returned with the object. “Does it help?” she asked eagerly. “Ye-es,” Rosemary replied. “I think that word’s meant to be Bigglesworth, don’t you?” The others nodded and she continued, “Then a Richard Bigglesworth married Mary and was your dad’s father, Penny.” “But that’s my brother!” exclaimed Biggles. “When did that happen?” “1917,” proclaimed Rosemary as she studied the small handwriting. “And Harry was born in 1918.” “Which was when my brother was killed in action,” exclaimed Biggles. “By that time, we’d completely lost touch after I ran away from school to join up. He was in the army and our leaves never coincided, not that we’d have met if they had. We definitely never wrote to each other. I had no idea he’d got married and had a son!” “So why was Dad a Drinsfield and not a Bigglesworth?” Penny wanted to know. “I’m coming to that,” smiled her mother. “Richard Bigglesworth’s death in 1918 is written here and then it seems your grandmother Mary got married again in 1919 to a Peter Drinsfield. I would hazard a guess that because Harry never knew his dad, they both took Peter’s name. I presume it was just the simplest thing to do and meant she could close what must have been a painful chapter in her life. It can’t have been easy to bring up a child by herself for that year, especially if when she was still grieving for his father.” “Then,” announced Matron who had carefully followed the tale, “Mr Bigglesworth is Penny’s great-uncle.” “Really?” cried Biggles and Penny in unison. “What a coincidence!” Penny sprang up to hug her new found relation and asked what she could refer to him as. “After all, I can’t really call you Mr Bigglesworth out of school now we’re related, can I?” “You can call me Biggles then,” he decided as he wasn’t prepared to be ‘Uncle James’ at this stage in his life. For one thing, there was a strong possibility he wouldn’t respond to it. “Right-o, Great Uncle Biggles,” grinned Penny, her face lighting up properly for the first time since her bereavement. “No, no,” interrupted Biggles, horrified. “Just Biggles, no need to Great Uncle me.” “Really?” Penny’s mouth was open in shock and she looked to her mother for guidance on the matter. “That’s fine if it’s what Biggles wants,” Rosemary replied with the glimmers of a faint smile around the corners of her mouth. Matron silently agreed with Biggles and Penny that it was indeed a large coincidence but reflected that these things had a habit of happening at the Chalet School. Leaving the new relatives to acquaint themselves, she slipped out of the door and skied rapidly back to the school, enthusiastic to break the happy news to the rest of the Staff. “And Miss Annersley thought I was seeing things and the school couldn’t possibly be responsible for another family reunion,” she declared triumphantly as she sped along, thus scaring a pair of tourists who were passing by at that instant and overheard her comment. “This’ll show her!” *I think I've got Biggles' family right (or not wrong anyway). Apologies if I haven't.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 10th, 2003, 1:00pm *looking forward to Matey 'showing' Miss Annersley. Oooh, we're not in for another Clash of the Titians, are we?!* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 10th, 2003, 2:57pm Rebecca, that's a coincidence worthy of EBD herself!!!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 11th, 2003, 10:28am Chapter 14: The skies remained clear of clouds and the snow on the ground froze perfectly for winter sports. The girls were pleased to be outside on the first morning possible after their long confinement and feel the fresh air on their tingling cheeks. Their voices rang loudly across the Platz as they merrily cavorted on their skis or thundered along on toboggans. “The snow’s come early this year,” remarked Rosalie Dene to no one in particular as a group of Staff swung round gracefully on their skis. “It has, now you come to mention it,” replied Rosalind Moore. “We’re barely into November now. Oh, what are those kids playing at?” With that she left the group and went to investigate quite how small Marcelle Bedeau had managed to do the splits. All of the Staff apart from Gretl von Trappen were used to skis, though a few were still shaky due to a lack of practice. Biggles was one of these since he had first mastered the skill while in Canada several decades ago and hadn’t had many opportunities for practising since. The run out yesterday had given him confidence and he was soon as proficient as most of the others. Gretl was not so lucky. She appeared to have very little natural balance and was struggling to stay upright long enough for her ski tips to even think about crossing. Two mistresses stayed with her, in shifts, for the entire session but she made little progress and was half dragged back when they all returned to school, sore and aching from the exertion and using unaccustomed muscles. Agueda García Sanz, a Junior in Upper IIb was one of those who was most vocal about her pain. “Matron, my joints are so sore,” she complained. Matron took her temperature which was up a point or two, and was slightly worried since Agueda rarely protested about her health. “Hmm, I think I’d better keep you in the school san for now. I don’t think it’s much worse than a nasty cold but better safe than sorry. I don’t want all of the other Juniors down with it as well.” One or two of Agueda’s classmates complained of the same thing and Matey felt sure there was some illness going around but hoped that isolating them would halt the spread. In this she was to be disappointed and was forced to send for a doctor from the Sanatorium to diagnose the malady when no less than thirty girls were aching all over and not interesting in eating. Their temperatures were increased with Agueda’s the highest at 105º but there were no other symptoms. “Let me have a look at them,” requested Dr Sheppard who had been sent by the San. “It’s obviously highly infectious from what you’ve said.” “My private guess is that it’s chickenpox or something of that ilk,” was Matron’s opinion. “But there’s no rash yet.” “How long since the first case?” was his next question. “Two days? Then if you’re right, the spots ought to come soon.” In this he was right. He shared Matron’s view and small red pimples were just beginning to become visible on the chests of the first casualties. “It’s chickenpox all right. You know how infectious it is, don’t you?” Matron nodded. “Yes. Most people in contact with sufferers contract it.” “Spot on. But remember that while there’s very little danger to girls as young as these, if it strikes the older ones or the Staff, there can be nasty complications. The bright side is that it’s extremely rare to be get it twice unless you’re particularly weak.” “Which is more girls in this school than I’d care to count,” snapped back Matron. Neil Sheppard was unperturbed by her remark. “Ye-es, but you should be able to isolate the sections of the school, shouldn’t you? After all, you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. First find out which of the Staff, Seniors and Middles haven’t had it before and get them well away from the rest. Do the same with those who have had it and are delicate – as you say, we can’t run any risks with them.” “And the Juniors? I fully expect most of them to be infected anyway judging by the numbers here so far.” “I’m afraid you’re almost certainly right. Keep the delicates as segregated as you can but chances are it’s too late for them if they are going to get it.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 11th, 2003, 10:28am Matron gave a wry grin. “I suppose it’s as well that the divisions of the school haven’t had a lot to do with each other this past week. Otherwise the entire school would be down with it in no time.” “And that’s a lot to be thankful for,” reminded Neil. “I’ll keep coming in every day, more often if need be, to deal with the cases. I won’t be too welcome at the San for a while yet, not after being in contact with your infected girls.” “What about Grizel and the children?” Matron wanted to know. “Oh, we’ve all had it, years ago. Luckily they’re all as sturdy as can be so there’s not much risk of getting it again,” he said. “I’ll ‘phone up the San and get them to drop some camomile lotion round here. It soothes the spots marvellously and the girls will be more than ready for it in a couple of days.” “That will be wonderful,” admitted Matron. “I’ve only got a few jars here and it looks like we’re facing an epidemic.” “You’ve had it yourself, haven’t you?” Neil inquired anxiously as he made for the door. “I completely forgot to ask.” “Naturally,” she replied icily. “Do you really think I’d be exposing myself to the infection if I hadn’t? Give me some credit, please.” “Sorry,” apologised Neil, feeling thoroughly squashed. “Of course, you wouldn’t. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Matron followed in his wake and made for the Staff room. “We’ve got chickenpox in the school,” she announced dramatically. “I need to know which of you have had it already please.” Most of the Staff had already suffered in their childhood but several weren’t sure and set about contacting their homes to find out. Biggles alone was adamant he hadn’t. “I was too busy coming down with fever out in India to be bothered with illnesses like that,” he commented. “Still, it’s not too serious, is it, if I do get it?” Matron proceeded to outline the dangers that adults contracting the virus were at risk from and the smile disappeared from Biggles’ face. “Oh. That doesn’t sound so good. How do I avoid it?” Matron ignored the rather foolish question and addressed the rest of the Staff. “The same dangers apply to all of the older girls as well as any adults who haven’t had it. Neil Sheppard assures me that having it twice is extremely rare but that delicate children are more at risk from getting it again. Luckily it’s confined to the Juniors at the moment and I want to keep it that way as far as possible. We need to find out which of the girls have had it already and keep them apart from the others. I suspect that lots won’t know so will have to write home for the information. I suggest that we begin with that as soon as possible. The more quickly we know where we stand with them, the better chance we have of minimising the spread.” The Staff all agreed and the girls were summoned to the Hall immediately where the announcement was made. As Matron had predicted, while a good number knew for certain that they had had it before, a sizeable minority were unsure. “Which means either they were too young to remember or, more likely, have never had it,” decided Matron. “And that includes several frail specimens that I’d be much happier with if they’d already had it.” “Cheer up, Matey!” put in Nancy Wilmot. “At least there’s only three Staff that are at risk which means we shouldn’t be short for lessons.” “You might be short for pupils at this rate,” replied Matron crisply. “As for those three Staff, they won’t be going anywhere near any of the girls until this affair is over. I cannot take the gamble, especially with Biggles. By his own admission, he was sent home from India due to recurrent fever and has suffered from further bouts when he’s gone back to the tropics. That sort of thing is bound to affect anyone’s constitution.” “But he’s healthy enough now, isn’t he?” asked Kathie. “He doesn’t exactly look delicate.” “He looks healthy,” responded Matron darkly and she refused to elaborate further on the subject. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 11th, 2003, 10:29am The first replies from parents began arriving at the school. Several parents had rung up in their anxiety to inform the authorities that their child hadn’t had chickenpox and Matron’s suspicions were confined when only a handful of the doubtfuls proved to have had it in the past. Most parents urged their children to avoid getting the illness but nine year old Janet Sullivan had a different problem. ‘Dear Janet,’ the short note had begun, ‘You haven’t had chickenpox as I’m sure you probably suspected. Would Matron mind too much if you were near those infected so you caught it? Your father and I feel that we would rather you caught it now instead of risking it later in life when it’s more serious. I hope you’re enjoying school and getting on well. We can’t wait to see you again in the holidays, Love Mother.’ “What do I do about this?” she asked her friends. “I don’t want to be ill, do I?” “Better take it to the Head,” was the general suggestion. “Matron’s busy with all the ill girls and she won’t want to be interrupted by you.” Janet took their advice and took the letter to Miss Annersley who smothered a smile when she read it. However much she agreed with the sentiments of the parents, she felt that the school could hardly deliberately infect all of its pupils when Matron and the nurses were already struggling to cope with the large numbers who were already down with it. It was this thinking of the medical staff that was the main influence on her answer. “I’m sorry, Janet. I can understand your parents’ wishes but we don’t have the resources to ensure that every pupil who hasn’t had chickenpox and is young enough for it to be relatively risk-free gets it and still receives the necessary medical care. Will you please write to your parents and tell them that? If they want to discuss it further, I’m quite happy for them to telephone me.” Janet stood up and retreated to her common room. On the one hand, she was glad she didn’t have to have chickenpox but her parents had rather scared her about the consequences of not having it as a child. It was when her parents’ reply came back that she faced a dilemma. The gist of it said that they felt that Miss Annersley was been unreasonable about one more girl catching the virus and suggested that Janet make every attempt to expose herself to those suffering from it in the hope that she would then catch it legitimately. “How on earth am I to do that?” she wondered to herself. “Matey and the nurses would be really cross if they found me wandering around the sickrooms and I can’t exactly hang around people I think might be about to succumb.” Janet wrestled with the problem for several days and the letter she received from Mrs Sullivan enquiring whether she had caught chickenpox yet tipped her towards the course of action suggested by her parents. “After all, they’ll be so disappointed if I don’t catch it and I don’t want to worry them later in life if I get seriously ill from it,” she justified to herself. “I’m only obeying them, anyway. The question is, how can I get in contact with the other girls who have it?” She finally decided on the only way she could think of for getting in touch with the patients, namely going into one of the dormitories now being used as a ward as several of these were closer to her own dorm than the official sickroom. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 11th, 2003, 10:30am The moon illuminated her cubicle when she woke at midnight that very night. All was quiet apart from the regular breathing of the other girls in the room as Janet put on her dressing-gown and slippers before sliding out between the flowery curtains which separated her cubicle from the others. She held her breath as she opened the door, thanking her lucky stars that it didn’t creak, and padded down the corridor. It was not far to the staircase, up which was Jonquil, temporary home to eight girls suffering from chickenpox. “I only hope this door doesn’t squeak,” she thought as she slowly pushed it open. Again, her luck held and she was faced with the rows of cubicle curtains smattered with white and yellow flowers. Janet decided to enter the nearest, reasoning that the further she walked, the more chance there was of disturbing someone. She lifted up the dividing material and stepped in. By coincidence, it was her best friend, Aiobh Muirne, who was lying in the bed, fast asleep. At this juncture, Janet realised she didn’t actually know how to catch the illness but plumped on touch as the best option and gently took hold of her friend’s hand, flung out on the counterpane. This simple action was enough to wake the sleeper who exclaimed loudly at the sight of Janet in her cubicle. “’Tis a ghost Oi’m a-seeing! It cannae be Janet!” Aiobh cried before burrowing deep under her bedclothes. This noise was enough to wake Matron who was soon on the scene. Janet was too stunned by her friend’s reaction to move and Aiobh remained a petrified heap at the foot of her bed. “Janet, what are you doing here?” demanded Matron, furious that her strict segregation should be flaunted in this way. “You haven’t had chickenpox, have you?” As Janet shook her head miserably, Matron continued. “Then you’re not going back to your own dormitory tonight. Come with me and you can sleep in the room next to mine. We can’t have naughty girls like you infecting the others. The chances are that you’ll come down with it now and you’ll be getting no sympathy from me. I thought a girl of your age would have more sense.” As she finished her remarks, she noted a look of relief in the girl’s eyes and stored the memory away to consider later, and turned her attention to Aiobh, or what was visible of her. “Come out from there, child!” “There be ghosts here!” came back in muffled tones. “’Tis scared Oi am!” “Nonsense!” declared Matron as she stripped the covers from the bed. “Look! It’s just Janet being extremely naughty and coming to visit you in the middle of the night.” Aiobh removed her hands from her eyes and gulped loudly before glancing up. “So ‘tis! But why are ye here, Janet?” “I – I came to see how you were,” stammered the guilty party, flushing at the lie. She felt unable to face up to Matron’s wrath if she let it out that she had deliberately tried to catch chickenpox. “That’s enough from both of you,” interjected Matron on seeing Aiobh’s mouth open again. That young lady was renowned throughout the school for her Irish gift of the gab and would happily spend the rest of the night chattering to Janet, though Janet was in no fit state for such a thing. Already the reaction of what she had done was causing her to tremble and Matron felt sure that she was coming down with the illness. “Aiobh, make your bed and then go back to sleep. And watch your English. You can talk as well as I can when you try. Janet, you’ll come with me for a nice mug of hot milk before we get you settled for the night. You’ll be able to have your sleep out in the morning for there’ll be no school for you until we know whether you’ve got chickenpox or not.” Janet felt comforted by Matron’s warm words and smile and willingly went with her. Matron was quietly confident that the girl was already in the first stages of the virus and the night-time excursion was not the cause of it. On arrival at her quarters, she whipped out a thermometer and felt justified when it showed 103º. Careful questioning revealed she had been feeling achy all day and was planning to see Matey in the morning if she still felt gruesome. “But I’m glad I’ve found you now,” she admitted as she slipped between the cool sheets of the fresh bed. “I did feel awful.” Minutes later she was asleep and Matey reflected that it was happenings like this, rather than age, which were steadily turning her hair grey. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 11th, 2003, 6:49pm LOL! Very funny. I can empathise with Janet, being one of the people who did not catch it til later, and horrid it was too. Having said that, I had it at borading school and as far as I know, the only person I nefected was a member of staff, inivgilating whilst i did my GCSEs. Only it was shingles with her. Mind you, it was mid June, and most of my year had gone home for study leave or had already had it- thus no epidemics! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 11th, 2003, 10:20pm Very sensible of Janet, I'd say, even if it did mean more work for Matron. My husband caught chicken pox as an adult while we were doing a tour of pubs in Yorkshire with a caravan. Luckily it remained as chicken pox and didn't turn into shingles. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 12th, 2003, 4:40am *hopes Rebecca will be posting more of this soon!* *hint, hint* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 12th, 2003, 8:22pm *Sorry Vikki, I spent the afternoon feeding deer at Magdalen instead! But here's the start of Chapter 15 to keep you going.* “Have you all realised what this means?” voiced Nancy Wilmot to the rest of the Staff, several days after the epidemic had struck. “What what means?” asked Rosalie, somewhat ungrammatically. “This chickenpox, of course!” “No-o, nothing more than all the rearranging of forms and dormitories and this awkward quarantine,” put in Kathie. “What about the school play, my loves?” announced Nancy. They all gasped. The thought had not occurred to them. Con Maynard had written it for them as she had the previous year and the girls had enjoyed the few rehearsals they had had. Like all Nativity plays performed by the school, it was a touching drama that brought home the message of Christmas. But this year there would clearly be no time for rehearsals and people could hardly be invited to an event where half of the cast were liable to give them chickenpox. “What is the quarantine period for chickenpox?” Rosalind Moore wanted to know. “Are the girls going to be allowed home for Christmas or are we all going to be stuck here for the holiday?” “Matron told me that we should be fine as long as there are no further cases,” explained Jeanne de Lachennais. “We are allowing four weeks quarantine to be on the safe side and we’re barely into November yet.” “I suppose most of the girls who are likely to get it already have,” reflected Anna Mieders. There was good reasoning behind her remark. With only a handful of exceptions, the entire Junior school who had not had it before had been struck by the illness and the remains of two or three forms had been put together in some cases to make teaching them practical. Five delicate specimens had contracted it for the second time but these were only mild cases and Matron was not anxious about their progress. It was a different story with the Middles and Seniors. Although most had avoided it, a number of Middles, all with younger sisters, had caught it, and a pair of prefects who had helped the Juniors out with their skiing were infected. These two were causing Matron the most worry. Celia Thornton had developed pneumonia as a complication and Emmy Friedrich was struggling with her breathing at intervals. Both had been removed to the Görnetz Sanatorium where doctors could monitor them more closely. “It is the pauvre Celia and Emmy that I fear for most,” mused Jeanne. “Has there been no change?” wondered Sharlie Andrews. “Matey’s said nothing to me, and she would know, wouldn’t she?” asked Rosalie. “Yes, the medics are keeping her and Hilda up to date with the situation,” commented Nancy. “I just wish there was something we could do to help, them as well as the girls. There’s so much responsibility that goes with this job.” “I can’t imagine what Hilda’s going through,” sympathised Kathie. “I know we all feel dreadful but she must be wondering how she could have stopped all of this happening, especially if something did happen to either of the prefects.” “How is she? Really, I mean,” asked Rosalind. “Rosalie, you see more of her than the rest of us. What do you think?” Rosalie hesitated before answering. “In one sense, it’s hard to say. She’s always been good at keeping her emotions disguised. But she isn’t smiling, not properly with her eyes. It’s very much a surface thing.” “But, ma chérie, it is how she was when Julie Lucy was gravely ill, is she not?” remembered Jeanne. “Exactly,” confirmed Rosalie. “She’s burying herself in her work and not really talking about things. Every time I start to mention it, she changes the subject.” “Oh, the poor thing!” cried sensitive Kathie. “What we need to do,” suggested Sarah Denny who had been listening intently, “is to get in touch with Nell Wilson. If anyone can help Hilda now, it’s her. They’ve always been very close and they both share the same degree of responsibility.” “She can hardly come over here, though, can she? St Mildred’s is free from chickenpox at the moment and quite happy to stay that way,” objected Nancy. “The telephone?” replied Sarah in a rather sarcastic tone. “I know it’s not the same as face to face but it’s what Hilda needs.” Rosalie leapt to her feet immediately. “Thank you Sarah! You’re right, completely. It is just what Hilda needs. It's being a few days since she last rang so I'll see if I can get her now.” The secretary succeeded in contacting Nell Wilson and Hilda was able to pour out her troubles on her co-Head. She was able to offer encouragement and reassure her, leaving a much happier Miss Annersley ready to face whatever the next development might be. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 12th, 2003, 8:25pm While the majority of Staff were discussing the latest happenings in the epidemic, three were confined to their bedrooms and a small sitting-room set aside for them. Gretl von Trappen, Deborah Smith and Biggles were strictly separate from the rest of the school for fear they would contract the illness. This had to include the rest of the Staff since they were in daily contact with the girls and might inadvertently pass it on to them. As such, they were having to rely on their own resources to amuse them. This was more of an issue when the clouds were down on the Platz and they were confined to quarters. Deb and Gretl were content to sew, knit and write letters but Biggles longed for his model aircraft out in the sheds. Despite being a confessed bookworm, he was heard to complain that there was only so much reading a soul could take in before going round the bend. He also found he was missing the rest of the Staff more than he had suspected. He had become close friends with several of the mistresses and was longing for the camaraderie that was normally to be found in the Staff room. It was better when it was fine for Deb and Biggles were engrossed in teaching Gretl to ski. No noticeable progress had really been made yet though they thought she might be staying upright for slightly longer than before. Whenever Gretl had had enough, which didn’t take long, and returned back to school, the other two frequently went on longer ski expeditions. Biggles had never had much of an opportunity to explore the surrounding area except on occasional rambles and Deb was revelling in the freedom to do so that she hadn’t experienced before. “You see, we’re always so tied up with the girls that we rarely get the chance to indulge in this sort of thing. But this area’s so gorgeous that I’m glad we have,” she remarked. Biggles agreed. The mountain tops were all coated with snow and though they were wearing sun glasses to ward off snow blindness, the beauty was still apparent through the tinted lenses. “Definitely. I’ve been around the globe a fair bit in my time but there aren’t many places that can beat this.” On several occasions, he had visited the Drinfield chalet where Rosemary welcomed him warmly. She had not had contact with Penny or anyone else connected with the school for some time before the virus broke out so Matron had given permission for Biggles to call on her. A genuine friendship sprung up between them and Rosemary felt that she was at least beginning to come to terms with her husband’s death now she knew she was not alone in the world apart from her daughter. Penny too had benefited from the relationship and was starting to come out of her shell at school. She was growing closer to Cecil and Abigail in her own form and the Staff were all pleased to report that her work was steadily improving. Less positive news came from the San where the outlook continued to be ominous. There were no noticeable improvement in either Celia or Emmy although both were holding their own against the illness. That was until the day Rosalie entered the Staff room with tears glistening in her eyes. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by crashbb on Oct 12th, 2003, 8:47pm There had better be more soon. Hope you had a good day with the deer. Chelsea *who is being driven crazy by all these cliffhangers* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Oct 12th, 2003, 9:31pm I was very surprised to discover how much deer enjoy eating conkers! Fortunately we didn't see the 'Please do not feed the deer' notices until we'd done so (oops!). I love Sunday afternoons in Oxford! Rebecca - I am shocked at you leaving the story on such a cliff hanger and am wondering how you can do this to us!!! Grrr! More soon please ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 12th, 2003, 11:33pm Rebecca, what are you *doing*? Come back and give us more. You did say the pcs were only 3 mins away, didn't you?! NOTHING is more important than adding to this. *says she going off to dig out some wandering references* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 13th, 2003, 12:25am Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaa!! *wails loudly* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 13th, 2003, 12:27am Rebecca, the start of Chapter 15 is all well and good (very, very good actually) but wher's the end???????? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 13th, 2003, 10:18am *Hey, I've been very good with cliff hangers so far! But here's some more of Chapter 15 to keep you going... ;)* “Hil – Hilda’s just sent urgently for - for Celia’s parents,” she choked. “Aren’t they here already?” wondered Rosalind. “Surely the school’s told them about her illness.” “They don’t find it easy to get away – away from work,” muttered Rosalie. “But now – “ “But surely there’s some hope?” asked Kathie uneasily, not wanting to hear the answer. Rosalie gulped before replying. “She’s in God’s hands. The doctors can’t do any more and her strength is fading.” She could say no more without breaking down completely. The other Staff weren’t far off. Although Celia had been an irresponsible games fanatic in her youth, as she had grown into a trustworthy girl and the school was proud of her. Now as Second Games Prefect, she had been given charge of the hockey teams by Lysbet Alsen, Games Prefect and lacrosse devotee, and was prepared to spend any amount of time coaching the younger girls. It was this desire to help that had inadvertently lead to her illness as she had spent the first opportunity they had had at winter sports aiding the Juniors that had never even seen skis before. It was undoubtedly from one of these that Celia had caught the virus. “Oh, no! Surely she can’t die!” exclaimed a disbelieving Rosalind. “Not from something like chickenpox.” “I assure you it’s more than possible,” responded Matron, crisp in an attempt to mask her true feelings. “It’s not chickenpox she’s fighting now but pneumonia.” “Do – do the other Prefects know?” wondered Jeanne. “I think they, at least, have a right to know.” “They don’t know how serious it is yet,” informed Rosalie, regaining her self-control. “Hilda is going to tell them and the rest of the Seniors after Prayers this morning.” “I don’t envy her that that job,” said Kathie. “I know the Prefects will be as understanding as they can be in that situation but still – “ “It’s hard to tell seventeen and eighteen year olds that their friend might not live,” finished Matron bluntly. “I would hate to do the job myself.” “As Hilda said to me when she sent me to tell you, what we can do is pray for them, Emmy as well as Celia,” recalled Rosalie. “It’s the only thing we can do now, especially as we still have to go out and teach the girls with this hanging over our heads. I almost feel it would be easier to know for definite one way or the other,” was Nancy’s contribution. So it was that a very serious Staff body went out into the form-rooms that day. Even the most unobservant girl noticed that none of the humour normally possessed by their mistresses in attendance today. “None of them are really smiling,” commented Penny who was alert to facial expressions after her long acquaintance with the Sanatorium. “You don’t think there’s any bad news, do you?” Cecil had also detected the change in the Staff. “I’m wondering whether the Prees at the San have got any worse. Everyone else with chickenpox seems to be well on the way to recovery by now but they’re still there and they’ve been there for a while now.” “I thought the same myself,” said Abigail. “I don’t know what you think Pen, but I fancied the Abbess’ voice trembled more than it has recently when we prayed for them this morning.” “I didn’t know whether it was my imagination but I noticed that too,” confirmed Penny. “Oh, I hope it isn’t that,” cried Cecil. “Celia was always a favourite of mine – she’s always been there to help with games and Emmy did as well for that matter.” “But surely chickenpox isn’t that awful, is it?” asked Abigail, hoping Cecil as the daughter of a doctor would know. “Not for kids,” informed Cecil, “but it is later in life. I know Mama’s terrified about Phil getting it. The lamb’s still really weak and it could be serious for her, as well as for all of the others on her ward. They’re taking all the precautions they can but it’s so infectious.” “I know that!” grinned Abigail. “There’s not much of the form left apart from our good selves!” There they dismissed the subject and turned to what Cecil described as “that beastly Geog prep!” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 13th, 2003, 10:19am The issue was not so easily forgotten in either of the Sixths. Most had known both of the critically ill girls for three or more years and couldn’t come to terms with what was happening. More than one had left the Head’s study in tears and they were struggling to keep their emotions under control. Miss Annersley had promised to summon them as soon as she heard any further news and every time there was a knock at either form-room door, all heads looked up to see who was entering. “I wish, I wish we knew what was happening,” blurted Sam during a free period she had to a select group. “I can’t bear this any longer!” “Me too,” echoed Robina. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage taking prep with the Senior Middles tonight with this shadow hanging over us all.” “I guess we’ve just got to remember what the Abbess said,” said Joanna thoughtfully. “It was our right to know but now we do we’ve got to keep going and be as strong as we can.” “That’s all very well, but it’s so - so hard,” sobbed Lizette, tears trickling down her face. Brigit immediately flung a consoling arm around her. “Oh, it’s worse for you than the rest of us, Liz. You and Celia always were such pals. Come with me and we’ll find Matron. I’m sure the Head didn’t mean that you were to try and get through the day with the rest of us.” Lizette got up gratefully and was soon tucked up in her cubicle. Her cries had threatened to continue out of hand until Matron had persuaded her to have a cup of hot milk, laced with a mild sedative. The girl was too wound up and upset to rest in any other way and with the very real danger still present, there was little that anyone could say to relieve her fears. Several people were grouped around another bedside, this one in the Görnetz Sanatorium three miles along the shelf. Celia’s parents had flown out on the first available aeroplane and arrived that early that afternoon from their London home. They were struggling to take in that their healthy daughter was fighting for her life. Despite knowing she was ill, being confronted with the thin figure with unnaturally flushed cheeks meant there was no denial of its seriousness. Her breathing was rapid and shallow and frequently interrupted by dry coughs. The chaplain was by their side and either a doctor or nurse was always present to watch over the girl. “Oh, Cellie, can you hear me?” whispered her mother in gentle tones as she stroked her daughter’s hand. “Mum and Dad are here for you now.” She continued murmuring to her girl while inwardly praying for her recovery. Surely they weren’t to lose their only child? Not now and not like this. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 13th, 2003, 12:29pm Oh Rebecca. More please, and soon... Where are all the fancy text effects people when you need them?! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 13th, 2003, 1:24pm MORE PLEASE[ Is that enough effects for you? I don't know how to do the really big fonts. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 13th, 2003, 4:11pm MORE! please |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 13th, 2003, 6:09pm MORE PLEASE! Was that any use? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 13th, 2003, 6:35pm *contented sigh* Thanks, people. Now - Rebecca, where are you????? *chanting* Carolyn, my mind is boggling at the thought of what you will do to Bill! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Oct 13th, 2003, 7:27pm REBECCA!!!! COME BACK HERE AND FINISH THE CHAPTER OR ELSE...!!!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 13th, 2003, 8:41pm *All those fancy text effects... I think I need to go and lie down to recover before posting any more...* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 13th, 2003, 11:38pm Don't be such a spineless jellyfish! We want more! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Kathryn on Oct 13th, 2003, 11:44pm Had a weird dream last night that involved Biggles and the CS. He was trying to get away from a bunch of seniors in a walking party led by Mademoiselle Lepattre (despite being dead!) and was heading to that climb that begins with an M in the Tyrol, that in the books is a hard climb but in reality is quite easy. ??? Keep going, don't keep us in suspense for much longer! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 13th, 2003, 11:59pm Mondy something pits.... sommat German and very long! Oh that's lovely, Kathryn. Why dony you do a spin off? *can just imagine a pack of seniors being led up mondy ... by the ghost of Therese Lepattre singing 'Climb Ev'ry Mountain' or something appropriate. Can't be as demanding as 'Brittany anyway! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Kathryn on Oct 14th, 2003, 12:07am on 10/13/03 at 23:59:36, Lisa_T wrote:
Yeah, that one. No fiction for me at the moment, the essays are bad enough! Though on reflection they are not too bad overall. Out of 25 failed 1 and given one A. But the ones coming in this week will be weaker. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 14th, 2003, 1:06am *wonders if Cumbrian_Rachel and Rebecca are near enough to each other in Oxford for Rachel to do her duty as a big sis, and MAKE Rebecca post more?* ;) ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:18am *No need, I'm back with more story!* Their vigil lengthened and the shadows stretched across the room, casting strange outlines across the bed. The tableau was unchanged though the doctor on duty was secretly amazed that Celia was still clinging onto life. Carefully picking up her wrist, he felt her pulse yet again. It was a shade stronger but he dared not tell her parents, afraid of raising their expectancy when he suspected it was only a final rally. At the same time, her eyelids flickered, the first movement she had made all day. Her mother noticed and latched onto the ray of hope it provided. “Celia, darling, you can make it through this.” Dr Fincham privately shook his head. It was only a matter of time before the end came. “Mum, Dad, I love you,” croaked the inert figure, the only words she had spoken for days as she briefly drifted into consciousness. Her parents gripped each other and spoke back calm, loving words to their daughter. Celia’s cheeks paled slightly compared to their previous vividness and they thought her breathing was a little softer. Dr Fincham was sure it was too but uncertain about what was happening in front of him. This child was too ill to survive but the improvement was more than just a final rally. He sent for another colleague, anxious to confirm his opinion. Dr Courvoisier soon stepped quietly into the room. He had witnessed Celia’s earlier condition and was astonished at her state. “She is breathing more easily, is she not? I believe there is a chance, though only a small one. But the fever must break soon for her to live,” he murmured to Dr Fincham. “Otherwise her body cannot stand the strain.” The crisis came late that night. Dr Courvoisier was starting to believe that Celia could not hold up even though her breathing was much eased. But it was life, not death that came to the bedside. Her hands became cooler to the touch and her face paled. Initially her parents feared it was the end but it was the fever’s choking grip that was finally broken that night. It was several days before the school at large could be told that Celia was, humanly speaking, safe but both Staff and Seniors began to hope once more on hearing the latest news the following morning. Though it would be the next term before she was fit for school, her progress was rapid thanks in the main to her healthy constitution. Emmy’s case had been much milder and she was never in such serious danger and was back at school by the end of term. Many thankful prayers for their recovery were lifted up and more than one tear was shed by the Prefects on hearing the gratifying news. Miss Annersley’s face lost its drawn look and the Staff as a whole relaxed from their tense state, ready to confront whatever the term might throw at them next. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:20am *And you can even have the start of Chapter 16 as well!* As far as the school was concerned, the epidemic was over as quickly as could be expected. After the initial rush of cases, there were no further infections and quarantine ended during the first week in December. “And thank goodness for that!” exclaimed Matron to the rest of the Staff. “This whole incident has aged me more than I care to admit. Any more scares like Celia treated us to and I’ll be turning into a lunatic!” “That’s about how I feel,” agreed Nancy. “But at least the other girls are well and truly over it and raring to go with what remains of the term.” “What they are disappointed about is that we aren’t going to do a play this year,” remarked Kathie. “My form have made their opinions plain enough to me - in appropriate language of course! – but they did wonder whether we could do something else instead to raise money for the parish in Innsbruck we support.” “Could we at this late stage?” posed Jeanne. “There is no time for us to rehearse.” Rosalie intercepted a look that passed between Dorothy Lawrence, head of music, and Sarah Denny who taught piano to some of the girls. “What do you guilty parties know about all this? Spill the beans!” “Rosalie! Must you always use such vulgar slang?” asked Hilda who had just entered the room in time to hear her secretary’s comments. Rosalie had the grace to blush before continuing. “But you two do know something, don’t you?” Dorothy smiled tantalisingly. “What would Sarah and I know about it?” “Out with it!” chorused the entire Staff. “Well, since you insist,” gave in Dorothy. “We have decided to put on a carol concert. Not as exciting as a play but the girls know plenty of carols already so there won’t be many new songs to teach them, possibly including an English version of ‘Adeste Fideles’. After all, most people who come to our plays don’t speak Latin and I think they would enjoy it more if it was in English. There will just be some soloists to train up and positions to arrange and Bob’s your uncle!” The Staff expressed their feelings with a round of applause, above which Hilda’s rather nagging voice could be heard. “Such language from a member of Staff! Really, at your age Dorothy, I would expect better from you.” “And,” added Sarah when the clapping had died down, “we thought a Staff number might go down well. I’m sure we can agree on a carol between us.” “What a good idea!” seemed to be the general verdict. “What about the male parts, though?” asked Matron. “They’ll be drowned out by our voices.” “How many male Staff are there?” wondered Nancy. “Rosalie, do you know?” “Well,” she began, “obviously there’s Biggles now those three have returned to our midst, and Gaudenz. Then there’s Herr Mahler who teaches violin and Herr Getman who does some woodwind. And isn’t there a Herr Diefendorf at St Mildred’s for something or other?” “Don’t forget Klaus Putzkammer who does woodwork,” added Biggles. “How many’s that then? Six? I'm sure there's a few more as well that I've missed. They're still going to be drowned out by the rest of us.” “What about Jack Maynard and a few of the other doctors?” suggested Rosalind. “I’m sure the ones married to Old Girls would be happy to oblige or they’d never hear the end of it.” “Perfect! I think this is going to work!” declared Dorothy, thanking her lucky stars that nearly everyone connected with this school could sing tunefully. Biggles didn’t think that this would be a good time to admit that he had no idea whether he could sing or not. He had no expectation that he would turn out to be particularly good but it was years since he had sung anything. He decided to accost Dorothy Lawrence in private later. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:23am “May I have a word?” he hesitantly asked the music mistress as she was about to enter one of the practice rooms to check on a piano that had been reported to be out of tune. “Of course,” she replied cheerfully. “Come in here and have a seat.” He perched somewhat awkwardly on the piano stool. “It’s – it’s about this concert we’re doing.” “What about it? I’m really looking forward to it though of course all of you males will have to sing up on the Staff carol to make it balanced. That’s my only worry,” enthused Dorothy. “Actually that’s what I’m worried about,” Biggles admitted. “I don’t know that I can sing.” “Does that mean you can’t or that you don’t know whether or not you can?” she inquired. “I genuinely have no idea whether I can or not,” he explained. “It’s years since I’ve even tried. I’ve tended to whistle rather than sing.” Dorothy Lawrence stared at him. Although they had had girls who knew perfectly well that they couldn’t sing, someone who hadn’t sung for years was a new challenge. “I suppose the best thing to do is to try you out on something. Are there any songs you do know?” Biggles’ mind floated back to his RFC days when he had roared along to numerous songs in his squadron mess, usually in the middle of a riotous party. The only one which came to mind began, “Oh, my batman awoke me from my bed, I’d had a thick night and I’d got a sore head So I said to myself, To myself, I said, Oh, I haven’t got a hope in the mo-orning!” The rest of the verses continued in a similar vein and he had no desire to shock the pleasant faced lady next to him. Then he remembered a song he had had to learn as a password on a special mission into Occupied France during the Second World War. “Do you know the one which begins ‘Parlez moi d’amour, Redites-moi des choses tendres”?” he asked. “Speak to me of love?” Her eyes opened widely. How on earth did this man come to know a French love song? Luckily for Biggles she didn’t take her questioning further and did know the tune. A few scales on the piano showed it was tuneful enough for the song and as she finished the introduction, he launched into the first verse. Within a few words, Dorothy was mentally wincing. Accustomed as she was to clear choirboy-like voices from the girls, Biggles’ comparatively low and rather expressionless droning was a shock. As she finished, Biggles looked down at her, his hazel eyes viewing her hopefully. “How did I do?” Dorothy ran through her vocabulary rapidly, seeking her most tactful words. “Not badly considering you haven’t sung for years. It’s clear you’re very rusty and need to learn about breathing in the right places.” “But am I good enough for the concert?” Biggles wanted to know. She weighed up the issue meditatively. “I don’t see why not, if you’re willing to have some intense lessons that is. You’ve certainly got a reasonably powerful baritone which will be a great asset but your technique needs working on.” He beamed from ear to ear, surprising even himself with his enthusiasm for singing. Must be the influence of the Chalet School, he decided. He just had one further concern. “What will we be, erm, wearing for it?” he questioned. Dressing up was something he hated with a passion and always had done. “Oh, nothing too fancy,” reassured Dorothy. “The girls will be in their uniform and I imagine we, by which I mean the female Staff, will be in dresses, or possibly blouses and skirts. I suppose you men will be in shirts and ties. It’s too hot under the lights to wear anything too heavy.” “That’s all right then,” said Biggles, much reassured. “You know, I’m quite looking forward to this.” “Good,” she responded. “It ought to be good fun for everyone.” In the end it was decided that the Staff would sing ‘Fum, Fum, Fum’, a Catalonian carol. Dorothy Lawrence refrained from saying that it was quite easy for anyone to manage, Biggles especially, when she announced that the Staff would be singing it. Soloists were chosen from the girls and were hard at work on their songs and the rest of the school was concentrating on refreshing their memories of carols they had learnt previously. It was decided to have a tableau at the end of the scene in the stable at Bethlehem and animals were being begged from all and sundry to add to the atmosphere. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 14th, 2003, 1:59pm Thank you Rebecca!!! ;D ;D I'm glad you didn't kill Celia off! We've had enough deaths in these drabbles! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 14th, 2003, 6:15pm Echoes Vikki's sentiments - though I quite expected Celia to die, I'm glad she was saved. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 14th, 2003, 6:24pm LOL! That was great, Rebecca. I'm glad Celia didn't die too! Do carry on. Preferably sooner rather than later! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 9:28pm Oh, I don't want too many fatalities... |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 14th, 2003, 9:39pm on 10/14/03 at 21:28:47, Rebecca wrote:
Now that is a tease if ever I saw one! :P |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 14th, 2003, 9:51pm Well, she's already killed two people! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 9:55pm And I know what happens next... ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by PatW on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:01pm Let us into the secret too? Please? You're such a nice person that I'm sure you won't leave us in suspense. *crawl, crawl,crawl* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:11pm on 10/14/03 at 21:55:58, Rebecca wrote:
Don't you just hate it when people do that :P |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:23pm *Just stating the truth... Anyway, no more cliff hangers for a bit but here's the rest of Chapter 16 to be going on with. Apologies if it seems similar to someone else's (Carolyn P's?) drabble but great minds think alike and all that.* All in all, the girls were hard at work and the Staff were quick to recognise this. “You know that we are due to entertain the school this Saturday,” broached Jeanne in the Staff room. “I think we should make a special effort. They’ve had a hectic term of it and have been very good about the play. I know that in their hearts they are disappointed although they have said nothing.” “Well, what? We can’t do fancy dress which they normally love since the Prefects have beaten us to it,” pondered Kathie. “It’s got to be something that’ll make them laugh,” demanded Nancy. “They’ve been stuck in thanks to this ghastly weather and need to take their minds off it.” Rosalie’s face lit up as inspiration struck. “How about tableaux?” “Oh, be original, please!” cried Rosalind. “Anyone can produce tableaux!” “But listen to this,” begged Rosalie and she outlined her idea. The Staff all chuckled as she explained and declared that she had thought of the very thing. “And they will laugh,” gurgled Kathie. “Oh, it’ll certainly clear out the cobwebs!” No one noticed Biggles’ momentary grimace at the thought of having to dress up though he decided that he would have to join in with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. The Saturday evening saw the girls assemble in the Hall, excited yet anxious to know what awaited them. The Staff had a well-earned reputation for thinking of the most unlikely things to entertain them and the invite had provided no hints at all. Miss Annersley stepped out from between the curtains of the stage and welcomed them to the event in her clear tones. She said no more except to say that the Staff would perform a series of tableaux and prizes (including Biggles’ scented handkerchiefs) would be awarded for the best list in each division of the school. The girls clapped enthusiastically at the prospect and were agog with anticipation by the time the curtains drew back to reveal the first scene. It was a classroom, so much was obvious by the desks and blackboard as well as several members of Staff dressed in brown. A man, Biggles naturally, was stationed at the front initially but then proceeded to walk around the room, examining his pupils’ work. Most he only paused at briefly but he halted at one girl’s, the dark-haired Gretl von Trappen. An argument clearly took place with several violent gestures occurring between them. No one had realised what an actress the quiet German teacher was until she stormed off the stage, followed by an assortment of pencils, pens, charcoal and paper flung by Biggles. His aim, remarkably good for a man, meant Gretl had more than one smudge and ink stain on her outfit by the end of the scene, not to mention several painful spots where the points of the pencils had struck. The rest of the class stared wide-eyed at the disturbance until the cotton-wool bearded master turned around when they immediately became absorbed in their work again. The audience applauded wildly for it was one of the school’s favourite legends and one that Joey Maynard frequently recounted. That lady was in the crowd with tears pouring down her face as she cried with laughter at the scene. She remembered it all too well. The next setting was a café, shown by numerous tables with people grouped attractively around them. The audience’s eyes were drawn to the central one where three figures were comfortably settled around it. Hardly anyone noticed Kathie fire a pellet of paper with catapult at the trio but all saw Sharlie Andrews flinch and begin to rub butter on her cheek. Few realised this was a necessary reaction for the pellet had stung more than the firer had intended. Biggles then made another appearance as he agitatedly examined the wound and was clearly apologising profusely. Less of the girls were confident they knew this one but Joey was close to hysterics again. A piano solo was performed with great aplomb by Miss Lawrence before the next tableau was unveiled. The Staff had obviously taken some time to organise it as the stage had a row of lockers placed at the back – the school had wondered what the clunking noises heard over the music were – and a flat with holes cut in it for windows set behind these. A tall person clad in black, Nancy Wilmot, was rummaging noisily in the lockers when two ghostly figures entered at opposite sides of the stage, the limes spookily illuminating their white clothing. Nancy obligingly leapt as elegantly as she could through an open window, thankful to land on the soft bedding put there earlier. What she wasn’t thankful for was the flat which followed her graceful dive, thanks to her foot catching on it, and comprehensively squashed her. Rosalie and Gretl on stage almost forgot their otherworldly appearance as they watched what was supposed to be the wall of a classroom slowly tip over. They managed to smother their laughter but the school was less restrained and peals echoed around the building. Kathie immediately went to the aid of her friend and with the assistance of several other mistresses succeeded in pulling Nancy from underneath it, none the worse for her escapade except for being winded. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:26pm The girls were still giggling when the next scene appeared. Flats of trees decorated the stage and five of the shorter mistresses were positioned in the centre, eating happily, before one stood up and walked away to the side. Kathie, for it was she, deliberately tripped over a pink object lying on the ground. The school craned forward in an attempt to discover what the thing was. They were left in no doubt whatsoever when a horde of Staff dressed as pigs charged wildly at the five. Kathie was not the only one to jump inwardly at the intimidating sight but kept enough self-control to remember to flee from them with the others. The pigs stopped short at what the Staff hoped resembled a hedge while the ‘girls’ dived through it in any way possible. They all landed at the feet of Matron, no costume necessary, who proceeded to shake them vigorously before the curtain dropped to the accompaniment of chuckles from the appreciative girls. That concluded the first half of the programme and the school departed for refreshments in the interval. The Staff felt the time was necessary for them to recover after their ordeal. Kathie could still feel her heart pumping after being confronted by the pigs and was hoping she wouldn’t suffer from nightmares afterwards while Matron insisted on examining Nancy to make sure no damage had been done. Biggles was struggling to remove the beard that had been gummed on rather too firmly but only succeeded in painfully taking off large amounts of skin with it. The girls had no such care and were grinning happily as they discussed the entertainment while enjoying the fruits of Anna Mieders and her band of helpers’ labour. The fifth episode was another dark setting with only dim lighting on the stage. A cupboard was set up next to a chair and between two sturdy supports. Quite half the audience jumped as Rosalie Dene, with her flowing hair in one long tail hanging down her back, suddenly leapt onto the stage pursued by a small figure dressed entirely in black and armed with a switch. Round and round they tore before Rosalie sprang onto the chair and from there scrambled onto the cupboard which proceeded to tip ominously onto the supports provided. The demon looked around, slightly baffled, before exiting. At this stage, the Staff had planned to drop the curtain. What they hadn’t reckoned on was Rosalie’s effort. Losing her grip on the support, she gently slid down the back on the cupboard and, accompanied by a loud squawk, disappeared from view. A loud thud was heard as she hit the floor and the patter of feet heralded Matron’s approach. At this juncture the curtain finally was downed and the school was left wondering what Rosalie’s fate was. Mercifully the tilt of the cupboard had meant it was not far to the ground and although she was sure she would have a painful bruise the following day, she was otherwise unhurt. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:27pm The curtain rose again on an outdoor set up. A cut-out car was placed at the rear of the stage and two girls were frantically fighting in front of it. More were crowded around, cheering on the combatants, and making the most of the occasion. Foamy bubbles were scattered everywhere and Kathie was perched on a stepladder behind the stage, blowing even more bubbles. Len, carrying out her actual role in the event, marched on the stage and with the help of Jeanne proceeded to physically separate the pair. As the four complained afterwards, they hadn’t known how violent their colleagues could be and all had the marks to prove it. The sight of their mistresses grappling with each other provided excuse for wave after wave of laughter from the girls who were cheering wildly as the curtain dropped. As far as the Staff were concerned, their final spectacle was the climax of the evening. An old bath tub had been dragged onto the stage and an imitation shower apparatus was positioned above it. Rosalind Moore had been given the part of Prudence Dawburn and was wandering around the stage, intently searching for something while Nancy and Kathie encouraged her. Eventually they left the scene and Rosalind was alone. Inspiration struck and she clambered precariously onto the rim of the tub. Grasping at a package on top of the shower unit, she purposefully overbalanced and made a clutch for the shower cord. Water spewed down on her, courtesy of Rosalind Yolland. What she hadn’t reckoned on was the entire shower unit tipping on top of her and she twisted madly out of the way to avoid the contraption. What she actually did was change the path of her fall so instead of landing in the padded bath, she fell onto the edge with a mighty grunt. The bath flipped over on top of her and Matron and Miss Annersley tore onto the stage to examine the victim. “I’m – OK – really. Just - winded,” explained Rosalind in short gasps as she struggled both to get her breath back and to get out from under the bath. This time the school could not restrain itself. Riotous laughter erupted from every corner and Joey’s pealed loudly above the rest before a stitch made its presence felt. More than one girl had tears flowing down their cheeks and Cecil Maynard fell to the floor in a very undignified manner with hysterics. After a considerable period of recovery, lists were checked. Quite a third of the girls had guessed all seven scenes correctly but agreed that the performances more than made up for not getting prizes since there weren’t enough to go round. Only Biggles was disgruntled with the outcome as it meant he was still lumbered with the scented handkerchiefs. Samaris called for three cheers which were readily given and then everyone retired to bed, the Staff carefully nursing their collective assortment of wounds. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 14th, 2003, 10:42pm What a violent staff evening! Well, *I* got them all. More, Rebecca. Don't be too long about it either! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 14th, 2003, 11:23pm *Hangs head in shame and admits she only got six - what was number five? I don't mind not getting a prize though - th e entertainment value made up for it. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by crashbb on Oct 15th, 2003, 2:01am on 10/14/03 at 23:23:39, Esmeralda wrote:
It's from Mary Lou where Mary Lou jumps on top of the cupboard to escape the demon (I think it was Biddy) during the St. Nicholas Day celebrations. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 15th, 2003, 2:57am Ah. Thank you. I've only read that book once and it obviously didn't make much of an impression! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 15th, 2003, 4:27am More very soon please Rebecca!!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 15th, 2003, 10:04am *Ah, go on then! Start of Chapter 17.* The days after the Staff entertainment saw a return to normality for the school. Chickenpox was forgotten about and the excitement of the concert made the girls forget that it was a while since they had been able to go outside. Rehearsals were well under way though Dorothy Lawrence was not having such a good time as nothing seemed to be going right. At the first rehearsal, the orchestra had accidentally pitched ‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht’ slightly too high and the resultant noises as the girls attempted to reach the notes at the end of each verse would have caused anyone with an ear for music to shudder. Another occasion had seen the girls sing no less than four of the songs completely flat, but the worst mix-up of all had been during the practice of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. The school was used to the Latin version, ‘Adeste Fideles’ and the cacophony when half instinctively sang in English and half in Latin had caused all the performers to laugh so much that it was decided to abandon the rehearsal. As Dorothy had rued, it was impossible for anyone to sing seriously when they were on the verge of hysterics. “I’m almost beginning to regret taking it on,” she sighed one evening after another failed attempt. “Nothing is going right. It feels like the entire project’s cursed!” She wasn’t the only one to notice all of the mistakes. Several of the Seniors were aware that the performance was approaching all too rapidly and in their eyes, the Middles were to blame. “It’s that lot from Upper IVb that are ruining things for the rest of us,” complained Stephanie Pennant of Vb. “Honestly, I don’t know why they’re still allowed to come to rehearsals!” “But who?” asked Dominique Maigny. “Me, I have noticed nothing.” “Oh, the usual criminals. Jensine, Isla, Betje and Raluca. Those four are responsible for more trouble in this school that the rest of the Middles put together.” “What have they done, though?” wondered Yelena Belousov. “I know the rehearsals have not gone well but surely they are not responsible for that.” “Look at yesterday’s debacle. We could have carried on if they hadn’t burst into laughter every time Lawro tried to start again,” said Steph. “They weren’t the only ones,” calmed Yelena who was a fair soul. “You must have more to go on than that.” Steph pondered the past rehearsals. “What about when half the school fell off the stage? I’m sure they were the ones at fault for pushing in the ranks.” “Maybe,” wavered Dominique. “I could not see what caused it.” “And none of them can sing particularly well. I’m convinced they were flat the other day,” stated Steph. “They can’t help that!” protested Yelena whose voice was not her strong point. “They can sing more quietly!” demanded Steph. “Or mime so we don’t have to listen!” “I don’t know what your problem is,” cried Yelena. “You don’t tell me to pipe down every time I hit a wrong note!” “The problem is that they choose to do it when they’re backing my solo! How am I meant to sing decently when they’re caterwauling in the background?” Yelena was still determined to stick up for the Middles. Her contrary streak was aroused and she was rather fond of the mischievous quartet. “I think you’re making a fuss about nothing. Remember what we were like at that age – we were as light-hearted about life as they are. That’s all there is to it.” “Some friend you are!” stormed Steph. “At least Dommie sees my point of view, don’t you?” The French girl was torn. She was a rather colourless child who was content to tag after whoever was popular without ever having a single original thought. She glanced at Yelena’s face, eyebrows raised in question, before turning to look at Steph whose glinting eyes promised no good if she went against her. “I – I suppose you may be right,” Dominique stuttered. “Well, if that’s the way of it, I’ll leave you two to imagine some more ridiculous prejudices.” With that Yelena strolled coolly off, her head held high. The other two briefly stared after her but Steph proceeded to continue in a monologue that bore no good for the girls of Upper IVb. In her mind, the culprits expanded to the entire form and her rant did not spare any of them. Unfortunately, it was overheard. The pair had sought refuge in their Splashery and Steph’s clear voice carried out all too easily into the corridor. Jensine and Isla were sauntering past on their way to their common room when they heard their names being taken in vain. Exchanging glances, they tiptoed to the doorway and, being only human, listened shamelessly to the one-sided conversation inside. More and more incriminating statements came out to them and their supposed crimes increased to undreamed of heights. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 15th, 2003, 10:26am Oh goodie, more trouble. Is this where the fatalities come in? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 15th, 2003, 10:41am Wait and see... Mwahahahahahaha! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 15th, 2003, 2:13pm *starting to wish the Rachels had never started that evil cackle stuff. Rebecca, your sister is Cumbrian_R, isn't she? Nuff said. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 15th, 2003, 4:54pm Wonderful. Your description of the entertainment at the staff evening was far better that I managed. Mind you, staff would be bound to manage better than 12/13 year old girls, so maybe I have an excuse!!! Looking forward to seeing what happens next. Hope the seniors get their just deserts, it is the staffs affair not theirs if the middles cause trouble at rehearsals! Dare I say it...............................................More please! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 15th, 2003, 5:57pm *starts the chant!* more more more more |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Ruth on Oct 15th, 2003, 6:03pm More, More, More, MORE MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love it. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 15th, 2003, 8:27pm *The rest of Chapter 17* After some minutes, footsteps were heard padding down the corridor. The thought of discovery made them remember what they were doing and the two walked on, somewhat uncomfortable about the dishonourable thing they had done but furious with the two Seniors. “What pigs!” exclaimed Isla as they reached the haven of their common room. “Who?” Raluca and Betje looked up from their jigsaw puzzle as the other members of their quartet stalked in. “Oh, that beastly Steph Pennant,” explained Isla, her language leaving a lot to be desired. “As usual,” added Jensine. “And I rather think Dominique Maigny was there too.” “Some featherheaded dolt who hardly said a word at any rate,” put in slangy Isla. “That sounds like our Dommie,” chuckled Betje. The four had no use for the Senior at the best of times. “So what have we done now?” asked Raluca, her brown eyes dancing wickedly. “I’m personally quite impressed with the amount of evil things that Steph thinks we do.” “By quantity, definitely,” agreed Jensine. “I’m amazed we ever find time to do anything else, sleep included!” “Oh, this time she thinks we’re deliberately sabotaging the school concert in general – “ started Isla. “ – and her precious solo in particular,” finished Jensine. “What!” The other two couldn’t believe what they were hearing. “Not only that, but she reckons the entire form and possibly the rest of the Middles are in on it,” expanded Isla. “Is she out of her mind?” wondered Betje whose English vocabulary was broader than one would expect of a Dutch girl, mainly thanks to Isla’s unhealthy influence. “Why on earth would we do such a thing?” “Beats me,” answered Jensine, another pupil of Isla’s. “She just doesn’t like us, never has done, and is ready to leap on any excuse to put us down.” “Is it any wonder?” grinned Raluca as she thought back to their first meeting with the Senior. The four had all been new together as ten year olds and immediately chummed on the train journey to the school. It was unfortunate that they should be sharing a compartment with Stephanie and two of her friends who were all very much on their dignity, having achieved their promotion to being Junior Middles and were inclined to look down on the chattering Juniors. It was even more unfortunate that Betje had brought her beloved frog, Groot, with her, not realising that pets weren’t allowed at the Chalet School. in showing the amphibian to her new friends, Groot had made a bid for freedom and unwisely chose to land on an open bar of chocolate in Steph’s lap. The little girls shrieked with laughter but Steph had not seen the funny side. She stood up to her full height and gave the Juniors a lecture on keeping their animals to themselves, particularly when there was food around. The commotion had attracted one of the escort mistresses, Miss Ferrars, who was for once unsure what action to take. While Groot should never have been on the train in the first place and certainly shouldn’t have been let out, Betje was new and unaware of the rules. It seemed harsh to come down too hard on her, especially when the incident clearly had a humorous element. Equally, it was unfair to be too strict with Steph who had every right to be upset with Betje and Groot. She contented herself with a few calming words and then left them. The four were thankful to have got off no worse but Steph was fuming, annoyed that the girls seemed to have got away with it. From that day, battle lines were drawn and though the feud was treated with humour by the younger girls, for Steph, who had an unpraiseworthy tendency to hold a grudge, it was deadly serious. “No, I suppose not,” grimaced Betje. “Poor Groot, though. I’m sure he never would have gone to see her if he’d stopped to think who she was.” “I don’t know about that,” gurgled Isla. “He did have an unfortunate habit of going to people who hated slimy creatures.” The frog’s term at the Chalet School had been an eventful one. He had escaped on a regular basis and was always turning up in awkward places. Miss Annersley wished that it had been possible to send him home sooner but no means could be found until Betje took him back with her at Christmas with strict instructions not to bring him back under any circumstances. “That’s all very well,” said Jensine, “but what are we going to do about Steph?” “And dumb Dom for that matter,” added Isla. “There’s bound to be others caught up in it as well.” “Vb certainly has more than its fair shade of idiots,” agreed Raluca. “But I don’t see how we can get back at any of them.” “Is there anything in EBD’s books, or Mrs Maynard’s, that we could use?” wondered Jensine. “Oh, Jens, let’s be original!” demanded Isla. “This is our revenge, not some other schoolgirls’ attempt. Anyway, everyone always looks in them for ideas so I’m sure they’ve all been overused.” “What then?” Jensine put Isla on the spot. “You think of something!” “OK, I will!” Isla loved a challenge. “The rest of you can think as well.” Five minutes passed and the rest of the Senior Middles had gathered round. They always knew that the quartet were up to no good when they were quiet and wanted to know who was going to be on the receiving end this time. After hearing about Steph’s ravings about all of them, not a single one wanted to be left out. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 15th, 2003, 8:29pm “How dare she?” raged Phyllis Glenbaron. “We’re with you lot in this, provided you don’t choose something too outrageous.” “Would we do that?” twinkled Raluca. “Anyway,” interjected Jensine, “we don’t want anything too dramatic. Just something that’s a minor irritation so they can’t complain too much about it. We don’t want to be dragged before the Abbess at this stage in the term.” “Besides, we might get banned from the concert and how could we wreck it from the audience?” said Isla dryly. “Well,” began Betje wickedly, “I’ve got a few ideas – “ “But we don’t want to!” cried Heidi Lilienthal. “That would prove the Seniors right.” “Of course we don’t want to,” retorted Betje. She reflected that it was a shame that the other Senior Middles had never really grasped the sarcasm that was an essential ingredient of the quartet’s humour. “What about mixing up their cubeys?” suggested Raluca. “So frustrating yet so hard to trace the culprits.” “I like it!” decided Jensine and Isla nodded her agreement. “But what would we swap around?” “Oh, rugs, and counterpanes between dormies for a start,” proposed Betje. “I’m sure there’s more we can do.” “Definitely,” said Isla. “I know Steph is mad keen on things like that matching. Remember the fuss she made when Groot got on her counterpane and she had to have a spare which was wasn’t co-ordinated?” Betje grinned. “I wish Groot was still at school. It was so much fun when he was around.” “Is there anything else we can switch?” wondered Raluca. “Hairbrushes and ribbons,” offered Ruth Cottingham, also of Upper IVb. “That should do, initially anyway,” resolved Jensine. “We can start with counterpanes and rugs and work onto hairbrushes. After all, we don’t want to do too much at once and use all of our ideas at once.” “And we’ll have to go up to the dormies to do it all and the longer it takes, the more chance we have of being caught in the act,” remarked Raluca. “Sorted then,” concluded Isla. “I guess the best time to do it is during our free time in the evenings. Matey will be tied up with the kids and there’s no one to supervise us.” “Right! Do we start tomorrow?” asked Raluca. Isla pondered the question. “Yes! Why not? We want to get on with it as soon as possible and it’s not long before term ends and the opportunity’s gone then.” “Do we know which dorms they are all in?” queried Aimée Brissac. “There is no point in doing it if we don’t know that.” “I think we know most of them between us,” mused Isla. “The ones we don’t are just lucky!” “And everyone remember, behave like wingless angels for the rest of the concert practices,” urged Jensine. “We want to make sure that Steph really doesn’t have a case against us.” “But we’ve done nothing wrong to start with!” protested Phyllis. “I know that, you goop!” cried Isla. “Nothing except accidentally hitting a few wrong notes during Steph’s song and that’s hardly an excuse for her attitude towards us.” “We’ll just have to be extra careful,” resolved Betje. “Maybe we could have an extra practice or two to go over the difficult passages to get the hang of them.” “Good idea!” backed up Raluca. “Shall I ask Miss Lawrence if we can have a copy of the music? Then we can have a run through here.” The Senior Middles all agreed and Raluca was soon back with a handful of sheets. They grouped round the common room piano and Raluca pounded out the tune while they attempted to sing along. This required so much concentration that their plans for the Seniors were temporarily forgotten and peace ruled once more. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 15th, 2003, 9:25pm I love the ideas for pranks, and can't wait to see how they come off, and whether the girls get away with it! So..... MORE PLEASE REBECCA!!!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 15th, 2003, 11:30pm Agrees with Vikki, but slightly puzzled how moving things around from one dormitory to another is going to cause fatalities ??? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 16th, 2003, 2:28am *becoming worried by the re emergence of Esmeralda's morbid side* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 16th, 2003, 9:18am *Lisa_T - Cumbrian_R is my sister so it's probably genetic or something. Esmeralda - you'll have to be patient for a bit longer, but they are coming.* *Or are they ? ? ? * |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 16th, 2003, 9:21am *Anyway, the start of Chapter 18* The first the Seniors knew of the plotting of the Senior Middles was when they entered their dormitory the following night. As Isla would have predicted, Steph was the first to notice. Stepping through the doorway into Poppy, her hands instantly flew into the air. “Oh, my goodness! What on earth has happened here?” she shrieked loudly. “What has happened where?” asked Dominique. “The curtains, the rugs, the counterpanes!” Steph gasped. “What about them?” wondered Dom, not the world’s most observant soul. “They don’t match!” Steph was on the verges of hysterics. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight with all this – this disorder around me!” “What rot!” rubbished Yelena. “They’re all flowery, aren’t they?” “You cannot seriously claim that this green rug from Leafy goes with either our curtains or this counterpane! I’ve no idea where that’s come from.” “Pansy at a guess,” replied Yelena, struggling to conceal a smile. “Though mine’s from Cornflower and I rather think Dom’s is from Wallflower.” The other five girls in the room, not being in Vb, were unaffected and begged the other three to hurry up. “Come on, you idiots! We don’t want Matey here to see why we’re not in bed, do we?” urged Bethany Green of Va. “It doesn’t take much to bring her along.” “Just make do with what you’ve got,” added Capeka Krejci. “It won’t hurt and you can sort it all out in the morning.” Even Steph saw the wisdom of the advice and quietened down though she continued muttering under her breath and tried to keep her eyes shut as possible to avoid seeing the clashing combinations. Unfortunately this led to her tripping over the chair in her cubicle and walking into one of the curtain standards, more things to blame on the perpetrators. She was in no doubt whatsoever over who was the cause of the mess. By the morning Yelena and Dominique had almost forgotten about the incident and merely dropped their newly acquired counterpanes and rugs off at the appropriate dorms on their way to their off-chill baths. On their return, they found their own were deposited in their cubeys and there they were prepared to leave the whole thing. Steph was another matter. Her temper was not one that flared up violently but rather it was ice cold. This particular grievance was another one to add to the list in her mind and although she had enough sense to remove the foreign articles from her cubicle, she dwelt on the affair for most of the day. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 16th, 2003, 9:23am Dominique noticed this and was swift to accost her friend that evening. “My Stephanie, what is wrong with you? You are so distant today.” “It’s those infernal Middles again! I can’t believe their cheek. I mean, going into our cubeys and switching our stuff over. It’s not on,” she fumed. “It was but a joke,” protested Dom. “Not very funny though, was it?” “I – I suppose not,” hesitated the French girl. “I’m glad someone agrees with me! The rest of the form don’t see the serious side at all,” complained Steph. “I’m going to pay those Middles back anyway. They’re always doing things like this against me and it’s not fair!” “But, you don’t know it was them,” said Dom. “You cannot do anything without proof.” “Oh, of course it’s the Middles. For a start, it always is the Middles and then Jensine, Isla, Betje and Raluca have always hated me. There’s no need for any more proof than that!” Inwardly Dominique quaked. Although she was sure that it was the quartet, she hated to accuse anyone without evidence. But she felt she couldn’t possibly go against Steph who was a born leader. “Possibly,” she stammered reluctantly. “And of course there’s more than just those four in it. It would take more than that to rearrange the cubeys of everyone in our form. My guess is that all of Upper IVb are in on it, and probably Upper IVa as well for good measure,” decided Steph firmly. “But what are you going to do about it?” Dom wondered. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” pondered Steph. “But it’s going to be good. They are going to feel so sorry for ever interfering with me!” “Please, don’t Steph. It’s not worth the trouble,” pleaded Dom, trying her hardest to help her friend. “Rats to that!” slammed back Steph. “Those kids deserve all they’re going to get. You don’t think I should let them get away with it, do you?” “I do not know, my Steph. Maybe they don’t,” admitted Dom, giving in to the stronger character. “Good. I’ll tell you when I’ve got my plan sorted and you can help me,” arranged Steph. Then Dominique surprised even herself. Something inside her snapped as the injustice of Steph’s callous comments made itself felt. “I’m not going to help you,” she stated. “Why ever not?” gasped Steph. “It was cheek against you as well as me.” “But I don’t think they deserve revenge. It was just a childish joke.” She stuck stubbornly to her point of view. Stephanie was stunned. Dom had never disagreed with her about anything and the French girl’s stance infuriated her. “Really? And I suppose you’re in a position to judge what is and what isn’t childish.” “Your revenge certainly is!” flung back Dom, thoroughly roused. “And,” she added with a burst of inspiration, “you’re just as bad as they are. There’s no need to sink to their level.” That last bolt had shot home. Steph knew that she was being childish but was too revved up to acknowledge it. Dom’s words had stung her and she had never realised that her friend had possessed a temper, let alone one as fiery as had been displayed. “If that’s how you feel, Dominique Maigny, then go away! I’m sure you’re far too mature and sensible to associate with me! Shove off!” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 16th, 2003, 9:24am Dom fled, tears pouring down her cheeks. Steph’s rejection had hurt, especially when she had only been trying to help her. Luckily she bumped into Yelena Belousov who was a kindly soul and unable to bear seeing anyone as upset as Dom clearly was. Yelena dragged the sobbing girl into the nearest form room and settled her on a chair. “Dommie! What on earth is the matter with you?” she asked in her fluent French, sensing the girl would be more comfortable in her mother tongue. Dom swallowed a few times and sneezed violently before answering. “Oh, it is Stephanie and I. We have argued and she told me to leave her. She – she doesn’t want to be friends any more.” Yelena’s chief feeling was relief. She had never felt comfortable with the friendship between her two form-mates as Steph was plainly not a good influence on Dom who did not have the strength to fight back against her but she had never done anything about it since she felt it wasn’t really her business to interfere. “Oh, you poor thing!” sympathised Yelena, hugging the crying Dom. “What did you argue about?” “It was about – about the trick played on our form,” sniffed Dom. “Oh, that!” scorned Yelena. “Typical Middles but never mind. They’re always doing things like that though I’d like to know what we did to deserve that little effort.” Dom was relieved to find Yelena agreed with her. “Yes, but Steph wants revenge on them.” “And you told her not to?” asked Yelena gently. Dom nodded. “It didn’t – didn’t seem right.” The Russian girl gave her shoulders an extra hard squeeze. “I guess that wasn’t easy for you to do, was it?” This time Dom shook her head and went off into another spasm of tears. “You did the right thing,” reassured Yelena. “Steph’s got her mind twisted about the current bunch of Middles though I don’t know why.” “She thinks they have a grudge against her,” explained Dom in muffled tones. “That quartet in Upper IVb especially.” “What! You don’t mean Isla and Jensine and that lot, do you? Why they’re some of the jolliest kids around,” exclaimed Yelena. The memory of her recent conversation with Steph and Dom came to mind. “She isn’t still annoyed about the concert as well, is she? I tell you, I don’t mind betting that those lot aren’t trying to wreck it at all. They may be mischievous but that’s not their style.” Dom cheered up slightly at Yelena’s blunt speech. Perhaps she didn’t need to rely on Steph for friendship after all. Yelena caught the wistful look in her eyes and shrewdly guessed what was behind it all. “Come along, my lamb,” she said briskly. “I was just going to fetch a pen from my desk and then a group of us are going to play Rummy. Want to join?” Dom silently nodded and walked to the common room with Yelena, the Russian girl tucking her arm companionably through her partner’s. The other girls in the Senior common room exchanged glances at the sight of the two entering together but made no comment after noting Dom’s red eyes and swollen nose. It meant the only unhappy girl that evening in Vb was Steph who, fired up by Dominique’s words, was more bent on revenge than ever. She spent the evening with a book, snapping at anyone who tried to talk to her, though if they had asked what she was reading she would have been at a loss to name even the title of the novel in her hands. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 16th, 2003, 10:27pm Thank you Rebecca!!! *hoping for more soon!!* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 17th, 2003, 9:35am *The rest of Chapter 18* The trouble started for Upper IVb the following day. Isla McDholl was rummaging in her locker to locate her library book which she had finished four days previously and wanted to swap for another. “Hey! Isla! You’ve got ‘Gay from China’, haven’t you?” shrieked Betje from the other side of the room. “Bags I have it next!” Isla didn’t respond so Betje dived over to make sure of securing the book. “Isla! Did you hear – oh! What on earth have you done with that?” There was good reason for her comment. The book in Isla’s hand had its dustwrapper ripped in two and the boards were almost separated from the rest of the book. Furthermore, the pages were crumpled and the frontispiece was hanging limply, attached only by a thin strip of paper. “I – I don’t understand,” stammered Isla. “I didn’t do this, I couldn’t!” “But then how did it get like this? Oh, I know you wouldn’t be so careless but people don’t go poking around in our lockers to purposely damage our stuff,” pointed out Betje. “It just isn’t done!” “That was no accident,” opined Raluca. “Not all of that in one go. For I’m sure the book was in good condition when you got it out and it would take effort to wrench the boards from the rest.” A tear trickled down Isla’s nose. “I can’t understand why anyone would be so – so spiteful and petty!” “It really is a low-down, mean trick!” said Jensine who had stolen up unnoticed on the other three. “What’s more, it’s happened to me too!” She held out the remains of ‘Anne of the Island’. If it were possible, it was in even worse condition with half the pages floating around the room between the two lockers. “So what do we do?” asked Raluca. “Is this payback from Steph or something else? And do we go to the Head or just the library? For Joanna Feetham is going to have something to say about this and so is Miss Derwent.” “We’d better face the music, I suppose,” decided Isla, recovering from her lapse in self-control. “We can’t say anything about Steph but if they want to take it further, that’s up to them. As long as they believe we weren’t responsible, that’s the main thing.” The others agreed and sought out Joanna. She was shocked and dismayed at the dismal remnants of books they presented her with but the fact that two were damaged worked in their favour. “I guess I’ll have to believe it wasn’t you guys. One could be carelessness but two is too much to be an accident. Don’t think you won’t hear any more about this for Miss Derwent is going to want to know what’s behind all this. I should think that ‘Anne’ at any rate is beyond help and ‘Gay’ is going to require an extensive make-over to ever be anything like the same. Whoever’s responsible is going to have to contribute towards that. After all, it’s hardly ordinary wear and tear, is it?” The four nodded and scuttled away thankfully as soon as they’d chosen their next books, all too grateful that Joanna trusted them and happy to put Miss Derwent’s inquiries out of minds for the present. Their next surprise came when they settled down for their first lesson after Mittagessen, French dictée with Mlle de Lachennais. Their pens were at the ready for her first sentence but no less than eight smothered gasps broke out as the girls started to write. “Girls! What is wrong?” asked Mlle, a hint of annoyance in her tones. When she received no response, she rephrased her question. “I mean to have an answer. I cannot have you disturbing the lesson like that unless there is some good reason.” Seeing that she meant what she said, the form looked at each other meaningfully before Ruth Cottingham reluctantly stood up. “Please, Mlle, it is my pen.” “Please be more specific, Ruth. What is wrong with your pen?” inquired the mistress. “The – the nib, Mlle,” stuttered Ruth. “It’s broken. I didn’t notice and it left a blot on my work.” She raised her book and even from her position in the third row, it was clear that the ink had ruined the page. “What about the rest of you?” asked Mlle dryly. “I cannot believe that all of your pens have broken nibs.” The seven other girls rose to their feet as one and brandished their inky books towards the mistress’ platform. “Please Mlle, it has happened to all of us,” explained an apologetic Isla though inwardly she was fuming. It looked like whoever had wrecked the library books had damaged their pens as well. “Bring your pens here,” instructed Mlle de Lachennais. “I wish to examine them myself.” The eight trooped forward obediently and it was obvious that someone had deliberately ruined all of the pens in the same manner by subtly splitting the nib up the middle and drawing the two halves slightly apart. It was not visible unless one looked carefully and Mlle understood why the girls had been so surprised. “I see that all of you will need new nibs. Have you all got spares so you are able to continue?” Everyone except Ruth had one but her twin Rachel offered her one of her own since they had identical pens. When that was sorted, Mlle got down to business. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 17th, 2003, 9:36am “Now, please lay everything down and pay attention. I wish to know if you know who would do such a thing. If you cannot tell me, I fear it must go to Miss Annersley. We cannot have you girls damaging each other’s belongings on purpose.” Her final words were spoken with a grim emphasis and the form as a whole shook in their stockings at the prospect of the punishment awaiting the perpetrator. They remained silent. No one except the quartet had a suspicion and they only suspected. As Jensine said afterwards, it was all very well reporting a guilty party but they hardly wanted Steph to get into trouble if she wasn’t responsible. Besides, they had rearranged the cubeys of Vb and were expecting some retribution from the older girls. “Very well. In that case I will report the matter to Miss Annersley. Now we will continue with dictée, n’est-ce pas?” The form immediately glued their eyes to their work and Mlle had no further complaints to make about their conduct. Betje and Jensine were heading to their common-room that evening after enduring a lecture from Matron on the state of their cubicles. Jensine had left her handkerchiefs half-hanging out of their drawer while Betje’s spare hair ribbons were a sight to behold and it had taken some time to untangle the mess. The result was that the rest of the Senior Middles had already reached the room to enjoy their spare time. But it was not the usual merry chatter that attracted their attention. Instead a clamour rose from the room that threatened to bring any number of mistresses and prefects down on them. “Oy!” yelled Betje, struggling to make herself heard above the din as the pair entered the room. “Do you want to attract the prees and Staff here?” The hubbub lessened but the duo were instantly surrounded by the rest of the Senior Middles. “You’ll never guess what gone wrong now!” screeched Raluca. “No, what?” wondered Jensine. “Some brute has deliberately smashed every single picture glass in the room!” raged Isla, her Scottish temper thoroughly aroused, though its intensity was surprising given that her hair was a harmless mid-brown. “No!” declared Betje in disbelief. “Why would anyone do that?” “Why would anyone wreck our library books and pens?” snarled Isla. “I just wish I had whichever blockhead was responsible for all this to myself for a few minutes. Then I’d show them! It’s getting beyond a joke!” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 17th, 2003, 9:37am “You’re quite right,” remarked a cool voice. “It is beyond a joke, though I would be more careful with your language, Isla. Please pay your fine into the box and remember that some words and phrases are not to be used on account of their ugliness.” Isla blushed at the rebuke from her Head though secretly she was thankful that the responsibility for the acts against them had been taken away. “Now, girls, please sit down,” she urged. “First I want to know exactly what has happened today. Miss Derwent and Mlle de Lachennais have both told me about another two incidents but I want to hear your view. Jensine, will you begin, please?” The Danish girl proceeded to concisely summarise all that had happened to the form that day and Miss Annersley’s expression deepened as the tale unfolded. “Are you telling me that someone has purposely damaged two library books, eight pens and all of the pictures in here?” The girls solemnly nodded so she continued. “Clearly you must have upset someone. I need to know who was responsible for this destruction and why they did it. If anyone knows, please tell me now.” Isla flushed again. She was an honest child and knew they had to own up to their part in the feud. In her heart she knew that no one but Steph would have gone as far in revenge and she was still shocked at the damage that had been carried out. “Please, Miss Annersley, I think it may be Stephanie Pennant,” she mumbled. “Why?” shot back the Headmistress, her eyes and voice icy. “Because we – we swapped rugs and counterpanes between cubicles,” admitted Isla. “Whose cubicles?” inquired Miss Annersley. “All of Vb’s,” said Jensine, seeing that Isla was unable to continue. “Who did it?” was Miss Annersley’s next question. “All of the Senior Middles,” conceded Jensine. “We were all in it.” “But why did you carry out such a childish idea?” asked the Head in cutting tones. Betje took up the task. “Please, Stephanie thought we were trying to ruin the carol concert. We – wanted to get back at her.” “You mean you wanted revenge?” posed Miss Annersley. “How very unchristian of you. But why, pray, did you enact it on all of Vb if only Stephanie thought you were spoiling the concert?” “I – I suppose we thought the others thought the same,” confessed Raluca. The girls were all treated to a piercing look from Miss Annersley and they blushed, seeing how silly their assumption had been. “And how did you know that Stephanie had such ideas? I can hardly believe that she told you how she felt.” Isla and Jensine’s complexions turned an even deeper shade of red. They had hoped that their eavesdropping wouldn’t come out. “Please, Miss Annersley, Isla and I overheard Stephanie talking to Dominique Maigny,” acknowledged Jensine reluctantly. Miss Annersley gazed silently at them before continuing. “I presume they did not know they were been listened to?” “N-no, Miss Annersley. But truly, we didn’t stop to think how dishonourable it was and we stopped when we did realise,” Jensine said hopefully. “Does that excuse your behaviour?” she questioned. “You two are both old enough to recognise when your actions are wrong before you carry them out. I had thought better of you than this.” The pair hung their heads with shame. Knowing they had disappointed their Head was almost worse than the essay they were set on the morals of listening to what did not concern them. With that the interview was over. Miss Annersley paused only to send Phyllis Glenbaron to find Gaudenz to remove the pieces of glass which dangerously littered the floor and Rachel Cottingham to seek Stephanie and inform her that she was wanted in the study immediately before she left the two forms to reflect on the wrongs of playing childish pranks on their Seniors, to whom they must apologise on the morrow. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 17th, 2003, 10:37am At least she wasn't too harsh on them, they just played a childish prank, not engaged in wanton destruction. To be honest if I heard my name mentioned I would probably isten too, I think most of us would if we were honest. It seem different when you know you are the subject of the conversation somehow. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by PatW on Oct 17th, 2003, 12:44pm You know what happens now!!! More, please!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 17th, 2003, 12:55pm Hear hear. Miss Annersley at her most unpleasant, please. None of this justice with mercy lark. *taking a violent dislike to Stephanie* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by PatW on Oct 17th, 2003, 1:06pm on 10/17/03 at 12:55:42, Lisa_T wrote:
Here, here!!! A spoilt, self-important, opinionated bully! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Toria on Oct 17th, 2003, 4:26pm More please! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 17th, 2003, 4:51pm It was a sulky Stephanie who reluctantly knocked on Miss Annersley’s door and entered the study. Miss Annersley was far from certain how to treat her. Clearly her revenge had been premeditated and was not the work of a hasty temper tantrum yet she felt there must be more to the affair than she currently knew. Even the Senior wouldn’t go as far as she had done over just the rearrangement of her dormitory. “Please take a seat, Stephanie,” she gestured as the girl strode in, her head held high. “I want to know whether it was you who damaged the property of Upper IVb and the other Senior Middles yesterday.” Steph was many things but she was not a coward. “Yes, it was I,” she calmly replied, even endeavouring to use correct grammar. But her eyes dared her Headmistress to tread carefully in her treatment of the girl. Thankful that the girl had chosen to confess, Miss Annersley’s next question was brief and to the point. “Why?” It was a question Stephanie had been expecting and but she hadn’t been able to concoct an answer that she thought would satisfy the Head, especially without breaking the schoolgirl code of honour which said that she couldn’t tell on the Middles for messing with the dormies. “I – I don’t know,” she murmured, her head drooping. “Come, Stephanie, I don’t believe that you would do such a thing without a reason, however petty or trivial. The Senior Middles have told me that they swapped items around between dormitories. Was that it?” queried Miss Annersley. Steph saw that that would be an easy way out but she knew in her heart of hearts that had any other girls done it, she wouldn’t have reacted so violently. “Only partly,” she admitted. “I thought some girls in Upper IVb were trying to spoil the carol concert so I was even more angry with them.” Inwardly Miss Annersley was astonished at the venom in the girl’s voice. She knew then that she must dig deeper into the girl’s reasoning for though rehearsals had not gone well, Miss Lawrence had not so much as hinted that it was deliberate and that particularly lady was renowned for being very much on the spot. “What made you think such a thing?” she wondered. “They mucked up my solo,” said Steph, forgetting her language in her annoyance. “And they went flat in some of the other songs.” “Do you think that was on purpose?” "Yes," she replied though there was little conviction in her tone. She was finding that it was one thing thinking it and another to coolly admit it to the Head. Miss Annersley sensed the hesitation. "Stephanie, do you truly believe that?" she asked again. Steph’s exterior was beginning to crack and her natural honesty was apparent. “Oh, I don’t know. At the time, yes, but I was so upset, I was willing to believe anything about them.” “But why were you so upset? Surely one rehearsal didn’t anger you so much?” delved Miss Annersley, working on the adage that there was no smoke without fire. It seemed to her that the roots of the affair were even deeper than she had suspected. Stephanie remained silent. Despite her outward confidence, she was far from certain of herself on the inside and the Head’s gentle questioning had revealed the feud to her in stark terms. Suddenly she felt overwhelming shame at her behaviour over the last three years and knew that if she opened her mouth, she would begin to cry. Miss Annersley recognised the symptoms but knew that she had a better chance to work good in the girl’s life if the tears came. “Stephanie, I must know,” she repeated, not unkindly. The girl looked up and caught Miss Annersley’s eyes. “It - it started when – when, oh – “ The floodgates opened and she was unable to continue. The Head fished out a handkerchief, won at the previous term’s Staff evening, and Stephanie dabbed at her eyes. When she finally looked up, all anger was gone from her expression and Miss Annersley knew that half the battle was won. The Senior poured out the sorry tale from beginning to end as the Head listened grimly. No one ever knew what passed between the two for neither ever mentioned it but an older and wiser girl emerged from the study some time later. Her punishment was payment for the damage she had caused and, worst of all as far as Stephanie was concerned, she must apologise to all of the Senior Middles for her offences against them. Finally, she was barred from using the library and attending Saturday evenings for the remainder of the term. Miss Annersley knew she had been comparatively lenient but she sensed that the girl was genuinely repentant and did not want her to overly resent her punishment. She realised that making the girl apologise to the girls she had hated for so long would be a severe punishment in itself. With a sigh, she turned to add the latest result to the prediction league. It was a shock to realise that by some fluke Biggles alone had plumped for Stephanie Pennant – the Senior had been uncommonly sulky in a lesson he had covered and he reasoned that she was bound to get into trouble at some stage – and that left her even further adrift at the bottom. She would have to get one right before Christmas or face having the worst record in a term, ever! A thought suddenly flashed through her head and it was with a slightly mischievous smile on her face that she wrote down her next guess before putting the printed form to one side for Rosalie to distribute to the rest of the Staff. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by PatW on Oct 17th, 2003, 8:09pm This was posted long enough ago for you to have written some more, so where is it? ??? ;D ;D *Speaking with experience* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 17th, 2003, 8:51pm LOL. I like the bit at the end.. Did your inventiveness give out- a closed door scene, tut tut!!! More ASAP please! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 17th, 2003, 9:06pm At least a closed door scene is in proper EBD style. |
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Title: ! Post by Vikki on Oct 17th, 2003, 10:33pm *wondering what Miss Annersley is looking mischievous about* More soon please Rebecca! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 18th, 2003, 2:07am More please REbecca *Agrees that somethings are best said behind closed doors |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 18th, 2003, 10:04am *There was other stuff I wanted to fit into the chapter instead. As for the time, Miss Annersley wouldn't behave as I wanted her to, so it's taken some wrestling.* It came about that the following morning Matron, while checking the bureaux of the Staff for tidiness, came across a disorganised pile in one of Biggles’ drawers. The hated scented handkerchiefs appeared to have been shoved in any old how and this had broken their fragile packaging, causing the contents to scatter over the top of Biggles’ own larger and scentless hankies. It was like a red rag to a bull and Matron immediately gave a note to the first girl she found, Lucy Peters, to summon Biggles to his bedroom. The girl’s eyes widened at the request but she said nothing and merely knocked on the door of Lower IVb’s form-room and handed it over before returning to her lesson which she had left to scrub some large ink blots from her fingers. Biggles opened the paper and frowned. He hardly liked to trust his form of twelve year olds to carry on working unattended and behave themselves but he knew all too well what Matron would say if he ignored the message. He decided to hope for the best and set the girls enough work to keep them busy for ten minutes while he went to attend to Matey. His footsteps clumping up the stairs alerted Miss Annersley who could easily guess who it was. She waited for two minutes to give him time to get clear before heading towards Lower IVb. Well she knew they would not be behaving and she entered in time for a paper aeroplane to hit her on the nose instead of sailing down the corridor as Emma Rogerton intended. The form froze and edged as subtly as they could manage back to their seats, trying to hide the other paper aeroplanes and screwed up balls of paper by shuffling them under their desks. Miss Annersley was not fooled for an instant. She merely inquired whether they had been set any work and bade them to continue with it, after announcing that they were all to come to her office during Break to discuss their conduct further. Biggles’ footsteps could be heard down the corridor so she swept out, only stopping to inform him of their behaviour and that she would deal with it. Biggles himself was puzzled. He was convinced that he had not left his drawers in such a mess and that the handkerchiefs were carefully laid on top, ready to be snatched up in an instant if a Staff entertainment was announced. There was no reason why he could think that anyone would break the packaging and strew the contents throughout the drawer. The whole affair had left him rather confused and annoyed for his own hankies now reeked of the rather feminine odour, including the clean one Matey had forced him to pick up. It was during the girls’ rest period after Mittagessen that Hilda Annersley entered the Staff room, clutching a sheet of paper and with an air of triumph about her. She clapped her hands for silence. “May I have your attention, please? Firstly, congratulations to Biggles. He was the only one to prophesy that Stephanie Pennant would be summoned to my office this morning so that’s another point in the league for him,” she announced. Biggles positively smirked. He did enjoy being right and the round of applause he received was a pleasant gesture. “Next,” continued Hilda, “I know that you all got your next guesses in before Prayers and I’m extremely happy to say that yours truly was spot on with her prediction of Lower IVb, who paid a visit during Break. How many girls are there in that form, Rosalie?” “Twenty-three,” answered Rosalie, who knew most details about forms off the top of her head. “So that’s twenty-three points for you, isn’t it?” Hilda nodded as another round of applause rippled around the room. “I’ve recalculated the table and Biggles moves up above Sharlie while I’m now up to third. No other movers this time, I’m afraid.” A nagging doubt rooted itself in Biggles’ mind at this statement. He knew that there had been some foul play in his summons from his form that morning, a summons that had directly led to Lower IVb being sent to the study. He had thought at the time that it was rather suspicious that Hilda had turned up at his form-room since it was some distance away from her study but he had dismissed the thought from his mind. Now there were so many things that didn’t add up. Normally a teacher would give a form a lecture on their behaviour and leave it at that rather than involving the study. However, the rules of the prediction league were quite strict on that point. The culprit had to be reprimanded in the study, not just by the Head in another room. “But what do I do about it?” he asked himself. “I can’t accuse her of cheating – after all, I still want to have a job here next term! And I’m sure the others would never believe me since they’ve all known her for years. This really is a ghastly mess!” With this in mind, he decided the best course of action would be to accost the Head in private so when she left, he followed a few minutes later and tracked her to her study. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 18th, 2003, 10:10am “Hilda, there’s something I want to ask you about,” he began. “What would that be?” she asked in her most pleasant voice. Surely there must be some mistake, he told himself. Why would she do such a thing? But he pulled himself together. “I believe you fixed Lower IVb getting into trouble. I know my drawers weren’t a mess when I left them this morning and you had most to gain from the situation.” Miss Annersley coloured. She hadn’t realised her plan was that full of holes but then she had also forgotten Biggles was a detective of many years standing at Scotland Yard when she thought of it. “Yes, if you must know, I did,” she admitted. “Why?” Biggles asked. “Does the prediction league really mean that much to you? Surely it’s all just a bit of fun!” “I have my reputation to think of,” she returned coolly. “No one expects much from someone who’s never even taught at a school before like you, so doubtless you do consider it a joke. But I’ve been Headmistress here for more years than I care to remember. EBD portrays me as some perfect being who knows every single girl inside out and that puts pressure on me to fulfil that role.” She frowned to herself as she thought back to when Matron had accosted her after discovering that Biggles and Penny were related. The member of Staff had barely been able to keep the note of triumph out of her voice as her suspicions had been justified and the Head had been wrong. Matron was far from being the only one who could be like that at times. “Oh,” murmured Biggles, not entirely sure what to say. “Really, I’m not at all perfect. I have my faults the same as everyone else,” Miss Annersley continued. “Just because they’re not written about doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I’m just sorry that you had to discover one of my weaknesses in this way.” Biggles sympathised. Captain W.E. Johns had put similar pressure on him as he grew older. When he was younger, it was fine to be reckless, to fly into tempers and to completely crack up mentally. But as he aged, he was slowly turned into a flawless role model for children, a man who knew everything about everything, who never made a wrong decision and without whom everyone else was helpless. Luckily for him, his friends had laughed off their own roles and ridiculed him about his portrayed omniscience but he could understand Miss Annersley feeling it more. Almost every girl and member of Staff who entered the school would know of her reputation and would not be nearly as understanding if she failed to live up to the books. “I know what you mean all right,” he reassured. “Remember I’m the star of my own series.” “Of course,” she replied, her eyes lighting up. “I had forgotten that. Did you get the same treatment? I’ve never even looked at any of your books.” “Pretty much,” Biggles agreed. “But because there weren’t nearly as many characters, there was less pressure on me from others. My friends laughed the whole thing off as they got marginalised more and more with each successive story. It seemed their hopelessness knew no depths by the end of the series!” To his surprise, Miss Annersley gave an unexpected peal of laughter. “Oh, these authors! They really don’t know when to stop sometimes. They get an idea between their teeth and insist on carrying on with it, even when it’s obviously had its day.” Biggles joined in the merriment. “That’s true enough. I mean I lost count of how many times I managed to infiltrate criminal gangs and succeeded in rounding up the lot. Of course, it happened once or twice but not every other fortnight!” “And think of all the new girls we’ve put up with over the years,” gurgled Hilda. “Almost every new term we seem to get some oddity whose life is completely changed after a matter of weeks at the Chalet School. We never failed to have an effect on any of them!” When their chuckles had died down, Hilda looked anxiously over her desk. “Look here, Biggles. You won’t mention this to anyone, will you? I don’t want it to get around the Staff room.” Biggles shook his head. “No, of course not. We’re all human, after all. I just wish that you hadn’t contaminated the rest of my hankies.” “I did what?” Hilda had totally failed to follow the train of Biggles’ thoughts. “My handkerchiefs all stink to high heaven! You bust open the package and that let out all the scent in there!” He fumbled in his pocket and brandished one of his originals. The room was immediately flooded with an overpowering sickly smell. “That’s quite – quite strong, isn’t it?” commented Hilda, gasping for breath. “I get the point. If you give them to Matey, I’m sure she’ll wash the lot for you.” “OK, I’ll do that. But if it won’t come out, I’ll be charging you for a new lot,” Biggles finished with a grin. “That’s a deal,” she said cheerfully, happy that her secret was safe. “Meanwhile, that’s the bell for lessons so you’d better go and find your class.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 18th, 2003, 10:16am *And this is what happened when Miss Annersley refused to admit she was less than perfect. The ending is dedicated to Esmeralda and I should add (not that you won't guess) that Chapter 20 will start from the other Chapter 19.* A nagging doubt had rooted itself in Biggles’ mind. He knew that there had been some foul play in his summons from his form that morning, a summons that had directly led to Lower IVb being sent to the study. He had thought at the time that it was rather suspicious that Hilda had turned up at his form-room since it was some distance away from her study but he had dismissed the thought from his mind. Now there were so many things that didn’t add up. Normally a teacher would give a form a lecture on their behaviour and leave it at that rather than involving the study. However, the rules of the prediction league were quite strict on that point. The culprit had to be reprimanded in the study, not just by the Head in another room. “But what do I do about it?” he asked himself. “I can’t accuse her of cheating – after all, I still want to have a job here next term! And I’m sure the others would never believe me since they’ve all known her for years. This is a ghastly mess!” He decided the best course of action would be to accost the Head in private so when she left, he followed a few minutes later and tracked her to her study. “Hilda, there’s something I want to ask you about,” he began. “What would that be?” she asked in her most pleasant voice. Surely there must be some mistake he told himself. Why would she do such a thing? But he pulled himself together. “I believe you fixed Lower IVb getting into trouble. I know my drawers weren’t a mess when I left them this morning and you had most to gain from the situation.” “Prove it!” snarled Hilda. In concocting her fiendish plan, she had forgotten Biggles was a former detective. “Well, if you can come up with a satisfactory reason for your fingerprints being on the drawer, I’ll take it all back,” he retorted. “I did take the precaution of bringing some useful items from my previous job with me, a fingerprinting kit included.” Hilda suddenly leapt to her feet, a vicious carving knife glinting in her upraised right hand. “Would you like to reconsider that, Mr Bigglesworth?” she asked coolly. He shook his head, his hands firmly in his pockets but with eyes coolly fixed on the woman in front of him. She rapidly dived over the desk with surprising agility, aiming for Biggles’ heart with the weapon but before she could accomplish the murderous task, a single shot rang out. Biggles held a smoking automatic in his right hand and Miss Annersley was slumped over the desk, clutching her chest from which blood was pouring. “Take that, you skunk!” he breathed. Miss Annersley staggered back to her chair, her eyes glittering wickedly in her pale face. Biggles knew she couldn’t have long to live and it seemed she knew it too. “So, Herr Bigglesworth. It ends like this. I thought that such a famous detective as yourself would have solved this mystery by now.” “But dash it all, I have,” he shot back. “You set me up to get into trouble with Matron so you could get my form into trouble!” “Do you really think that’s all there is to it?” she replied tantalisingly. “What more could there be?” He was confused by this change in tack. “You don’t think I’m really a headmistress, do you, Herr Bigglesworth? What mistress worth her salt would fix an inconsequential competition and then attempt to kill the person who discovered the plot?” “It isn’t what I’d expect from you given what happens in the books,” admitted Biggles, wondering why the Head was calling him ‘Herr’. Strangely the voice seemed familiar from the past. “But that’s just EBD, isn’t it?” Miss Annersley laughed cruelly. “Even EBD doesn’t know my innermost secret. No one does - until now. But since I am dying, there is no harm in revealing it.” |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Catherine_B on Oct 18th, 2003, 11:12am *giggling wildly* please reveal the secret before you return to the 'serious' version... |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 18th, 2003, 12:05pm Oh my eyes are stinging! *Frantically wipes away tears of laughter! ;D ;D ;D Thank you SO much, Rebecca - I loved that! I'd really like to know what her deepest secret is though...... Sorry for being so demanding! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 18th, 2003, 6:55pm LOL! that was hsyterical. Excellent Rebecca- can you give us a hysteria alert next time so I can be equipped with hankies before my eyes begin to flood...........? More, please! ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 18th, 2003, 9:35pm Please tell us the deepest secret, Rebecca!! *begs shamelessly* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 18th, 2003, 11:26pm *OK, just for you Lisa, you may need your hankies again for the conclusion of the alternative Chapter 19...* With that, she ripped off a cunning facial mask and Biggles found himself face to face with Erich von Stalhein, his arch-enemy! “Von Stalhein! What the dickens!” he gasped, kicking himself for not spotting it earlier. There had been so many clues. For a start, Miss Annersley was famed for not needing glasses but had been sporting pince-nez for the last term whereas von Stalhein was rarely seen without a monocle. “So, I had you fooled and almost managed to kill you at last,” von Stalhein remarked. “But alas! Your infernal luck has won again.” “What on earth are you doing here?” wondered Biggles. “Where’s Miss Annersley? Was there ever a Miss Annersley?” “She is been looked after by some of my friends back in Germany,” smiled von Stalhein cruelly. “It was only when I found out that you were coming to teach here that we temporarily disposed of her.” “But who told you that?” demanded Biggles. “It was between me and the school.” “My spy is in the school,” informed von Stalhein. “Surely you must have suspected Gaudenz? An apparent simpleton, he has one of the sharpest brains in the western world.” “But I thought the conflict between us was all over,” said Biggles, still stunned by what had just happened. "We made up and you came to live in London. By Jove, you even supplied information to the British Government!” “Because you saved my life by dramatically getting me out of a Russian political prison? It saved your neck for several years and certainly got me out of a hole. As you know, I was only too pleased to be rescued from the other side of the Iron Curtain but surely you didn’t think that my hatred of you would die so simply? My heart has yearned for revenge ever since. You were responsible for putting me there after the Inagua affair. There was no hope of forgiveness after that,” von Stalhein said slowly, his voice fading as his strength ebbed away. Biggles was aghast. He had thought that the man had become his friend but it was apparent that it had all been a show. He bent closer to the former German agent to hear his last words. “But I will get the last laugh,” the German continued, his face contorting evilly as he coughed up a lump of phlegm specked with blood. “My revenge will still happen, but now more than just you will suffer. The entire school must be killed to avenge my death.” Those were his last words. Biggles looked sadly at the man whose life had been taken over by hatred and felt only pity for him. He did stop to wonder what the revenge could be but discounted it as an idle threat. The following morning saw the school at large in the Hall for Prayers with the Protestants and Catholics on either side of the partition. All were devoutly concentrating and reverent as they mourned the apparent loss of their Headmistress. Meanwhile Gaudenz was busy in the sheds. The Staff thought he was fetching ladders to attend to the roof but he had other concerns. A switch connected to an electrical circuit was positioned between his fingertips. He flicked it on and seconds later, Hall was blown to smithereens in a giant fireball that rocked the Platz with the loss of all inside the building. “So! They think it is a sound system, heh?” he grinned to himself as he continued with his chores, the final task of his mission complete. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Carolyn P on Oct 18th, 2003, 11:31pm Now that will be a thought to go to bed on. Wonderful. LOL ;D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 18th, 2003, 11:31pm I'm almost tempted to ask you to stick to the alternative and get Biggles to mount a rescue expedition... but you might end up thinking it's too like Real CS! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 18th, 2003, 11:53pm :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 19th, 2003, 12:14am Sugar. Just realised what the finale of that installment was. OK. *don't* go from the alternative (sigh). But MORE SOON! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 19th, 2003, 12:34am ;D Thanks again Rebecca Great stuff with enough fataliities to keep me satisfied for a while! ;D Looking forward to the next part of the 'proper' story now! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 19th, 2003, 10:47am on 10/19/03 at 00:34:48, Esmeralda wrote:
*Oh, shame! You can never have too many fatalities! Anyway, when I started this, I was aiming for around 20 chapters so hopefully this will start to wrap things up.* Chapter 20: After the happenings of the previous week, Miss Lawrence was ecstatic when the Christmas carol concert passed without a hitch. She had planned a programme using carols from a variety of countries so the school was singing in an assortment of languages beyond their usual three. It had begun with the Czech carol ‘Hajej, Nynej, Jezisku’, normally translated as ‘Little Jesus, sweetly sleep’, and the excellent training of the girls’ voices was immediately apparent. It was followed by ‘O, Kersnacht’ and ‘La Marche des Rois Mages’ but all were overshadowed by the highlight of the first half. Miss Lawrence had unearthed an old Romanian song, ‘Deschide uºa’, or ‘Christians, Open up your hearts’ which had been chosen as a solo for Stephanie Pennant. Raluca, as the only Romanian speaker in the school, had translated the simple words so the girls might have some idea of what it meant. The actual performance far surpassed the rehearsals and Raluca felt tears pricking her eyes at the sound of Steph’s voice soaring. She had never been to her homeland, though her parents had seen that she knew her language and heritage, and the carol made her yearn for a time when she was free to visit it herself. Raluca was not alone. Despite not being able to understand the words, the audience felt the meaning of Christmas was somehow closer for hearing the young voices and more than one person was seen to dash the back of their hand across their eyes. The second half opened with the Spanish song ‘Fum, Fum, Fum’, the Staff’s contribution to the event. Biggles had been impressed with the progress his singing had made and his voice helped swell the ranks of the males in their carol which was applauded long and hard by both the audience and the girls. He even made a mental note to ask Miss Lawrence if he could continue the lessons next term. Two carols written by Joey Maynard and with music written by Nina Rutherford, an Old Girl of the school, followed. Both had been used in previous plays though their words still retained their power. ‘Kimer, I klokker’ and ‘Gelobet seist du, Jesu Christ’ were the Norwegian and German items which came before the climax of the evening. Usually the girls sang ‘Adeste Fideles’ but this year’s translation using the words ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’ in accompaniment to the Nativity scene on stage proved popular. The audience joined in with gusto to the words printed on their programmes and the applause rang loud and long in the Hall as they showed their appreciation of the hard work of the Chalet School. Samaris Davies summed up the opinion of the school when she was discussing the performance with the rest of the prefects just before they departed for bed. “You know, at first I was disappointed when I found out we weren’t going to be doing a play, but I’m glad we did this, for a change at any rate.” Robina agreed. “Me too. I didn’t think we’d get the same feeling about Christmas, but we have somehow.” “It was Stephanie, was it not?” suggested Marie Angeot. “I did not know that she had such a voice. Such feeling in it!” “Yes, and did you see young Raluca Dinescu?” added Hilda Wendt. “She was on the verge of crying. I didn’t realise she could be so serious over something like this. Usually she’s such a jolly kid.” “She wasn’t the only one,” replied Lysbet Alsen. “I felt rather like bursting into tears myself. It must be hard for her never to have even seen Romania and I suppose the carol brought it home.” “Has she really never?” asked Joanna Feetham. “No wonder she felt like howling. I’d be the same if I’d never been to the States and we started on some of our Yankee tunes.” Even Steph had felt the Christmas spirit and had gone so far as to compliment the Middles who were involved in her solo, much to the delight of Miss Annersley who had overheard and felt that tempering justice with mercy had been justified in this case. With that excitement over, only a handful of days remained before the school broke up for the Christmas holidays. The girls were looking forward to going back to their homes and the Staff didn’t have the heart to be too strict with them. The weather unexpectedly cleared and with masses of snow lying frozen on the ground, opportunities for skiing and coasting abounded. The entire school was outside as far as possible and even the duffers were managing to propel themselves around for a reasonable distance, Gretl von Trappen included. All was going well until the last full day before school broke up. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 19th, 2003, 4:34pm An avalanche? Scarlet fever? You can't leave it there, Rebecca! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 19th, 2003, 6:08pm Hard to see how you can have more fatalities when you've killed everyone in one fell swoop - but the last sentence seems promising! More please Rebecca *Avalanche sounds good - have there been any drabble avalanches? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 19th, 2003, 9:14pm More please Rebecca!! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 20th, 2003, 9:57am *No, not an avalanche.* The girls had spent the morning helping to tidy up the form-rooms and pack under the strict supervision of Matey and as a reward, Miss Annersley announced at Mittagessen that they would take full advantage of their last opportunity for winter sporting. The girls cheered loudly as they had imagined having to spend the afternoon continuing with the monotonous packing. However, the school was well on top of all that needed doing and though Matron had pulled faces at the thought of having to dry out everyone’s outfits afterwards, she conceded that it would be possible for them to be ready for the girls to pack in the evening. “Oh, it’s lovely to be out again!” cried Penny Drinfield joyfully as Lower IVb made their way out to the area set apart for the school’s winter sports. “It’s all right for you,” grumbled Abigail Halcot. “You and Cecil are here all over Christmas so you’ve got loads of opportunities for even more. I’ll have to wait until next term for another chance.” “Never mind, my lamb,” grinned Cecil. “Next term is the real winter sports time. Most of the skiing we’ve had this term has been a bonus compared to normal.” “Probably means the thaw’ll come earlier then,” complained Abigail, refusing to be comforted. “And at least you two are pretty much granted a white Christmas. I’ll be stuck with a horrible rainy one I should think.” “Oh, cheer up and enjoy yourself for once!” retorted Cecil. “Bet you can’t catch me!” She swung round and sped off with a peal of laughter and the pair were soon hot on her tracks, ignoring the shouts of annoyance from the people they almost collided with as they closed in on their friend. They didn’t care; after all they were just enjoying their last frolic in the snow before the end of term. The rest of the Juniors and Middles had much the same attitude and the Staff had to be at their most alert to stop any that looked like they were getting too out of hand and endangering others. “I wish the girls weren’t quite so excited,” commented an anxious Rosalie Dene to Biggles. “Winter sporting can be awfully dangerous if you’re not careful. We’ve had enough incidents in the past to turn anyone’s hair white, though most of them were from snowball fights rather than skiing. But when I think of those dreadful five days when Mary-Lou Trelawney was unconscious after being hit by a toboggan – well, it still sends a shiver down my spine.” Biggles smiled comfortingly. “I’ve sure that was just a one off. After all, the girls all know about that particular cautionary tale and probably aren’t as reckless as a result.” Rosalie still looked unconvinced. “Possibly, but Samantha van der Byl still managed to break her collarbone on that ski run a few years back and could have been killed. It could happen again.” “I wouldn’t worry about it,” reassured Biggles, anxious to turn her mind to pleasanter subjects. “Anyway, what are you doing for Christmas? Going back to Blighty?” “Blighty?” Despite practically a term of Biggles’ speech, much of his slang was still a mystery to the Staff. “Yes, home, you know,” he replied. “I suppose that’s another one to add to my vocabulary,” grinned Rosalie. “Really, you do have a dickens of an effect on my language!” “Try it in front of Hilda,” urged Biggles. “I can just see her face!” “It’s all right for you,” grumbled Rosalie. “You get away with murder with your language as long as it isn’t in front of the girls, but she jumps on me for the smallest thing.” “She’s just making allowances for my crude associates and unrefined life,” chuckled Biggles. “You, on the other hand, have no such excuse after goodness knows how many years at the Chalet School.” “Yes, and very unfair it is too,” returned Rosalie. “Oh, rot! Of course it’s fair! But you didn’t answer my question,” pursued Biggles. “Are you going home for Christmas?” “I suppose so,” responded Rosalie without much enthusiasm. “There’s nowhere else really apart from staying up here. And much as I enjoy my job and get on with the others, sometimes it’s good to get away, almost like a breath of fresh air. It can get a bit on the claustrophobic side on the Platz.” “What’s wrong with home?” Biggles wondered aloud. “Not that you have to say if you’d rather not,” he added hurriedly. “I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I’d like to think we’re good enough friends for that by now, aren’t we?” Biggles nodded so she continued. “In a nutshell, my father remarried some years ago after my mother’s death and though my step-mother is nice enough, somehow it’s not really home any more. I don’t especially fit in and it’s a bit uncomfortable for any decent length of time. But as I said, I do enjoy getting away from here once in a while and seeing Dad again. Christmas is such a family time and my family aren’t here. Only Hilda and Nell stay up here for the entire break and they’re such good pals that I feel a bit of a gooseberry. Not that I’d let them know it, mind,” she ended, with a suspiciously lonely sigh. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 20th, 2003, 10:00am “I suppose your father’s your only relative left,” said Biggles. “Yes, I’m the last of the family,” admitted Rosalie, “apart from my step-mother and half-brother. There’s some cousins as well, but we’re not close. But anyway, enough about me. What are your plans?” “I’ll be going back to London,” explained Biggles. “Though how much of my friends I’ll see is another matter altogether.” “Don’t you all share a flat?” asked Rosalie, who had surreptitiously been reading the Captain W.E. Johns series over the past term. “That’s right,” Biggles agreed. “The thing is, they’ll all be working so they could be in any part of the globe for any amount of the break. Even if they’re not, at least two of them will be working at Scotland Yard every day. The section isn’t large enough for more than one to have some leave at once and criminals don’t stop for Christmas. It’s going to be a real change from old times and I’m not sure I’m entirely looking forward to it, however decent it’ll be to see them all again.” “What about flying?” asked Rosalie. “Won’t that relieve the boredom?” “How much do you think an aircraft costs nowadays?” demanded Biggles. “After all, if I could afford one, I wouldn’t have had to take this job! The only flying I’ve done for years has been with the Air Police fleet and while Raymond will obligingly turn a blind eye, I don’t think I’ll get away with much more than going up on routine patrols once or twice. Not very exciting really.” Rosalie smiled wryly. “Another gooseberry then!” “I suppose I will be,” grinned Biggles as a thought struck him. “I say, your dad’s place isn’t anywhere near London, is it? We could entertain each other once or twice over Christmas to stop us both going gaga. Only if you wanted to, of course.” “Now that would be lovely,” accepted Rosalie. “In fact – “ No one except the secretary ever found out what she meant to say. The pair didn’t spot the group of Middles heading chaotically towards them with some speed until the girls were almost on top of the duo. “Look out!” yelled Biggles as he instinctively shoved Rosalie out of their path. She was flung down face first on the snow and looked up just in time to see the group of three girls hit her companion. He didn’t have a hope of getting himself out of their way. As a result, he was rammed violently down the slope at high speed. His body glanced brutally off on a rocky outcrop, his limbs flailing helplessly, before coming to a stop with a vicious jerk against the trunk of a pine tree. Oblivious to the shrieks around her, Rosalie tore down the slope, her heart in her mouth. She hurled herself down on her knees next to Biggles, hoping for an immediate response, but he lay there, still, grey and to all appearances, dead. *May I leave it here instead? ;)* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Jennie on Oct 20th, 2003, 10:12am No, you may not!!! Post again immediately, if not sooner. The very thought of leaving us all in this condition. How could you? (Jennie using moral and emotional blackmail) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Kathryn on Oct 20th, 2003, 10:14am Noooooooo! You can't leave it there. I've just discovered the real Biggles in the books and you can't kill him off here. Rosalie needs a friend more than we need to add to the fatality rate on the board. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 20th, 2003, 11:59am No Rebecca, you may not stop there. And Biggles had better only be to all appearances dead, and not really dead. Kill off some of the girls instead.... |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Oct 20th, 2003, 12:55pm Really, Esmeralda! Is that the sort of thing a good Chalet girl should say?! ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Trish on Oct 20th, 2003, 1:17pm You really are a bloodthirsty lot around here aren't you. But how could any true CS fan not use the "lay there, still, grey and to all appearances, dead" line as much as humanly possible? *g* Being a new girl I won't join a chant for more just yet, however I will sit here quietly in the corner and wait. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Oct 20th, 2003, 1:43pm on 10/20/03 at 12:55:49, Lisa_T wrote:
*Surprised that Lisa that have ever imagined that I was a good chalet girl ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 20th, 2003, 3:04pm *starts planning what to do if Rebecca doesn't come back soon* :o :o |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Cumbrian_Rachel on Oct 20th, 2003, 3:14pm *hoping Rebecca will post after her lectures finish this afternoon* *suddenly realising I am unlikely to check the CBB again until tomorrow and deciding it would be more amusing for Rebecca not to post the next bit until tomorrow morning so everyone else has to wait as long as me to find out what happens next* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Oct 20th, 2003, 3:49pm *berates Cumbrian_Rachel for making such a nasty suggestion!!* >:( >:( |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Oct 20th, 2003, 8:32pm *Don't worry Vikki, I'm back! But just to please C_Rachel (after all, she is my older sister who went to the brotherhood for homicidal maniacs and I have to face her on a regular basis) I won't be posting the next bit yet. But that's mainly because it's not being very easy to write and I still haven't got it sorted to my satisfaction.* |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Today at 1:16am Well, hope it cooperates soon, because this cliff edge is getting very crowded!! :o :o |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Today at 9:46am *OK then, here's the final chapter.* Biggles’ eyes flickered briefly open. The whiteness of his surroundings dazzled him and he swiftly shut them again. As he did, he felt a slight pressure on his hand. This time he opened his eyes slowly, screwing them up as he peered between his eyelashes. He was in a hospital, so much he surmised from the cleanliness and smell of disinfectant as well as the slightly scratchy sheets that brushed against him. “Biggles? Are you OK?” asked a voice from his side, strangely familiar. His head was pounding violently. Biggles? Who was Biggles? It took him a moment to work out that is was him who was being addressed. “Head hurts,” he muttered briefly. “Anywhere else?” It was the same voice again, this time with an added note of anxiety in it. He realised that his entire body was aching all over, from his legs to his neck. “Everywhere,” Biggles admitted. “Even your feet?” “Especially my feet,” he emphasised, not realising how worried the medics had been about a spinal injury. “Oh, thank God for that!” It was frustrating him now. Who on earth was the person seating beside him? He squinted in the direction of the voice, his eyes struggling to make sense of the blurry shapes before him. Then it clicked. “Rosalie! Why the deuce are you here?” “I would have thought that was obvious,” she smiled, aware that the colour of her cheeks deepened as she replied. Biggles was oblivious to such subtleties, especially when he couldn’t really make out her face. “But why aren’t you helping out at school? Surely there’s still lots of packing up still to be done.” “Term finished last week,” replied Rosalie. “You’ve been unconscious since then.” “I’ve been what?” Biggles was stunned. It seemed like only a few hours since he had been in the collision. “You’ve been scaring us ever since,” outlined Rosalie. “The other girls weren’t hurt at all, though they’ve been desperately worried. Penny and her mother have been in every day to check up on you and Mr Lacey – Algy, isn’t it?” “Yes, he’s my cousin,” explained Biggles briefly. “Anyway, he flew over the day after it happened. He’s sleeping at the moment, plain exhausted really. We’ve been taking it in shifts.” “What about you, though?” mused Biggles. “I say, I didn’t hurt you in the mix-up, did I? I seem to remember shoving you rather violently.” “Yes, you did,” agreed Rosalie, “and I’m eternally grateful for you for doing so. Otherwise I’d probably be in a similar state to you and terrifying even more people than you’ve managed. Oh, I don’t say I didn’t feel sore and battered afterwards but it could have been so much worse.” “I’m glad,” said Biggles. “I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt you for anything. But why aren’t you at home? Didn’t you say you were leaving when the girls did?” Rosalie clasped his icy hand even tighter between her own two warm ones. “Do you think I could?” she asked mildly. Biggles opened his eyes to their widest extent and looked straight at Rosalie’s faintly flushed face, this time noting her colouring. “I know I couldn’t if it was you. I found that out the day you fainted on the way back from Berne. I was terrified you would never wake up again.” “And how do you think I’ve spent the last week?” asked Rosalie gently. “It’s been torture. Even when I managed to sleep through sheer exhaustion I couldn’t stop wondering how you were.” Biggles noted for the first time the black shadows under her eyes which contrasted starkly with her pale skin. “You look washed out. I’m sorry I had to put you through all this.” “It wasn’t your fault,” reassured Rosalie. “Those Middles owned up to not looking where they were going and being unable to change their course. They’ve been worried sick back home, scared they killed – “ Her voice broke down and her blue eyes brimmed with tears. Biggles slowly sat up in the bed and stretched out his arms, annoyed with himself for being unable to move further. “Come here, Rosalie. It’s all over now. There’s no need to cry any more,” he soothed in his softest tones. Rosalie allowed herself to be enfolded in Biggles’ frail arms and once the tears started, it seemed impossible to stem their flow. Her entire body heaved with sobs but Biggles merely hugged her tighter and silently stroked her hair, recognising the awful strain she had been living under and ignoring the sharp pain in his chest. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Today at 9:51am “I don’t ever want to lose you again,” choked Rosalie. “Then don’t,” replied Biggles, in tones there were no mistaking. Rosalie drew back and looked up into Biggles’ hazel eyes, her hands searching for his. “You mean – “ “Rosalie, sweetheart, I love you,” declared Biggles simply. She was unable to put an answer into words but her face lit up like the sun shining through shimmering raindrops. At that instant the door swung open and a fair man of around Biggles’ age peered round. “Biggles, by Jove! That’s fantastic! I thought I heard your cheery tones.” “Algy! Long time, no see!” grinned Biggles, flinging a despairing glance at Rosalie without his cousin seeing. “How’s life treating you?” “A lot better than it’s treating you by all accounts,” chuckled Algy. “You’ll have to stop terrifying us all with stunts like this. Dash it all, you’re meant to have retired!” “Some retirement,” agreed Biggles. “I haven’t been this smashed up since I stopped combat flying! Do the doctors know what the rest of the damage is? I’ll be amazed if I’ve survived with everything intact from what I remember of the collision.” “They haven’t had an opportunity to do a thorough examination,” explained Rosalie. “They feared it might do more harm than good.” “But they’ve found you’ve got a broken leg at least,” added Algy. “Haven’t you noticed the cast on it?” Truth to tell, with all the excitement since waking up, Biggles hadn’t had a chance to examine himself too carefully. “Actually old thing, I hadn’t spotted it. But it’s rather obvious now you mention it.” The large lump under the bedclothes hiding the cast was hard to miss. “Not to mention a couple of suspected broken ribs,” remarked Algy. Biggles grimaced. “Well, I suppose that explains the chest pains.” “And your hair’s gone,” sympathised Rosalie. “You were inclined to fever when they first brought you in and they decided it might help.” “Well, I didn’t have a huge amount to lose, I suppose,” reasoned Biggles. “At least it won’t take too long to grow back.” “It’s started already,” cheered Rosalie as she smoothed her hand over the soft down already beginning to cover Biggles’ scalp. “I say,” realised Algy, “I’d better go and find a doctor, hadn’t I? I presume you haven’t seen one yet.” “Good idea,” concurred Rosalie. “We’ll need to get you thoroughly checked over and I know Jack’s been awfully worried about you.” Algy leapt up and went in search of Dr Maynard leaving Rosalie alone with Biggles. “I didn’t realise you could contort your face so hideously!” she teased, referring to his despairing glance. “Are you insulting my film star features?” asked Biggles with mock anxiety. “They weren’t damaged, were they?” “Thankfully not,” informed Rosalie, “not that I’d care if they were. Just some lovely scratches and you did have a black eye several days ago. Luckily the nurses have kept you shaved so you almost look decent for once.” “Are you saying I can’t shave?” said Biggles indignantly, falling into the trap. Rosalie smirked. “Thought you’d rise to that one!” “It’s not fair to ridicule me in my delicate state!” protested Biggles. “Do you want me to have a relapse?” Her face suddenly grew serious as the memories of the past few days came back. They were still painfully raw for her. “I’d hate that and you know it. It’s still too near to joke about it.” Biggles noticed the tears beginning to well in her eyes. He leant over and kissed her tenderly. “I’m not going to leave you,” he whispered softly. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Today at 9:56am The door opened abruptly and Jack Maynard strode in. The pair flushed though he pretended to be oblivious to it. He himself had spotted nothing recently but Joey had dropped more than one hint and their faces seemed to confirm her suspicions. “Would you mind leaving for a bit while I examine Biggles, Rosalie? Mr Lacey has gone to try and get in touch with his friends in London and perhaps you could ring Freudesheim for me while you’re waiting. I know Joey, Hilda and Nell are all there this morning and they’ll be delighted to hear the good news. I’ll be able to give them an update later – tell them I’ll ‘phone with more details soon.” Rosalie reluctantly got up and exited, only after pulling an extraordinary face at Jack’s back. Biggles couldn’t keep a straight face and his attempt at choking back his laughter hurt his ribs, causing him to wince. The resultant expression made Jack wonder whether Biggles might have suffered some damage to his head after all. His examination revealed nothing of the sort and he was privately amazed that Biggles had fared no worse. Apart from the broken leg and ribs, Biggles still had a large lump on his head which had not yet subsided where he had hit the tree. He was also severely bruised almost everywhere but nothing else seemed to be broken. As for his speed of recovery, he looked set to beat everyone in the school's history, Mary-Lou and Joey included. “Oh, I’ve got strong bones,” explained Biggles when Jack briefed him on his injuries. “I’ve hardly broken anything over the years which is rather astonishing so it’s not a total surprise. How long am I stuck in here for?” Jack chuckled. “Surely there’s nowhere else you’d rather be?” Biggles glared furiously at him. “I hate hospitals and this one shows no sign of changing my view of them!” “Well, you’re going to be laid up until that leg of yours is in one piece again. That’s six weeks at least. I dare say the rest of you will be mended by then, ribs included,” opined Jack. “I am not spending six weeks in this place!” declared Biggles indignantly. “I’ll go mad!” “Did I say you were going to?” asked Jack, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’ll have to keep that leg rested and be careful until your ribs have healed but I’m sure Joey and I will be able to put you up at Freudesheim over Christmas and for the first few weeks of term until you’re able to walk again. Goodness knows we’ve room enough.” “Really?” asked Biggles. “That would be a heck of a lot better than being in here.” “The more the merrier!” confirmed Jack. “Nell and Hilda are staying over Christmas and I might venture to predict that Rosalie will be as well.” “Then that sounds about as perfect as I could hope for in my current state,” declared Biggles. Even the unobservant Jack noticed his eyes light up at the mention of Rosalie’s staying. “Right-o! in that case, I’ll go and ‘phone Joey and tell her to prepare a room for you. Do you want me to send the others back in?” said Jack. Biggles nodded. Life was looking up all of a sudden. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Today at 9:57am Algy was first to return. “I’m having no luck getting through to London so I let Miss Dene have the line. I’ll have another go when she’s done. Anyway, what was the doctor’s verdict?” “Oh, bed rest for six weeks,” groaned Biggles. “Thankfully I’ll be able to go to his house fairly soon and spend most of it there rather than being stuck here. They live next to the school so I know them fairly well.” “So there’s no chance of you popping over to see us this holiday then?” inquired Algy. “None whatsoever!” confirmed Biggles. “I’ll be crocked for the first couple of weeks of next term and by that time I’ll be sick and tired of being laid up and all too ready to get back into school life. I might make the trip over at Easter though, depending on how things pan out.” “Would that depend on the rather lovely Miss Dene who’s been devotedly chained to your bedside for the past week?” grinned Algy. “It isn’t every colleague of yours who would do that, you know.” “Yes, it would indeed,” chuckled Biggles. “You do like her, don’t you?” “Oh, definitely. She’s been a rock since I’ve been here, a real sport in fact. Not bad looking either for that matter. Maybe I should take up employment in a girls’ boarding school when I’m forced to retire,” he finished with a wink. “Algy! You – you cad, you!” cried Biggles, half outraged but half amused. “What that cousin of yours done now?” asked Rosalie, her head poking round the door. “The ‘phone’s free now, by the way.” “Just being his usual incorrigible self,” brushed aside Biggles. “Come in and let the bounder go and try to ring the Yard again.” Algy did as he was told, pausing only to pointedly wink again at Biggles before leaving the pair. “What did Jack say?” asked Rosalie anxiously as she settled down beside the bed. “Oh, broken leg, broken ribs and frightfully lucky to have no more damage,” outlined Biggles. “He’s sending me over to Freudesheim soon to recuperate so I won’t be stuck in here over Christmas. You’ll be staying there, won’t you?” “Of course,” beamed Rosalie. “I’m so glad,” she paused, “James.” “What?!” spluttered Biggles. “You don’t think I’m going to spend the rest of my life calling you ‘Biggles’, do you?” demanded Rosalie. “Anyway I refuse to and James is a lot better than some of the things I could think up.” “I’m sure it is,” admitted Biggles. “Well? Hang on! You don’t have a hideous middle name I could use instead, do you?” inquired Rosalie wickedly. “When you put it like that, I suppose I’ll let you get away with James!” conceded Biggles. “But only because it’s you.” Rosalie grinned. “Good.” She leant over and kissed him before adding, “You know, I’m so glad you came to the Chalet School.” “You know, I am too,” agreed Biggles, smiling back. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Catherine_B on Today at 10:33am Yeah!!! *cheers* This board certainly has a soft spot for Rosalie :) Thank you Rebecca, that was lovely. I love the way you got both CS folk and Biggles sounding completely in character! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Abi on Today at 11:19am Wow! I have just read the WHOLE of this and it is sooooooo good and i'm so glad Rosalie got married in the end! Thank yooooooo :D |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Kathryn on Today at 12:02pm Awwh. Glad that Rosalie found someone. Great ending. Do you realise (no doubt you have(!)) that you've written almost 60,000 words on this one! I've copied it out to read in one foul swoop. Really enjoyed it. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Lisa_T on Today at 12:46pm Aw. That was lovely, Rebecca. Couldnt you write a little epiloguey thing showing us the wedding? Oh, and could I please have the word doc? I'd like to print it out to keep. ;) |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Rebecca on Today at 1:48pm Sure, Lisa. Do you want to PM me your e-mail address and then I can forward it to you. I do have a few plot bunnies floating around for a sequel set during the holidays but I won't be able to write that until December as my reference library of Biggles books is mainly at home. Also, if it comes to fruition, it won't be very CS themed so it probably won't be posted on here since there's the problem with space. |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Vikki on Today at 2:20pm That was lovely Rebecca! I'm so glad Rosalie and Biggles found each other. Could I have a copy of the doc. too please? |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Trish on Today at 2:32pm *smiles in complete satisfaction* Now that was an excellent thing to come home from work to. I must admit I was a little skeptical when I first started reading it because I wasn't sure how a Biggles/CS crossover would work. However you convinced me very quickly indeed that it was going to work and it certainly did! Looking forward to your next story! |
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Title: Re: A New Master for the Chalet School Post by Esmeralda on Today at 3:53pm Thank you Rebecca, that was terrific. Thanks for not killing Biggles off and for letting him & Rosalie have a happy ending. :) Please may I beg a copy of the word doc. too? |
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