* * *
I was at school early on Tuesday morning, at my desk with the photocopies of Esther’s letters and references spread out in front of me. I’d done some admin after Danny had gone, watched an old episode of Friends and gone to bed early, feeling absurdly content. Then I’d woken up at the crack of dawn, full of energy. It seemed old-fashioned romance was good for me. I’d decided to use my time to have a think about what we could do with the information I’d uncovered the previous day.
‘What were your aims for Elm Heath, Esther?’ I asked her photograph. ‘And where did you write them down?’
‘She won’t answer,’ Paula said from my doorway. ‘Believe me, I’ve spoken to her enough times over the years.’
I chuckled. ‘Morning. You’re here early?’
‘I wanted to see how you got on yesterday.’
I thought of Danny and me on the sofa, and flushed. ‘Yesterday?’
‘At the council?’
‘Oh, of course. The council.’ I looked down at the papers in front of me. ‘Come and see.’
I talked Paula through everything I’d found, showing her the plans for the original school building, the references and the letter from the authority giving her the permission to open Elm Heath.
‘These are wonderful, you’re so clever to have found them,’ she said, her eyes gleaming with interest.
‘It was Danny really,’ I pointed out, eager to give him the credit I thought he deserved.
Paula shrugged. ‘You did the hard work.’ She picked up the letter from the authority.
‘Where’s the letter this is replying to?’
‘Ah,’ I said.
‘Ah?’
‘It wasn’t there.’
Paula’s shoulders slumped. ‘Really? But that’s the bit that would be most useful to us.’
‘I know,’ I wailed. ‘The bit where she spells out her aims so brilliantly that it makes the council forget about her having been in prison, and hand over the cash to build the school.’
‘If we had that, we could do a whole thing about our aims now and how they compare. Do a whole project on schooling now versus schooling then,’ Paula said.
‘I know it would be easier if we had the letter, but we could still do something along those lines,’ I said. ‘It might show the special historical interest we need.’
Paula clapped her hands. ‘And prove how long Elm Heath has been important to the community.’
Struck by her enthusiasm, I started writing down what she said, scribbling as she spoke.
‘We could get the kids to dress up and have a whole day of school like in the early 1900s,’ she said. ‘I bet the local papers would cover it.’ Paula sorted through the papers on my desk until she found the old photos.
‘Could we track down former pupils?’ I asked.
‘Well not those ones I don’t imagine, because if they were five in 1912, they’d be well over one hundred now.’ She chuckled.
‘No, I suppose not. Maybe as far back as we can, though?’
‘Worth a go.’
My spirits were lifted – slightly. Perhaps we had a chance here.
Emma, who’d come into the office without me noticing, stuck her head round my door.
‘Denise Deacon from Blyton Council is on the phone for you,’ she said. ‘Shall I put her through?’
Straight away my spirits crashed into my boots again. ‘Put her through,’ I said.
Paula made to get up, but I stopped her.
‘I’ll tell you everything anyway,’ I said, as my phone started ringing. ‘May as well hear it all first hand.’
I picked up my phone and braced myself for bad news. I wasn’t wrong.
‘I wanted to tell you myself,’ said Denise. ‘That they’ve set a date for the education committee meeting where the decision is going to be made about the future of Elm Heath Primary.’
‘When?’
‘March 22nd.’
‘That’s really not long.’ We were already into November and March seemed just round the corner.
‘It’s the latest we can leave it if we want to find the children other school places for September.’
‘You won’t need to find them other places, if Elm Heath stays open,’ I growled, annoyed that it seemed to be a fait accompli.
‘Of course,’ she said mildly.
‘Can I speak at the meeting? Put our case across?’
‘If you want to.’
Obviously I wanted to. With great effort I managed not to growl again. ‘Please,’ I said.
‘Then I’ll make sure it’s on the agenda.’
Through gritted teeth I said polite goodbyes, and then hung up.
Paula gazed at me, her eyes worried. ‘It’s official, then?’
‘The education committee are meeting on March 22nd to make the final decision.’
‘That’s only a few months away,’ Paula said in despair.
‘Danny said that normally these decisions are made long before they’re given the nod officially,’ I said bitterly. ‘And the way she mentioned finding alternative places for our kids really made it seem that way.’
‘I’m going to ring Chris and see if he knows anything,’ Paula said. Chris wasn’t in property – he had his own accountancy firm in Blyton – but he seemed to know all of the important people locally and kept his ear to the ground.
She got up, but was stopped as Nate appeared at my office door, his hair dishevelled.
‘Is it true?’ he said.
‘I’m not sure. Is what true?’
Nate glanced over his shoulder at Emma, edged his way inside my office and shut the door behind him.
‘Marc just called me. Apparently, there’s a council-approved developer drawing up plans for the site of the school. They want to convert the building into flats and they’ve asked Marc’s firm to pitch for the contract.’ He glared at me. ‘Is that it, then? Are we closing?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Maybe. Hopefully not.’
Nate gave me a withering look. ‘Sounds to me like the deal has been done.’
Chapter 21
Lizzie
The depth of my fury surprised me. After all, I’d only been at Elm Heath a couple of months and I hadn’t been planning to hang around once I got myself back on track. But I felt part of something here now, and to hear that plans were already being drawn up to convert this beautiful school building into flats made my blood boil. I stood up and glared at Nate, who took a step backwards, flattening himself against the wall.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said the deal has been done,’ he stuttered, his face reddening.
‘No way,’ I said. ‘No bloody way. This is all kinds of wrong.’
Heartened to see I was on his side, Nate came closer again. ‘Marc’s firm aren’t pitching,’ he said quietly. ‘But that doesn’t mean others won’t be.’
I nodded, biting my lip, my mind racing.
‘I’m guessing at this meeting in March, they will look at all the options,’ I said. ‘That’ll be why developers are seeing what they can do with the site. I expect they will present what they can do with the building, and we can speak about the school and the councillors will weigh up what’s best.’
Paula’s shoulders slumped. ‘Then we’re stuffed. We can’t compete with money like that.’
I shook my head. ‘No, we can’t.’
But Nate wasn’t giving up. ‘Bollocks,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
I managed a small smile.
‘We can’t compete financially but we can compete in other ways,’ he said. ‘We need to win hearts and minds.’
I blinked at him. ‘How do we do that?’
‘We need a proper campaign, with banners and marching and publicity.’
A little spark of interest grabbed me. ‘Like the suffragettes,’ I said.
‘Erm, yes, I suppose so. No chaining ourselves to railings though.’
I waved my hand. ‘They did loads of other stuff.’ I was begi
nning to feel hopeful again. ‘They were all about taking action. Obviously, I’m not saying break windows or that sort of thing, but we can definitely march, and wave banners.’
Nate nodded. ‘Spread the word. Make everyone realise what we’re up against.’
‘Exactly.’
Paula squeezed my arm. ‘This could be it,’ she said. ‘We can run a campaign inspired by the suffragettes to save the school that was founded by a suffragette.’
I clapped my hands. ‘Brilliant.’
Nate looked relieved. ‘So, we’re going to fight this? It’s just now we’ve got Leia, I can’t risk losing my job.’
‘I promise you we’re going to fight,’ I said.
‘You need to tell everyone else.’
‘I agree. Could you ask everyone to come to a very quick staff meeting after school?’
Nate agreed and headed off to his classroom, while Paula and I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Do you think we can do this?’ she asked.
I shrugged. ‘No idea,’ I admitted. ‘But I know we have to try. I think we owe it to Esther. She went to prison because she fought for what she believed in. We can wave a few banners.’
‘So where do we start?’
‘That I don’t know.’
The school bell rang loudly in the outer office, making us both jump.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’ll take everything home this evening – all the stuff I found at the council offices, the admission data, everything – and see if I can come up with some sort of a plan. And maybe some of the others could have some good ideas, too.’
Paula nodded. ‘I’d better get to my classroom,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Lizzie.’
‘I’m glad I’m here too,’ I said, realising, much to my surprise, that I meant it.
* * *
The staff meeting was difficult, especially when Emma burst into tears and didn’t stop crying, but it was also encouraging. Nate boosted everyone’s spirits, telling them he was determined to save the school so his little girl could come here one day, and I promised to fight as hard as I could.
‘I’m going to work on a plan this evening,’ I said. ‘So if you come up with any ideas, message me, or call me, and I’ll make sure everything’s included.’
‘Can you use your contacts?’ Pippa said.
‘Contacts?’
Celeste was perched on the arm of a sofa in the outer office, next to Pippa. Now they exchanged a glance that told me they’d discussed this already.
‘You were kind of a celebrity teacher, weren’t you? I saw you in the TES and whatnot.’
‘Well, my husband was. My ex-husband.’
‘But you knew people? People knew you. You’ve got a name.’
‘I suppose …’ I said warily.
She glanced at Pippa again.
‘We think he owes you,’ Pippa said. ‘Your ex.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘He basically screwed everything up for you, left you without a job and with your reputation shot to pieces,’ she said. I winced at the words, but she was right. ‘And then got himself some high-flying consultancy role, right?’
I nodded.
‘So we reckon he owes you.’
‘He certainly does,’ I snorted. ‘But I’m not sure what that has to do with our campaign?’
‘Get him involved,’ Celeste said.
‘But on the quiet,’ Pippa added. ‘I don’t mean ask him to front the campaign or anything, because let’s face it, he was a bit dodgy.’
‘It’s not as easy as that,’ I said.
‘It is.’ Pippa looked earnest. ‘He must know all sorts of people. Journalists, TV presenters, politicians. Get him to get in touch with them.’
Paula sat up straighter. ‘Would you contact him?’
I bit my lip. ‘Oh, Paula, I’m not sure …’
‘Maybe you don’t need to,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘Maybe your name is enough. People will be interested to know what you’re doing now.’
‘You think?’
‘Perhaps.’ She didn’t sound totally convinced, and I thought she was probably right. Grant was the one who knew people and he was the one who’d had the clout.
I chewed my lip. ‘Let me think about it,’ I said. I supposed they weren’t wrong. Grant did owe me. And more importantly, I owed the kids. Perhaps it wasn’t these children that I’d let down, but I still wanted to make amends. This might be the way to do it. ‘Maybe when we’ve got a proper plan we can work out what publicity we need and I’ll see what I can do.’
Pippa and Celeste nodded at each other.
But if the idea of going back to my old life was unwelcome, it was the coming up with a plan that had me really stumped.
Later that evening, I sat in front of the television, staring at my laptop, at the pictures of Esther as a suffragette, at the letters and references I’d found, and managed to come up with … precisely nothing.
A march was brilliant when it filled the streets of London, but I couldn’t imagine a few teachers and a handful of kids could attract too much attention. And we could make as many banners as we wanted, but what would we do with them?
I ran my fingers through my hair in despair. Where should I start?
On the television they were showing a trailer for next week’s episode of Where Did You Come From? featuring the breakfast presenter Sarah Sanderson. It gave me an idea. Claire at the council had recommended finding Agnes Oliver’s family, or the family of the stuffed shirt Constable Fairbanks.
Maybe that was the best place to begin – if they could tell me any more about Esther’s story, it might inspire me to come up with a campaign.
My phone beeped with a message. It was Nate.
‘How about a rally on the village green?’ he wrote. ‘We could have banners, and speakers, and street food, and make it fun.’
‘It’s winter,’ I wrote back.
‘We’ll get marquees.’
I sent him an emoji with dollar signs for eyes and he answered: ‘It’s fine. My dad knows someone who owes him a favour.’
I chuckled to myself. Village life really was easier in some ways.
‘I’m adding it to the list,’ I replied. Nate sent me a thumbs-up emoji.
I pulled my laptop closer to me and typed “genealogy” into the search bar, quite impressed that I spelled it right first time. It brought up a few options and I clicked on familyhistory.com, which was right at the top.
Tutting a tiny bit at the price for a subscription, I typed in my details and paid, and then logged in. I’d watched enough episodes of Where Did You Come From? to know people hunting for ancestors always started with a census, so I looked at the list of census years, chose 1911, and typed in Esther Watkins. There were no results. Strange. I tried Agnes Oliver. Again, nothing. Very odd.
I pulled out the copy of Agnes’s reference, which named her husband as John, and tried him instead. Immediately it brought up an address in Kennington, London, which to my absolute delight matched the address on the letter.
Her husband John was listed as a banker with three children, another John, who was eleven, Margaret, who was nine, and Pearl, who was eight.
‘Oh man, did Agnes die?’ I muttered to myself, checking the date on the reference. Nope, she’d written that after April 1911. Strange.
Undeterred, I realised I now had the names of all her children, so I could track them down. I did a tiny fist bump and started typing.
Just an hour later, I’d found Agnes’s granddaughter, who’d been born in 1928 to Margaret, and her great-granddaughter, born in 1955. The great-granddaughter’s name was Fiona Willoughby and she was only a couple of years older than my own mum. I wondered if I had any suffragettes in my family tree and resolved to look up my ancestors when I had time.
A quick cup of tea, a chocolate hobnob and a bit more googling later, and I’d tracked Fiona down on Facebook.
‘Boom,’ I said, slightly stunned at how easy it was to fin
d someone nowadays.
I picked up my phone and rang Paula. ‘I’ve found Agnes’s family,’ I said.
‘Already?’ She sounded impressed.
‘Her great-granddaughter is on Facebook; shall I message her?’
‘Definitely. Do it now.’
‘What shall I say?’
Paula thought for a moment. ‘Explain who you are and why we need her help, and ask if we can meet up?’
I tried to balance the phone on my shoulder so I could type, then gave up and put Paula on speaker instead.
‘My name is Lizzie Armstrong and I’m the head teacher at Elm Heath Primary,’ I typed, saying the words out loud as I wrote. ‘Our school is under threat of closure and we’re trying to find out more about our founder, Esther Watkins, as part of our campaign to save it.’
‘Nice,’ said Paula approvingly.
‘Your great-grandmother Agnes Oliver gave Esther a reference when she opened the school and we wondered if you can add any more to the story?’
‘Perfect.’
I added my contact details to the bottom and pressed send. ‘It’s gone,’ I told Paula.
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope it helps.’
Chapter 22
Esther
1910
We were leafletting in Camberwell the next afternoon, so I had the morning to myself. Agnes had taken the girls to their dancing class, while the two Johns – old and young – read the newspaper in the front room. I loved how young John mimicked his father and looked up to him. The older John was a good role model, I thought. Unlike my own father.
Because the sun was out and there was a strong breeze, I decided to strip my bed linen and wash it. But as I was shaking out a sheet in the back garden, I saw Joseph walk past – his head bobbing above the garden hedge. Worried he was going to spot me and realise which house I lived in, leading – no doubt – to him calling round whenever he wanted, I ducked behind the sheet that was billowing on the line, and edged back into the house. Then without even pausing to take my hat from the hook, I pulled on a shawl.
‘I’m going for a walk in the park,’ I called to the Johns.
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