by Peggy Savage
‘Come along, girls.’ The locker doors clattered and banged and they followed the teacher to their form room. The teacher stood in front of the neat rows of desks.
‘Find a desk, girls, and put your books inside.’
Sara managed to get a desk on the second row. She was determined that she wasn’t going to sit at the back. Back row kids at her old school fidgeted and giggled and the boys pulled hair. At least there weren’t any boys here, thank goodness. They just spoiled everything. Amidst the whispering and banging of desk lids she put her books away: English, French, Latin, Maths, History, Geography – and Science. She tucked them in as carefully as if they were newborn babies.
‘Settle down, girls.’ The class slipped into silence. ‘My name is Miss Hunter.’ She wrote it on the blackboard. ‘I am your form mistress and your English teacher. If you have any problems you come to me.’ She gave out timetables, a list of the school rules: no talking in class, no running in the corridors, the names of the teachers, the head girl, the prefects. Miss Butler, Sara noted, taught science.
There was no waste of time. The morning’s work began with English grammar: the construction of the sentence, nouns, verbs, objects. The atmosphere was quiet and concentrated, no giggling and whispering at the back. She was given her first bit of homework – thrilling.
At break time the girls ate the snacks they had brought from home and drank the little bottles of school milk, warm from standing in crates in the sun.
The girl sitting next to Sara had a freckled face and pigtails. ‘I’m Kathy,’ she said.
Sara smiled. ‘I’m Sara.’
Kathy sucked her milk up through the straw, gurgling up the last drops. ‘Homework already,’ she said.
‘I don’t mind,’ Sara said.
‘My sister can help me if I get stuck,’ Kathy said. ‘She’s here as well. She’s called Lily. She’s in the Upper Fifth this year. She’s nearly sixteen.’
‘I haven’t got any brothers or sisters,’ Sara said. ‘There’s just me.’
Kathy frowned. ‘My mum’s frightened in case there’s a war and Lily has to go somewhere to work, in a factory or something. My dad says that’s silly, she’s still a child, but my mum says they had boys fighting in the trenches in the last war who weren’t any older than that. At least we haven’t any boys.’
Sara didn’t know what to say; she hadn’t really thought about it. Her parents hadn’t said much about a war, though there was sometimes something about it in the Daily Mirror. Dad used to start sometimes but Mum always changed the subject. Her mum hadn’t liked it when she was given a gas mask at school. She’d given a shudder and put it away in the cupboard under the stairs. She wouldn’t even let Sara look at it. She’d put it away in the cupboard under the stairs. She hadn’t even got it out of the box.
‘Where do you live?’ Kathy asked.
‘Near the Harrow Road.’
‘We live in Bayswater. I’ll ask my mum if you can come round to tea one day.’
After break they had their first Latin lesson. ‘Latin is dead; bury it,’ one of the girls at the back whispered, while they were waiting for the teacher to arrive.
But I need Latin, Sara thought. Doctors had to learn Latin; they wrote their prescriptions in it. It seemed like her first real, exciting step. Doctor language.
The teacher arrived and they opened the book; Latin, Part One. There was a map of ancient Europe on the first page. ‘Discipuli pictoram spectate,’ the text began. The teacher wrote it on the blackboard with the translation underneath: – ‘Pupils, look at the picture.’ The text went on: ubi est Britannia, ubi est Italia, ubi est Germania? – where is Britain, where is Italy, where is Germany? So that’s where Germany is, Sara thought, or where it used to be. Her last school hadn’t done much geography, apart from Great Britain and a bit of the British Empire.
Nora was waiting for her in the school yard at four o’clock. She had taken off her suit and hat, Sara noticed, and was dressed in just a cotton frock and a cardigan. ‘Too hot for a suit,’ she said.
They took the bus home. ‘You don’t have to come with me, Mum,’ Sara said. ‘I can get the bus on my own.’
‘Just for a few days,’ Nora said. ‘Then we’ll see. How did you get on?’
‘Fine. The teachers are nice and I met a nice girl called Kathy. And we did Latin.’ At home she changed out of her uniform into an ordinary dress.
Over tea Jim said, ‘So what’s it like, Sara?’
‘It’s lovely, Dad,’ she said. ‘We did Latin.’
‘I don’t know what good that is,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do with Latin?’
‘My teacher says that a lot of English words come from Latin, from when the Romans were here.’ She paused. ‘And doctors use it.’
He gave a grunt. ‘Still going on about that?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got homework tonight.’
‘It’s a bit soon, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Your first day.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I like it.’
‘Latin,’ he said. ‘The way things are going you’d be better off learning German.’
‘Jim,’ Nora said sharply, ‘that’s enough of that.’ She began to clear the table. ‘You go out and have a walk around for a bit,’ she said. ‘Let your tea go down before you start your homework.’
Sara slipped out of the front door into the street. A group of girls were skipping down the road to her right. She turned left. She wouldn’t be accepted now. A line had been drawn between them. Going to the grammar school had separated her out. They would stare at her now and make remarks about her being la-di-da.
The streets were quiet, almost empty, and she was alone. Sometimes, back home in Trafford Park in Manchester, she would stand out in the street outside their house when the light was fading. Sometimes, then, the light would change to a soft and mysterious shining violet that would colour the long row of dull houses and the long straight, barren road, and turn them into something magic. Sometimes she would be overcome by a strange feeling, a strange yearning. She wanted something, but didn’t know what it was; she had lost something that she must get back. It wasn’t the same as wanting to be a doctor. It was something different; she didn’t quite know what – something to do with the endless sky and all the things there were to know. She felt it briefly now, but her books were waiting, her new school, her new life. She turned back to home.
She took her satchel up to her room. It felt wonderful, important. She sat at her little table and began. Dad didn’t mean it about speaking German. She opened her Latin book at page one. ‘Ubi est Britannia? Ubi est Germania?’
Amy drove the twins to Liverpool Street Station to see them off. She bought a penny platform ticket so that she could go with them to the train. They were early, but the platform was already crowded. Groups of young people, mostly young men, came through the barriers, carrying bags and suitcases, tennis rackets and hockey sticks, cramming bicycles into the overflowing guard’s van, college scarves dangling around their necks. Amy smiled. There wasn’t much doubt about where this train was going; they hardly needed to put up ‘Cambridge’ on the notice board.
The young men stood about in groups, laughing and gesticulating or jumping into the train to stow their bags and jumping out again. The platform seemed to be humming with strength and energy.
Tessa and Charlie found seats and came out again to say goodbye. They both looked excited and happy.
‘Don’t hang about, Mum,’ Tessa said, ‘we’ll be all right now and we’ll see you at Christmas.’
‘Write to me,’ Amy said, ‘and telephone now and again if you get the chance, and look after each other.’
Tessa hugged her. ‘We will. Give our love to Dad.’ They got into the train.
For a few moments Amy watched the young people around her. They are so beautiful, she thought, surprising herself with the word, but it was true. They were beautiful. She felt an ache in her heart and in her throat; she felt as if she were
mother to them all. She felt their joy and their freedom and their hopes and plans for the future.
The dark shadow touched her again. Was it true? Was the danger past? Or were these young people travelling into a future that they could never have imagined, or ever wanted.
They all began to climb aboard, doors slammed. The guard blew his whistle. At least, she thought, Tessa and Charlie were away, out of London, out of that possible danger.
The train arrived in Cambridge and unloaded, a scramble for bicycles from the guard’s van, a queue for taxis. Tessa and Charlie shared a taxi and Charlie arrived at his college first. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll see you till the weekend,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you a note. We could have tea somewhere.’
Tessa arrived at her college and stood in the hall with the other new arrivals, waiting to be told what to do.
They were assigned to their rooms. Tessa’s was small, and looked rather bare. There was an iron bedstead with the bed already made up, a small table, a hard chair and a small easy chair, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. A fire was laid in the fireplace and a scuttle of coal and some firelighters stood beside it. My home, she thought, for a year at least. They were to meet Miss Pritchard, their hall tutor, at five o’clock in her room.
She unpacked and hung up her clothes, then went out into the corridor to find the bathrooms and lavatory. Another girl was wandering about, looking lost.
Tessa smiled at her. ‘Do you know where the bathrooms are?’
The girl shook her head. ‘I’ve just arrived; just finding my way.’
Tessa held out her hand. ‘I’m Tessa Fielding.’
The girl took her hand. ‘Rita Lane.’
‘I’m reading medicine,’ Tessa said. ‘What about you?’
Rita’s face lit up. ‘Medicine too. That’s great. We can find our way about together.’
They found the bathrooms. ‘There’s tea in the dining hall at four o’clock,’ Rita said. ‘I’ll come and get you. Which is your room?’
They found the dining hall and had a cup of tea. The room was busy with young women chatting, reading, drinking tea and eating cake.
‘They all look very intelligent,’ Rita whispered. ‘I hope I can keep up.’
‘Me too, Tessa said.
After tea they explored a little. They found the common room, furnished here and there, Tessa saw, with the kind of faded chintz that they had at home. She smiled. Very comfortable, very English. They walked a little in the garden, beginning to look wintry now, but still pretty, a nice place to study in the summer.
‘We’d better go in,’ Rita said. ‘We mustn’t be late for Miss Pritchard.’
They assembled with the other newcomers in Miss Pritchard’s room. She was small and round, with grey hair pulled back into a bun. She was smiling and welcoming, but still managed to appear intimidating.
She gave them a list of college rules and went through them one by one. They were to sign out if they went out in the evening and were to be back in college by ten o’clock. They were not to leave the university boundaries without special permission. All male visitors were to be out of college by six o’clock. They were allowed to dine out of Hall twice a week; any more often than that would need special permission. Behaviour was to be ladylike and decorous at all times.
‘Do remember,’ Miss Pritchard said, ’that there are at least ten male students for every woman at Cambridge, and consequently you may be overwhelmed with invitations.’ This produced a few giggles. ‘As if we’re going to have time,’ Rita whispered.
They had dinner in Hall that evening, among all the older, confident-looking girls, then signed out and went for a little walk along the Backs, a walk that took them along the river behind Queens’ and King’s.
‘What a plethora of rules,’ Rita said. ‘All men to be out by six o’clock. I can’t see myself ever having a man in my room. I haven’t worked my fingers to the bone to get here for that, although …’ She didn’t finish the sentence.
Tessa laughed. ‘I might have my brother. He’s here too.’
‘Oh,’ Rita said. ‘How nice for you.’
They walked into town the next day and then walked through the streets with their maps, locating their departments and lecture rooms: Physiology, Anatomy, Pathology.
‘That’s the anatomy department,’ Rita said. ‘We’re starting dissection on Monday.’
‘I know,’ Tessa said. They were to do dissection in twos. They had already decided to put their names down to work together.
‘We’ll stick together,’ Rita said, ‘then you can catch me if I faint.’
Charlie settled into his room on his staircase in college. There were two other students on the same staircase. One was a zoologist, a rather austere young man who seemed to be mainly interested in insects. The other was fair and stocky, and judging by his accent, came from the north. ‘Third year engineering,’ he said when Charlie introduced himself and asked him what he was reading. ‘Aeronautical engineering mainly. My name’s Arthur Blake. I’m just going to have a cup of tea in my room. Come and have one if you like.’
‘Aeroplanes,’ Charlie said later. It was a statement, not a question. ‘I suppose they’re the thing of the future.’
Arthur looked at him over his cup, a long, slightly surprised, considering look, as if he thought Charlie might be a creature from another planet. ‘You might say that.’ He took a large bite of a biscuit and then a swallow of tea. ‘Especially the way things are going.’
‘What things?’
‘War things. What about you? What are you reading?’
‘History,’ Charlie said.
Arthur gave him the same look again. ‘You should know the way things are going then. They say history repeats itself.’
Charlie had a sudden memory of the Air Ministry building in Berlin – huge, threatening. Nothing in history had ever been quite like this; no destructive power had ever been so huge. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked.
Arthur smiled. ‘Manchester. We manufacture history up there.’
Charlie was startled. He had never quite thought of the Industrial Revolution in those terms. It was true, he thought. History, certainly of Britain, had been made of steel and coal and ideas and invention and taking them with them around the world, trade, building an empire. He recorded history, he thought. Arthur, perhaps, made it.
Later Charlie went to meet his tutor and got a timetable and a pep talk and a glass of sherry as it got towards time to dine in Hall.
He saw Arthur in Hall, sitting with a group of young men with the same earnest, no-nonsense look about them. Probably all bright boys, he thought, with county or state or college scholarships. They seemed to know where they were going, much more than he did.
On Saturday Charlie came to take Tessa out to tea. ‘We’ll go to the Copper Kettle in King’s Parade,’ he said. ‘They do a good tea there, apparently.’
They met outside the café. Tessa looked along King’s Parade, the narrow street with the grand, beautiful, ancient college buildings on the other side. ‘Isn’t it lovely,’ she said. ‘It is,’ Charlie said. ‘I only hope it’s here for ever.’
They went upstairs in the café and ordered their tea.
‘How are you getting on?’ he said.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ve got everything sorted out, I think, and I’ve met a nice girl doing medicine too. Her name’s Rita.’
Charlie took a bite of coffee cake. ‘I wish I could meet a nice girl, but there aren’t too many women about. It’s a bit like school.’
Tessa laughed. ‘Give it time.’
‘I’ve met an engineering student,’ he said, ‘from Manchester. Tough as old boots by the look of him. Probably plays rugby league. He says things about history repeating itself. I think he’s talking about a war.’
Tessa sighed. ‘Some men don’t seem to be able to talk about anything else. It’s all supposed to be settled, isn’t it? That’s what Mr Chamberlain says.’
‘I expect
you’re right,’ he said, ‘but Arthur doesn’t think so.’
‘Do you think Arthur knows more than the Prime Minister?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Charlie said.
Tessa and Rita walked down Sidgwick Avenue on their way to the anatomy department and crossed over Silver Street bridge. The morning was chilly. The Cam flowed by, slowly, on the way from Granchester, a few leaves from the overhanging willows turning slowly in the stream. The punts that had been moored there when they arrived were being taken in now for the winter, all the cushions and poles already gone.
They carried their equipment in their bags – a canvas roll with little pockets containing their scalpels and forceps, a white lab coat and a book: an instruction manual on dissection. Tessa had looked at it the night before. How to take a human body to pieces. How to pick it apart, muscle by muscle, organs, nerves, blood vessels. It all looked very clean and neat in the pictures.
‘Have you ever seen a corpse?’ Rita asked. She sounded apprehensive.
‘No,’ Tessa said. ‘I’ve seen a few mummies in the museum.’
She remembered the first time she had ever seen what used to be a human being, a shrivelled embalmed body, wrinkled and brown, but still having a face that you could recognize as a face. It had given her the creeps.
‘I haven’t either,’ Rita said. ‘Only our skeletons.’ She laughed. ‘My mother won’t have it in the house. She makes me keep it in the garage. She says it gives her nightmares. She’s a bit squeamish.’
Sara thought of the ‘half-skeleton’ she had in her room at the college, a skull, vertebrae, half a ribcage, half a pelvis, the bones of one arm, one leg. Her father had bought it for her, second or third hand, from some ex-medical student, so she could get started on some anatomy. She had inspected the skull in her bedroom at home. The top was sawn off like a lid and attached to the rest with a pair of little hooks. She stared into the empty eye sockets, ran her hands over the smooth bones. Who are you, she had wondered? This person had lived, walked about, had thoughts and feelings. Now he was kindly lending his skull to her. No good thinking about that, she supposed. No good being sentimental, considering what she was about to do.