Down an English Lane

by Margaret Thornton

  That was the new word, Primary, with the subdivisions of Infant and Junior; and Secondary instead of Senior was the name for the Grammar schools and the new Secondary Moderns. As Anne listened she realised why she had been questioned at her interview about streaming, the segregating of the children according to ability. It was the new headmaster’s intention, he told them, to make sure that as many children as possible were granted these ‘special’ places – formerly called ‘free’ places – in the Grammar schools. And this could only be achieved by separating the children according to their capabilities and by giving special tuition to the ‘chosen ones’; although he did not actually use the phrase it was the way Anne interpreted it. The children of Standards Three and Four were to be given tests in Mathematics and English during the first few weeks of the term, and then, when they had been graded, he would teach what he termed the ‘more academic’ pupils and Miss Crompton the ‘less able’.

  Which was a far cry from the tradition of the old village school, thought Anne, as she listened in growing consternation. There had been very little rivalry between the pupils in the past. All the children had known, for instance, that Maisie and Audrey – she thought of them because they were still special to her – were at the ‘top of the class’ and would go on to the Grammar school; whereas the majority of them, including their friend Doris, would not do so. This granting of many more special places, it seemed, would bring about divisions between the clever ones and the not so clever. Children, given half a chance, could be dreadfully cruel, and she had already heard such derogatory words as ‘thickies’ used on occasions. Maybe it was just as well that her destiny, for the moment, was to teach the Infants. She would make sure they did not concern themselves with such distinctions.

  Anne, however, was pleased to hear Mr Fortescue refer to the suggestion that she had made, so boldly, at the interview; that the school was in need of a hall to be used as a communal meeting ground, for assemblies and concerts and for physical training; and most probably as a dining room as well, the official from the committee informed them, as the concept of school meals was now becoming more prevalent. He had obviously listened to her words and they had borne fruit, although she guessed that the decision would have been made irrespective of her request. It was on the agenda for Middlebeck School in the near future, he told the meeting. Not only would there be a hall, but also a largish staffroom in which the teachers could meet, instead of the cubbyhole that was an apology for one at the moment; and a staff cloakroom and up-to-date toilets and washbasins. The only toilet provision at the moment was referred to, by them, as the Black Hole of Calcutta; a dark, damp and dismal place with a cracked washbasin. Admittedly it was indoors, unlike the children’s lavatories which were housed in a separate block at the far end of the playground, but it was not a place in which one would want to linger. It was hoped that eventually there would be indoor conveniences for the children as well, but that was not a priority at the moment.

  A hall, a staffroom, a cloakroom and modern conveniences, and accommodation for six classes! Miss Foster would have thought that a fairy godmother had granted all her wishes at once. What a pity she could not have seen some of her dreams coming true before she retired… On the other hand, Anne guessed that Charity might well be glad to be away from it all, in her nice little bungalow at Lowerbeck.

  And as for her, Anne, time would tell… Her new class would be a challenge, one that she had not foreseen and certainly would not have chosen, but she was always ready to meet problems head on. School would begin again on Monday, but before that day arrived she would need to get acquainted with her new classroom; to find out where everything lived – she was sure that Charity Foster would have left it all in apple-pie order; a place for everything and everything in its place – and to put up colourful pictures on the walls to make the place more welcoming for the children after their Christmas holiday.

  On a more personal note, though, she had something else to look forward to. Stefan Chevesky, the very pleasant young man whom she had met the previous night at the Nixons’ party, had asked her if she would meet him in the Green Man on Friday evening; that was tomorrow. She had accepted his invitation graciously, although not over eagerly. She had not been inside that public house – a very respectable one, near to the Market Hall – for several years, not since she had been there with her fiancé, Bill. It was not the done thing, at least not in the circles in which she moved, for women to enter pubs on their own; and until now no young man had asked her out.

  She knew that she had mourned Bill for long enough. The intense ache that she had felt at first had left her heart and mind some time ago, but the memories of him remained and would always be there. But it was time now to move on. She did not foresee the young Polish immigrant as being any more than a pleasant companion, but with that friendship, as with the change in her teaching career, time would tell.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was mid-February when Christine told Bruce that she was very sorry, but she was afraid she had lost the baby. He came home to their married quarters in Lincolnshire at six o’clock one evening to find her, clad in her dressing gown, sitting on the settee and weeping uncontrollably.

  ‘Darling, whatever is it?’ he cried, putting his arms around her. ‘And why…why are you in your night clothes? What has happened?’

  ‘It’s…it’s the baby, Bruce,’ she sobbed. ‘There isn’t one. I mean…there isn’t going to be one. I’ve lost it.’

  ‘But how…why? What do you mean?’

  She explained, between her sobs, that she had felt ‘all peculiar inside’, as she termed it, just after lunchtime. She had gone to the toilet and then she had started bleeding; she had bled and bled, and it had all come away. ‘Down the toilet, our precious baby,’ she wailed. ‘It’s gone…’

  Bruce understood very little about childbirth or labour, but this sounded rather strange to him. ‘Why didn’t you phone me?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I didn’t know where you would be. I never know…’

  ‘They would have found me, wherever I was… And what about the doctor? Didn’t you get in touch with him? Perhaps he could have done something to…to save it.’

  ‘He couldn’t have,’ she answered, rather snappily, he thought. He realised she was very upset, although she didn’t appear to be weeping quite as much now. ‘I was only about three months, and it’s not a proper miscarriage at that stage. It’s more like a very heavy period, and that’s what it was like. The baby would hardly have started to form properly…but it’s gone. I know it has.’

  ‘I see…’ said Bruce, frowning. ‘And…are you still bleeding?’ he asked rather tentatively; he was still very green about such matters.

  ‘Of course I am, and it’s painful too. Period pains are always painful – at least mine are – and this is worse. That’s why I got undressed and into bed when…when the worst was over. I only got up so that I could be here when you came in. I’m sorry…and there’s no meal ready.’ She smiled weakly as she turned her tear-stained face up to him.

  ‘Oh darling, as if that mattered! As if anything matters so long as you are all right. Well, you are going to have the doctor to see you right away…’

  ‘No, Bruce…no,’ she almost shouted. ‘It doesn’t matter…’

  ‘But I insist,’ he interrupted her. ‘You can’t go through all this and not see a doctor. You’ve signed up with the one in the village, haven’t you? I’m going to phone him straight away.’

  ‘But I’ve never seen him, except when I went to ask if I could be on his list. He doesn’t even know me…’

  ‘Well, he soon will. And that’s another thing, darling. I kept telling you to go and see the doctor, to make sure that everything was OK.’

  ‘It was too soon, Bruce; you can’t go too soon. But I was going to see him…next week. There’s no point now, though, really there isn’t.’

  He shook his head. ‘Stop arguing; I’ve made up my mind. Now, you pop back into bed
and I’ll see to everything. Shall I warm some soup for you? I expect you’re ready for something to eat, aren’t you? And I’ll get you a hot water bottle and how about a couple of aspirins for the pain?’

  ‘Yes…all right,’ she agreed eventually. ‘Thank you…’ She was looking very apprehensive, though, almost scared. He knew that she wasn’t keen on going to see the doctor; in fact he didn’t think that she had done so in all the time he had known her. Which time, all told, amounted to just over a year…

  Just how well do you know your wife? He could hear the niggling little voice inside his head as he busied himself in the small kitchen. Just supposing…there had never been a baby in the first place? Now where had that disloyal thought come from? he asked himself. It was obvious that Christine was far from well, and he was most certainly going to call the doctor. He could not help remembering, though, that she had not wanted anyone to know the reason for their hasty marriage. They still had not visited Middlebeck to see his parents and to tell them about the baby… He was full of guilt at the thought of his neglect of them, but quickly upon that thought there came another; there was no need now for them to know why he and Christine had married so speedily.

  He recalled how she had lied to him before, about her age; he had believed she was two years younger… Were there other things that he did not know about her, matters about which she had been less than truthful? Bruce knew, however, that in spite of her failings he loved her very much; and the most important thing at the moment was to make her comfortable and then to ensure that the doctor took a look at her.

  That had been a close thing, Christine told herself later that evening, although she should have realised that Bruce would insist on her having the doctor. He had arrived within the hour. She could not hear the conversation between the two of them, but she was relieved that the doctor entered the room on his own.

  ‘Now, Mrs Tremaine, your husband tells me you have suffered a miscarriage?’ He sounded a little puzzled. ‘You haven’t been to see me, have you? I am wondering why, if you are three months into your pregnancy? Anyway, come along, my dear, and let me examine you…’

  She explained, in quiet tones that could not be overheard, that it might not be quite so much as three months, and that she had intended to come and see him very soon. She told him about the bleeding, that it had been like a heavy period…but much worse. That, in point of fact, was only a slight exaggeration. Her period had started at lunchtime, as she had said. She had been waiting for it to begin so that she could get on with this fabrication – only a little lie, she told herself – and then on with the rest of her life.

  The most difficult thing had been convincing Bruce that they must not make love, at least not fully, during the first three months of her pregnancy as it could bring about a miscarriage. The last thing she had wanted was to be really and truly pregnant, but Bruce had seemed to believe what she had told him. Now they would be able to start making love properly, something she had missed very much; although she would need to convince him now that it would not be wise for her to conceive again just yet. The main object in the beginning had been to make sure that they were married without any delay, and to get him away from all the distractions in Middlebeck…

  She was able to wince convincingly as the doctor prodded at her stomach. She was, in truth, quite sore, as she invariably suffered from period pains; she had been forced to hide the last ones from Bruce.

  ‘You will be fine now, I am sure,’ said the doctor, smiling reassuringly at her. He did not, to her relief, seek to examine her more intimately. ‘I will leave you some tablets for the pain, and if the bleeding continues for longer than five days, then let me know. Goodbye, Mrs Tremaine. It was nice to meet you, but I am sorry it was not in happier circumstances. However, there is always another time. But next time, make sure you come and see me…’

  She stayed in bed for the rest of the day, enjoying the fuss that Bruce was making of her. ‘Never mind, darling; we can always try again,’ he assured her, forgetting, it seemed, that the child he had thought she was expecting had not been one for which they had planned.

  ‘It was a mistake, if you remember, Bruce,’ she reminded him, ‘but we’d sort of got used to the idea by now, hadn’t we?’ She tried to sound regretful, although she did not want to cry any more; she had done quite enough of that. ‘Maybe we should wait a little while, though, before we try again. It’s very nice, don’t you think, there just being you and me?’

  ‘Very nice indeed,’ he replied, kissing her on the forehead. She glanced at him warily, because she thought he sounded a little…odd – abrupt and suspicious, almost – but his expression was inscrutable. His next remark, though, was quite sympathetic. ‘Now, you try and get to sleep, and you’ll probably feel tons better in the morning.’ Perhaps she had imagined it. Bruce was normally so trusting; gullible, really; and there were times – such as now – when she felt quite mean. She decided that she must never deceive him again.

  She needed to recover fairly quickly because in ten days’ time it would be her friend, Sadie’s, wedding to Roland; and she, Christine, had arranged to go to Bradford a couple of days earlier to try on her bridesmaid’s dress – or ‘matron of honour’, to be more correct. Sadie’s mother was making the dresses, not only for the bride but for the three attendants as well. Daphne and Vera, Sadie’s friends, with whom she and Christine had worked in the mill office, were to be the other two.

  Christine had been relieved to board the train at Lincoln station on the Thursday morning, knowing she would have two days’ respite before she saw her husband again. He had been in a strange mood, solicitous one minute, and then watching her doubtfully the next. Her ‘miscarriage’ had not been mentioned again – none of his colleagues, at her request, had known of her supposed pregnancy – but she knew that he was concerned about their forthcoming visit to Middlebeck, which they were to make following the wedding in Bradford. That was most likely the reason for his preoccupation, she told herself; he was feeling guilty that he had not seen his parents for so long. Although he had not admitted it, she had known that he did not want to tell them about the baby, and that was why he had kept postponing their visit. Well, now there was no need for them to know at all.

  ‘You look a little peaky, dear,’ said Barbara Gascoyne, when she and Sadie met her at the station. ‘Doesn’t she, Sadie? Are you all right, Christine love?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine now,’ she replied. ‘Well, more or less. But to be honest, I have been a little…unwell. I thought I was pregnant, you see…’ She lowered her voice, speaking confidentially to them as they made their way to the bus stop. ‘Well, I was sure I was, but then… I had a very bad period, a sort of miscarriage, I think it was, and it’s left me feeling a bit worse for wear, as well as…rather disappointed.’

  ‘Oh dear, what a shame! Still, there’s always another time, isn’t there, dear?’ said Barbara, looking at her concernedly.

  Sadie did not comment, but she and Christine exchanged glances, Sadie giving a shrewd nod and Christine raising her eyebrows and smiling ruefully. She was sure Sadie understood that she had never been pregnant at all, but she was a very good friend and would not betray her.

  Sadie’s wedding dress was a traditional style, in ivory satin with a fitted bodice outlining her tall slim figure, tapered sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Everyone agreed that she looked beautiful. Most brides did, of course, but Sadie looked especially radiant on the arm of her new husband, whose quite average looks were enhanced by his army captain’s uniform; they were a truly handsome couple.

  The bridesmaids wore dresses of mid-blue in a similar style to that of the bride; it was a shade which suited the colouring of them all; Christine was fair-haired, Daphne very dark, and Vera somewhere in between. Another handsome couple was that of Christine and her husband, Bruce wearing the uniform of a flying officer and his pretty wife dressed in the blue which complemented it perfectly.

  The reception was held at the hotel o
n the Bingley Road, where Bruce and Christine had enjoyed a much less grandiose affair after their own wedding. If she was regretful, or envious, or apprehensive, maybe, about the future, Christine did not let it show as she chatted and laughed and drank the health of the happy couple. There was a tear in her eye, however, as her best friend, Sadie, and Roland, drove off for their honeymoon. When they returned they would be living in married quarters in Aldershot, and there was the possibility of his being posted to Germany again, or even further afield. Goodness knew when she would see her friend again. She, Christine, had longed to leave Yorkshire and all its memories far behind, but now, suddenly, the future seemed more than a little unsure.

  ‘When is it anything other than a flying visit with you?’ replied Rebecca in answer to her son’s announcement that he and Christine would not be able to stay very long. They had arrived early on the Saturday evening and were now enjoying the coffee and sandwiches that Rebecca had prepared in readiness for them; but they would have to leave on Sunday evening as Bruce was due back at camp on the Monday morning.

  ‘At least we are not dependent on the trains any more, Mother,’ he told her, ‘now that we have the car. And Christine is learning to drive as well,’ he added, smiling proudly at his wife.

  ‘That’s nice, dear,’ said Rebecca, turning to look at her, but it sounded to Christine as though the words were choking her. It was she, Christine, who was being blamed for their short stay, she was sure.

  ‘So – how are you settling down in your married quarters then?’ Archie asked her. She always found him to be the much more friendly of the two. ‘Don’t you find it rather lonely with Bruce away a lot of the time? I believe it’s a rather isolated spot, from what Bruce has told us.’