Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  “I’ll leave you with Miss Beevis, Mason and she can explain our needs. Thank you for not giving up on us. You’ll see; the children are good little tryers.”

  Miss Beevis thought this person too young to provide the help the children needed, but then, she had only been fourteen when she had started. In those days the pupil teachers far outnumbered the adult assistants. Her Ma had been so glad of that extra money, able herself to earn only the minimum wage as a machinist. She had worked twelve hours a day making pinafores and babies’ bonnets for two shillings a dozen. If she were lucky, for a gross of ties, she could possibly make five shillings.

  Fiona was the eldest of six. The bit extra the boys earned on their paper routes and errands still was not enough to keep the family. It would not have been so bad, but Da had fallen sick with TB and was no longer working. He had been a silversmith by trade and although only semi-skilled, had competently supported them. They were a respectable family, so the money she sent her Ma meant a great deal. Having to live away from home she deemed a small price to pay when she knew her contributions were enormously valued.

  “Mr. True-May tells me he suggested remedial reading, but there are other subjects in which the children need help. One of these may be more to your liking, perhaps?”

  They slid into the cramped space of a wooden seat attached to a single, boxed desk. Mallory remembered seeing old photos of desks such as these and could not resist just a little peek under the lid. Fiona watched in surprise.

  “I have to say, Miss Beevis, that I am not familiar with the elementary program,” Mallory began, replacing the desk top. “Could you give me a run down?”

  “Do you mean you want to know what we teach?”

  “Yes that’s it. What’s in their syllabus?”

  Still feeling somewhat bemused, Fiona launched into what she hoped she was being asked. This young man was decidedly out of the ordinary. “Obligatory subjects are of course, reading, writing, arithmetic, drawing for boys and needle-work for girls.” She checked to see if she were on the right track. He was still attentive. “The optional subjects: singing by note, recitation, geography, elementary science and history. For the girls we also offer domestic economy.” She stopped and mentally tallied up.

  “What an imaginative circumference. That certainly is a comprehensive list. Do many of the kids opt for recitation?” She thought this one out of place.

  “It is quite popular. Most children like to be able to perform their ‘party piece’.”

  Of course no TV, it’s home entertainment all the way, she acknowledged mentally.

  “Probably I would be best sticking to reading. If I can have a session with the English language teacher, I could drill down to the essentials and he could steer me in the right direction. You could see how I go if you like then reassess the prospects after that.”

  Fiona was now totally at a loss. This young man just did not fit. “I teach all the classes Mr. Mason. I thought Mr. True-May explained to you that I am their school-room teacher?”

  “Oh, yes … sorry.” She was going to come across as some kind of dip-stick.

  “Would you like to take a chance on me then? Say twice a week for a month?”

  A displeased flush appeared in each cheek. Now he was telling her how to run things. She drew herself in, stiffening her posture as her hands clenched. She felt like saying no, but it was not every day someone came along with an offer of help. “Can you be here by half past three tomorrow …?” Her head bounced on her shoulders as if to release the built up tension that could find no way out: “…for an hour perhaps? I will see how the children respond.”

  “No worries. That should fit in with my schedule, no problem.”

  She hoped the children would understand him better than she did. This must be how they talk where he comes from. “Good. I’ll show you where the children will be waiting. Follow me.” She stood abruptly and turned away. Mallory went to stand, but extricated herself in such an ungainly manner, catching her knee on the underside of the desk it appeared at one stage that she would totally collapse. Recovering her balance at the last moment she looked across at the waiting Miss Beevis who had now turned back, impatience showing in the set of her mouth. She apologised again: “Sorry … not used to … to all this.”

  The study room was bare except for four rows of five desks each and a teacher’s podium in front of the blackboard. The windows were high letting in light, but no view.

  “This is a spare room, but amazingly useful,” Miss Beevis explained in a curt voice. “I’ll show you an easy way to get here.” They were on the first floor, so she led the way to the back stairs which directed them to a small entry and a side door. On opening this, Mallory could see she had come out on the left of the building.

  “This will save you having to face the heaving tide, through the main entrance.” Fiona felt she should soften her stance. He was new and trying to help. “The children always rush out and don’t look where they’re going.” She put out her hand, but did not smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Mason.”

  Outside, Mallory flicked her wrist to check the time. “Shoot! I’ll have to get some sort of time piece,” she reminded herself as she raised her eyes to the west, judging how far the afternoon had advanced. The sun was hanging low in the sky, as if reluctant to bid farewell, but still sending its gleaming light slanting across the horizon. It drenched the glossy leaves of the old Sycamores in its amber glow. Conjecturing there was not enough time to go and change into work gear, she continued to the stable, bending her body and hunching her shoulders against the freshening wind. On her face the air bore a light rain that fell on her skin like tiny pricks, but she was not bothered by their sharpness; her frame of mind was positive.

  September really was a glorious month. There were many pungent aromas in the air from a profusion of wild herbs such as sage and rosemary. Looking about she had time to appreciate the subtle changes from Augusts’ flamboyant colours, to the muted accents of nature in transition. The trill of the birds was shimmeringly intense, still ringing out across the meadows and over the tree tops. As she continued she pondered on the quality of her interview with the school mistress. She liked Miss Beevis, but felt it had been a bad start, in the end her tone no more than civil.

  Do better tomorrow Mal. Since tomorrow was an unknown she would just have to wing it. Well, she had been good at that in the past, but remembering her recent sally into this territory she was not overly filled with confidence. You’re good with little ones though. She would take heart from that.

  * * *

  The next day Mallory let herself in through the side door as she had been shown. Despite returning to her digs to freshen up, she was still in good time. However, Miss Beevis was ahead of her, setting out the Primers the children were to study. She was more colourful today having dressed up her long-sleeved, white blouse with a slim, bright yellow tie, knotted at the collar and tucked into the waistband of her brown skirt. She received a nod in greeting.

  “These books are a level below where they should be, but I think it will give you a chance to assess their abilities more readily,” she explained as she set one on each desk.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Beevis. No dramas there. Today will be pretty much assessment beginning to end for all of us, I think.”

  Fiona looked up, caught off balance again. Since when did children do any assessing? It was not their place to be so bold. In addition to her teaching she was expected to develop respectable life habits: punctuality, good manners, cleanliness and neatness. Also, as part of her responsibilities she was to impress upon them the importance of cheerful obedience to duty, consideration and respect for others, honour and truthfulness in word and deed. They were not to sit in judgement on their elders and betters. Really, what is Mr. Mason thinking of?

  It was the Central Board of Education who provided the rationale for the principles of instruction. To this end she had them write morally elevating maxims into their copy books
and it was her duty to chastise them for bad behaviour and poor work. Not just theirs, but all schools were obliged by law, to follow the Elementary School Code which had been issued by the Board in 1904. She took her responsibilities seriously and made sure she followed the Code to the letter. Well they all did. This was their moral obligation.

  The children began to file in, thirteen of them and took their places at the desks, hardly taking their eyes off the new person in the room. Mallory began to feel self-conscious, but knew she would have to get over it. Miss Beevis introduced Mr. Mason as their new teacher for reading instruction and advised them, with a suitably stern look, to be on their best behaviour. She explained she would return in a little while.

  As a means to break the ice Mallory decided to start with names. She wrote hers on the board then began with the front row. They were all boys, reasonably well turned out, although it was obvious some were wearing hand-me-downs. They ranged in age from five to nine and she observed there was a lot of coughing going on. Bad chests and runny noses must go with the territory, she observed.

  They spoke quietly and would not look at her if she were looking at them. She needed eye contact to help with better communication, so after all the names had been spelled out she told them she had an idea.

  “Let’s push the desks back and make a big space in front here.”

  They looked startled, but began to make the moves. She helped the younger ones when they struggled.

  “That’s enough. Come forward everyone and sit next to me in a circle. No, don’t bring the books, we don’t need them yet.” She sat cross-legged on the floor and they followed suit, looking expectantly. This was something different. She looked around at each in turn then began: “You have given up your time to come here today so tell me, what do you expect to get out of this session?”

  She remembered the first boy whose name she had written and called on him. He was reluctant to speak, so she suggested perhaps he would like to know which train to catch when he went up to the destinations board. He nodded. She looked around at them.

  “I would like to be able to do that,” an older boy spoke up.

  “Yes, that could be useful. Can you tell me if there are any other uses for reading and writing?”

  The boys began to think through their own ideas, each one building on something another had said. One, thinking to be smart added he wanted to read the cigarette cards he collected. The others tittered, but Mallory accepted it and moved on. They started to put up their hand if they wanted to say something, but she said they did not have to: “Just don’t talk over each other otherwise we can’t hear what you have to tell us. OK boys?”

  As free associations were flowing rapidly Fiona returned. She slipped quietly into the back of the room only to pull up short at the sight which met her eyes. It was hard to believe. On the floor! It looked like there should be chaos, but no, Mr. Mason was still in control. But what of their reading, where were their Primers? What was going on? She sat down and watched.

  Mallory felt they had enough suggestions. “Let’s make a list shall we, so we can all remember what we thought?” Heads nodded. “OK, who’ll go first?”

  They had thought the teacher would pick up the chalk, Fiona too.

  “You want us to write on the board Sir?”

  “You have a problem with that?” Fiona was shocked at his language, but stayed quiet.

  “No…o Sir, it’s just …”

  “Well give it a go then. Erase the names and let’s start with number one and see how many reasons we’ve got.”

  The boy, this was Herbert, began with the ‘BEWARE’ notices.

  “Boys, help with the spelling if anyone gets stuck.”

  The list began to grow. Other boys took a turn at the board. She corrected the spelling when necessary and told them to try to write smaller, but for the most part they struggled on valiantly until the board was almost full. Now they sat back and looked at their handiwork.

  “Well done everyone,” she praised. “Looking at that, I can tell you are all serious about getting a handle on this reading and writing business. That’s good, because I am serious about helping you. Shall we meet again … same time tomorrow?”

  The hour was not quite up, but she was sure they had done enough for one day. Fiona came forward, a little flustered at what she had witnessed to collect the books, pleased nonetheless at the positive attitude the boys were demonstrating. She had become aware that ‘different’ did not necessarily mean ‘wrong’.

  “Return the desks to their rows before you go, please.”

  As the boys bent to their task she thanked Mallory. “Well, what do you think of them? I suppose it’s too soon to tell after just one session.” She was not sure herself, what she thought.

  “I’ve a good idea which boys will need drawing out. There’s one who’s definitely borderline dyslexic. There’re two older ones whom I would classify as just plain lazy.” She smiled. “Not to worry. I’ll get them to help the others instead of doing their own study.” Now she chuckled. “They’ll think they’re getting away with it, but in truth, they’ll have to work the busiest of all. You know how boys’ brains are hard wired differently from the girls’, even including their sense of sight and hearing. They have to get involved. It’s no good just sitting still at a desk.”

  Fiona was taking it all in, enthralled. How she had underestimated this young man. She did not really know what he was talking about, although boys always had lots of energy of course. He certainly had a way with the children. She would have to go to the library and look up that word, if she could still remember it.

  As Mallory cleaned off the board she put in a request. “For next time, would you mind putting out paper and pencils? I might want them to write something.” She returned the felt to its shallow ledge.

  “That will be in order Mr. Mason, whatever you need.”

  “Also, may I borrow the text book? It wouldn’t hurt me to give it a glance. See if there are any pitfalls lying in wait.” Now she gave a full throated laugh, as if a saucy imp had managed to escape. Fiona could not help herself and joined in. She was falling under this young man’s spell. How different from yesterday. Mallory picked up the top copy from the pile on a desk: Cautionary Tales for Children by Hilaire Belloc. It did not sound like much fun for boys.

  “Miss Beevis?” She looked up from the slim book. “Does the school have something a bit more exciting for kids?”

  Fiona had thought this an excellent choice. Some of Jim’s escapades were quite hair-raising. “What do you have in mind Mr. Mason?” The tight ring to her lips reappeared and Mallory wondered if she had crossed the line.

  “I remember enjoying Kenneth Grahame’s Wind in the Willows when I was …” she had been about to say ‘a girl’, but corrected herself to “… reading it.”

  “Oh yes, the new one which came out last year, I’ve had it put on the list at the circulating library, but it isn’t in yet.” She gave a doleful smile. “Everything takes so much longer in the Provinces.” She would have liked to ask how it was he had managed to read the book so soon, but did not want to appear rude or intrusive.

  “That’s all right,” Mallory rejoined hastily, anxious not to offend again. “I shouldn’t be so quick to pre-judge when I haven’t read this one yet.” Also, she wanted to see that carefree smile once more, transforming the prim school ma’am into a delighted young woman, enjoying an innocent pleasure.

  “Well, a start has been made and we can only wait and see how this endeavour will pan out. I assure you Miss Beevis, I will do the best I can by the boys, but please feel free to make suggestions. You are the experienced one here.” Mallory looked candidly at her and hoped she was making amends. Having embarked upon this venture, she now wanted to see it through. This was her way in all she did.

  Fiona looked back at those intense, indigo eyes that seemed to sparkle with a sapphire gleam and felt a heat rise to her cheeks. Unused to someone speaking to her in this manner, �
��feeling free’ was not an emotion with which she was familiar. She felt not so much free as exhilarated.

  They shook hands and to her astonishment she became aware of her beating heart. The pounding continued as he turned away leaving her feeling confused, but fascinated at the same time.

  For Mallory it was straight back to work in double quick time. No loitering and communing with nature today, but looking up she appreciated the sight of thin mists in the higher reaches of the sky, gliding past the tops of the hills in the blue distance. Approaching the stables at a fast pace her ears were assailed by the din of clanking and grinding, accompanied by raucous shouts in hectoring tones. She veered off to the left towards the main driveway. It was obvious someone was in difficulty and she could be of help. Turning the corner she pulled up short. The most perfect vintage automobile, in absolutely the best preserved condition she had ever seen, was stopped in the middle of the drive, but skewed across at an acute angle. One wheel was ground down into a showy flower bed of colourful asters, scattered amongst the tall spikes of purple antirrhinums, tilting the car to a precarious degree.