He felt that certain cranks and dreamers were doing more harm than good to the youth of the area by pursuing an educational course which over the years of trial had achieved nothing to recommend it; rather it had encouraged among the young a vicious license to do evil, and a continued disregard for established social institutions.
“Those people,” continued the Chairman, “to whom the education and development of these youths is entrusted, cannot hope to escape the final responsibility for the natural result of their ill-conceived schemes. I sometimes am persuaded that justice would be better served if they were made to answer the charges for the offenses which, one might say, they have by proxy committed.”
He turned his attention once more to the boy, who had sat bemused and silent at this angry tirade; this time however, the voice was kindly and rather paternal. He told Fernman that he was sure that his own evident grief and the sorrow which he had brought to his parents was punishment enough; however, for his own good, a supervision order would be made which would require that he report to a probation officer once weekly for a period of one year. He then discharged the boy into his parents’ keeping, and the little group left the court, reunited and trying to smile through their tears of relief.
After a reasonable interval to allow them to leave without the embarrassment of having to talk to me, I left the courtroom. I did not for a moment agree with the Chairman’s scathing denunciations, but nevertheless I was conscious of a feeling of increased responsibility for the young people who were in my care tor nearly six hours each day.
Chapter
Sixteen
FOR ABOUT A WEEK Fernman was quiet and withdrawn. He could not write because of his damaged right hand, so he sat reading most of the time, or listening with interest to our discussions, though making no contribution to them. But gradually the natural warmth of his personality reasserted itself, and soon he was taking his full share in our activities again.
About this time, with the Head’s permission, several evening visits were arranged. We went to Sadlers Wells for a performance of Coppélia; to the Old Vic to see Laurence Olivier in Hamlet; and, as a change, we went to Wembley Stadium to see the famous Harlem Globetrotters Basketball team in action.
For these trips we bore the expenses ourselves. Days before each projected visit we would estimate the total cost of the tickets and coach transport, and the amount each person would need to contribute. Then one of the class would be responsible for collecting the money in easy stages, checking carefully to avoid mistakes. None of them ever wished to be left out, and the Head and I saw to it that inability to raise the required amount did not prevent anyone from making the trip. On most occasions we found it more convenient to hire a coach, so that the group was kept together at all times, making supervision easy.
Because of this arrangement many of the staff were pleased to join us, the more so as the various theater managements granted us special prices for the party. They, too, soon felt the full impact of the change in the youngsters. Before visiting the theater the children and I would discuss the ballet or play, with reference to the general background against which it was presented, and any features of historical or social interests which might be likely to arise. On the way back they would give full rein to their critical intelligence, and often presented new and interesting points of view on old and familiar things. They were quick to appreciate and recognize the various art forms as part of their national heritage, equally available to themselves as to all others. At such times I could have wished that some of those who most loudly declaimed against the school and its policies could be with us, attentive but invisible.
The visit to Wembley was different in many ways. The Globetrotters were a skillful and highly trained team who combined a slick proficiency with admirable showmanship; their handling of the ball at times bordered on wizardry, and they kept the crowd either spell-bound at their speed and accuracy or shrieking with laughter at their smooth clowning over the discomfiture of their luckless opponents.
The children laughed themselves hoarse, and on the way back were still rocking at the remembering of this or that amusing incident. Next day I was closely questioned about the team and its members. The children were somewhat surprised to learn that some had been College or University men; their vision of the American Negro, being so largely based on films, did not include high intellectual attainment. However, through discussion, I believe that slowly they were beginning to see all mankind from a new standpoint of essential dignity.
One morning the Headmaster came to my classroom soon after recess.
“There’s a lady in my office asking to speak to you,” he whispered, standing with his back to the class to avoid being overheard. “As you know, I never allow parents access to the staff, but she has told me the reason for wanting to see you and I think you would be doing her a service by doing so. I will stay with your class until you return.”
I walked into the Head’s office and saw a tall, smartly dressed woman standing by the window gazing out into the opposite churchyard. As soon as she turned to me I knew who she was: the same brilliant auburn hair and fresh complexion, the same proud bearing—Mrs. Dare, Pamela’s mother.
We shook hands and sat facing each other.
“I’m Mr. Braithwaite. The Head said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes, Sir, it’s about my girl, Pamela. I’m Mrs. Dare.”
I suddenly felt nervous. What on earth did she want to see me about?
“I’m very worried about her, Sir, and wondered if you would help by speaking to her. She’ll take notice of what you say, Sir, she always does.”
“Why, Mrs. Dare? What’s the trouble?”
Her handsome face was pale and troubled.
“She’s been staying out late, Sir, been coming in after eleven some nights. She won’t tell me where she goes or what she does and it’s worrying me. She’s a big girl, you know what I mean, Sir, and anything could happen, I just don’t know what to do.” Her lips were trembling as she strove to control herself; the gloves of silk mesh were twisted between her strong fingers.
“But what can I do, Mrs. Dare? I’m only her teacher, you know. Perhaps Mr. Florian…. ”
“No, Sir,” she interrupted, “I think she’d listen to you if you tell her to come in early. I know what she thinks of you, Sir. When her friends are over at the house I hear them talking about what you do and what you say, and she’s always on about what you think and that.”
“Won’t her father do something?”
“Jim’s dead, Sir, died in 1943 when Pam was just over eight. Tail-gunner in the Air Force he was, shot down over Germany. You were in the Air Force too, Sir, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Dare.”
“So Pam said. She misses her Dad, Sir, and I think she sort of looks up to you. Please have a word with her, Sir.”
She was very near to tears. I stood up, quickly assured her that I would do my best, and showed her out.
As I entered the classroom Mr. Florian walked over to me.
“Has she left?”
“Yes, I’ve just seen her to the door.”
“Will you do it?”
“Well, Sir, I seem to have no choice.”
“I think you should, not only because of the mother, but for the girl’s sake. Have a word with her, here, or in my office if you like. After school would be best.” And with that he left me.
As the children were leaving for dinner I beckoned Pamela aside and told her I wanted to speak to her after school that day. She did not appear surprised at my request.
“Has my mum been here, Sir?”
“Yes, she has been to see me.”
“All right, Sir.”
“Look here, Miss Dare, if you’d rather I didn’t interfere you’ve only to say so.”
“Oh, no, Sir, I don’t mind.”
“Fine, then we�
��ll have a chat here after school.”
While Gillian and I were having our sandwiches in the staffroom, I told her of the morning’s events; she was silent for a while after I had finished.
“You’re really involved with these children, aren’t you?”
“I suppose we’re all involved with them, one way or another.”
“You’re more involved with them than most.”
“What about you?”
“Least of all me. For me this is merely a way of occupying myself for the time being; I’ve no ‘sense of vocation’ as Mrs. Drew calls it.”
“Neither have I. It was by the merest accident that I entered this profession. Remind me to tell you the whole sad story one rainy day.”
“If I’m with you on a rainy day, no sad stories, please. Anyway, they matter to you.”
“Yes, and to the Old Man, and Clinty and Grace and Mrs. Drew and all the rest of us.”
“Not quite all of us. Josy Dawes and her girl-friend matter only to each other.”
“They’re rather odd, those two.”
“That’s putting it mildly, there are other words which more aptly describe that sort of thing.”
I looked at her, surprised; that interpretation of the conduct of these two had not occurred to me.
“Good Lord, do you really think so?”
“What else is there for me to think? They’re always whispering little confidences to each other and surreptitiously holding hands. It’s unhealthy to say the least, and bad for the children.”
“But they’re both good teachers, don’t you agree?”
“Oh well, I suppose one should be grateful for small mercies, and they’re not harming anyone.”
“You’re involved with these children too, whether you care to admit it or not. Your remarks just now betrayed you.”
“Oh, well!” She was smiling now. “I can never convince you about that, I’m sure. Anyway, you be careful, especially with the Dare girl; that’s no schoolgirl crush she has on you. I’ve watched her and I know. She’s a woman and the sooner you realize it, the better. Don’t make the mistake of treating her like a child, whatever you do.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
The others returned from lunch in a group. As soon as they were inside the room Weston remarked:
“Saw Pamela Dare’s mother around here this morning. What’s up, Braithwaite?”
“Why should something be up?”
“Something’s always up when these people are about. They’re never seen around here except to complain about something or other.”
“Was anything the matter, Rick?” Clinty inquired with mild interest.
“No, she must have been to see the Old Man.” I did not want to discuss the matter.
“Quite a dish, isn’t she?” chirped Clinty.
“Ask Weston,” I replied, “he claims to have seen her.”
He seemed pleased to be brought back into the conversation and remarked:
“I suppose some men would find her attractive.”
“Once again the emphasis being on the word ‘men’, eh Weston?”
Clinty dearly loved to bait him, but I entertained no pity for this hulking, bushy-faced fellow.
At the end of the afternoon Pamela went out with the others, but returned a few minutes later. She brought a chair to my table and sat down, staring straight ahead through the open window.
“Well, Miss Dare, your mother seems to be very worried about you.”
“Please Sir, couldn’t you call me Pamela?” It was a quiet, sincere request.
“All right, Pamela. Your mother says you’ve been staying out rather late.”
“I’ve been going to me Nan’s, Sir.”
“And staying so late?”
“It’s not far, Sir, just around the corner from where we live.”
“Then why didn’t you tell your mother where you went?”
“Mum doesn’t really care about me, Sir. All she cares about is her friends.”
“You know that’s not true. Why did she come here to see me?” Pamela said nothing. “Is there anything wrong, Pamela? Are you worried about anything here?”
She shook her head, then said: “Not about the work or anything like that, Sir, but some of the other kids are always talking and gossiping about me. I always know when they’re … when it’s me they’re talking about, most of them, even Babs, Sir.”
“But why should you think they’re talking about you, Pamela? Has something happened? Are you in any kind of trouble?”
Again she shook her head, and stared past me through the window. I felt uncomfortable, and unwilling to ask her anything which might embarrass her. Although she had willingly agreed to this meeting, I had no wish to intrude on her privacy, for she was a young woman and I did not really know what to say to her. “Miss Dare, I mean Pamela, if you’d rather I did not interfere, you’ve only to say so.”
“Oh no, Sir, it’s not that.”
Slowly it came out, the whole sad story.
After the death of Mr. Dare, Pamela and her mother had found comfort in each other, going everywhere and doing things together, so that as the girl grew up they were more like two sisters than mother and daughter. Mrs. Dare worked as a shop assistant in the City, and soon Pamela was old enough to help with the household chores. This idyllic relationship had continued until very recently, when several men friends had started to call on the attractive widow. The neighbors had begun to gossip.
Things had come to a head during the holidays. Something had occurred which had seriously upset the girl, but about this she remained silent.
“Have you tried to tell your mother how you feel about these things?”
“At first, Sir, but she never listened, so I didn’t bother any more.”
“Doesn’t your Nan know that your being late would upset your mother?”
“Sometimes Mum’s very late coming home, and Nan thinks I should not be in the house all by myself.”
“Well, Pamela, there seems to be no way in which I can help.”
“Wouldn’t you come and talk with Mum, Sir?”
“Would that help?”
“I think it might, Sir.”
“Very well then. When will she be at home?”
“About quarter past six, Sir.”
“Fine. Will you tell her I’ll be around then?”
“Yes, Sir.” For the first time she smiled, then replaced the chair and left.
I went to the staffroom to fetch my coat. Gillian was sitting there waiting for me.
“Well?”
“I’m seeing her mother this evening.”
“Why?”
“Pamela has some idea it will help if I have a word with both of them.”
“Where are you seeing them?”
“At her home.”
“Is that wise?”
“I don’t know, Gillian, but I hope so, I sincerely hope so.”
She was silent for a few moments, then she said:
“Are you thinking of remaining at Greenslade long, Rick?”
“I suppose so. Actually it hadn’t occurred to me to leave it. Why?”
“You could easily get a job in a better school. It would be a pity to stay here.”
“I’ve only just begun teaching, you know, not more than a few months. It hardly seems enough to decide whether or not I’m really much good at it.”
“Such modesty!”
“No, I’m serious. I may be able to get to terms with these kids, but it might be quite different with others. I think I ought to stay where I am and learn a little more about the job and my own abilities before I think of moving.” I looked at my watch. “Look at the time, I’m afraid I must go now.”
“Do be careful, Rick.”
“I will.
’Bye.”
“’Bye, Rick.”
Like so many other women of this area, Mrs. Dare and Pamela kept their home spotlessly clean. Pamela opened the door to me, and as I greeted her mother I was conscious of the strain under which both of them were living just then. When we had seated ourselves I said:
“Mrs. Dare, Pamela felt that it might help if I came along and had a chat with you. She has not told me much and if you feel I should not interfere I won’t mind.”
Now that I was here I was rather anxious to get it over with as quickly as possible. I had the feeling that I was intruding unnecessarily in the lives of these people on the very weak excuse of my position as the girl’s teacher.
“Oh, no, Mr. Braithwaite.” Then, turning to her daughter, she said: “Pam, will you go and fix some tea; I’d like to talk to Sir alone.”
Dear me, I thought, even the mothers are falling into the “Sir” habit. Pamela obediently left us, and Mrs. Dare began:
“I guess it’s all my fault really. I’ve let Pam down.”
“In what way, Mrs. Dare?” If I had to hear about it, the sooner the better.
“It’s like this. Pam had wanted for some time to go and see her Dad’s people at Chalkwell, so we agreed that she’d spend two weeks with them over the school holidays. She and I first went to Scarborough for a week, my holidays, you know, then I took her down to Chalkwell and came back here. I thought I’d have a few days to myself, you know how it is; I’ve got one or two friends and they’ve been taking me out sometimes. Well, Pam had been away for a week and she wrote me twice to say how much she liked it there, so I thought she was enjoying herself. On the Wednesday, I met a friend of mine and I invited him to have a cup of tea.
“Well, you know how it is, one thing led to another, and he decided to stay the night.”
She had twisted her handkerchief into an unrecognizable wreck, and her eyes filled with tears which she made no effort to stop.
“We were asleep when Pam came in. She’s always had a key. She must have got homesick or something for she suddenly made up her mind to come home. She’d come in quietly to surprise me and there I was, Sir, me and my friend.”
She paused, swallowed, then continued: “I don’t know what it was but something made me open my eyes, perhaps it was the light she’d switched on. I’ll never forget the look on her face, Sir, never. She looked at me and ran off to her room and locked herself in. I woke my friend up and made him get dressed and leave; then I tried to get into her room but she wouldn’t answer me.” Her voice fell to a whisper and I had to lean forward to hear the rest of it.
To Sir With Love Page 13