We jumped again as she shouted, ‘You take these, too?’
We didn’t know what to say. We were due back at school and the pram was full. We said that we would ask the teacher. She didn’t understand us and looked cross, so we scuttled away.
Miss Martin listened to our tale and seemed to be deep in thought.
‘I wonder if your daddy would take his car there, perhaps this evening, and you could load the trunk and bring it all back here in one trip.’
I was very proud to think that Miss Martin thought my father would help. Now I had to hope that he would.
‘I will ask him,’ I said.
I rushed home, clutching Miss Martin’s phone number. Dad was intrigued by the sound of that ‘batty old soul’s’ house and was glad to help.
Sheila and I went with Dad. At first, the old lady would not let Dad in, only opening the door a crack, as she had at first to us. Then she recognised us and bellowed to us to come in. Dad heaved lots of the papers at a time into his big strong arms, while Sheila and I plodded patiently back and forth with as much as we could carry.
At last the room was empty of papers, but the walls and the floor were covered in cobwebs and dust. It looked as though nothing had been moved for years.
Dad shouted, ‘Thank you,’ and, ‘Goodbye,’ but the lady came outside after us.
‘What about the rest?’ she bellowed.
We stood still. More?
She turned to go in, shouting over her shoulder, ‘In the shed.’
Dad looked at us and shrugged. We set off for an old shed in the overgrown garden.
Dad opened the door. ‘Oh! My Lord!’ he said.
You couldn’t even get into the shed, there was so much paper.
‘Oh no! No more. You’ve done enough!’ Dad shut the door and went back to tell the lady that we couldn’t take any more, but she had her wireless on so loudly that she didn’t hear him hammering on the door.
The school won by a mile, having about ten times as much salvage as the Guides and Scouts. We didn’t get a prize, but we didn’t mind.
It had been an adventure.
The Scholarship
As 1943 loomed, I was eleven years old and approaching an event that not so much changed my life as determined its future direction more than anything else had since the death of my mother.
The examination to gain a scholarship to the Grammar school took place one bright June day. There had been no extra work, no homework; in fact, no real preparation at all. Our parents were scarcely aware that it was taking place except that the ‘little ones’ had the day off. Apart from this, I remember nothing of that day.
Today, children will be coached: they are probably very aware that much is riding on their performance, and parents may be as nervous as their offspring. Parental help with revision is normal, and a serious and rather tense atmosphere surrounds the preparations and the day itself. There is also a general expectation that most children will pass an exam.
In our time, very few passed the eleven-plus. Grammar schools were not large, so the questions had to be tailored to allow just a few to obtain this coveted scholarship. Those who failed went to secondary modern schools and often left at the age of fifteen.
After this most important but unremarkable day, several weeks went by without a thought about the exam. Then one morning after prayers, Miss Martin announced that there were three lucky children in the class. We were puzzled until she reminded us about the examination and told us that the results had arrived.
She gave the names of two other girls, then read out mine! I was amazed. I had not given it a thought, either to assume that I would not pass or that I might. But the fact that the other two girls were acknowledged to be ‘clever’ made it most surprising to me that my name had been announced, too.
I don’t think we even got a clap before the lesson went ahead as usual. There were no concessions, acknowledgements or celebrations. It was just a normal day. But I was seething with excitement, pride and amazement and couldn’t wait for the end of the afternoon.
I ran most of the way home: out of the playground, through the village, down the hill along by the river, and burst into the kitchen.
‘I’ve got the scholarship, Mum!’
She was standing with her back to me. Without turning, she said, ‘Hah! You? You never have!’
I was numb. Had I been a bath full of water, it would have been like pulling the plug.
In a tiny, lifeless voice, I said, ‘I have, Mum.’
She gave a kind of laugh. ‘No, you haven’t,’ she said again, then went back to whatever she was doing.
‘I have, Mum.’
‘No, you haven’t. You are not clever enough for anything like that.’
I persisted. ‘Three of us. Elaine, Barbara and me.’
Then she looked round and peered at me. She took a big breath. ‘Are you sure? How do you know?’
‘Miss Martin announced it at prayers this morning. Elaine, Barbara and me.’
‘She definitely said you, did she?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ There was no fun in it anymore. I was too close to tears to care much now. If she didn’t believe me … well.
Mum started to wipe her hands and finally really looked at me.
‘Well, if you are really sure, we had better ring your dad, I suppose.’ She still did not seem happy.
There was an extension from the house to the Works. The phone was on a hook on the wall, and I had only just grown tall enough to reach it and the horn-shaped speaker, which was even higher.
She turned the little handle to make the phone ring at the Works. When Dad answered, she said, rather slowly and still doubtfully, ‘Julia has something to tell you.’
I took the phone and told him the news, but I couldn’t sound excited any more. He was amazed and delighted and did not seem to doubt me.
‘You don’t sound very excited about it,’ he said.
My pride and relief were bringing the excitement back, though, and I was so thrilled when he said that he would come home right away. By the time he arrived, Mum had the tea ready, and the three of us sat down round the table together. This rarely happened except for Sunday dinner. They sat looking at me. Mum still seemed slightly puzzled, but Dad was very pleased and smiled and smiled at me. They had a doubting look about them, as though they could still hardly believe that this child before them, whom they had obviously thought to be of minimal intelligence, must actually have some brains.
Many, many years later I encountered the same look from a member of the family when I had a book published. That look is certainly not flattering, but, as a child, I just glowed under their attention, and I was beginning to realise that at last I might have shown that I was worth … something. I didn’t know exactly what—but I was glad that they were pleased and impressed.
All the details about the school itself and the arrangements for train travel and the worry about coupons for the uniform would come later.
For now, I was in a happy bubble.
The First Day
I was sick five times in the night and twice in the hedge on the way to the train on the first morning of my first term at the City of Bath Girls’ Grammar School, to give it its full name.
I was not ill, just so very nervous. I had now been at the same small school of about forty children for five years and had become used to the lessons, the village and the children. Now I was off to a large school of about four hundred girls, who would be coming from the city itself and many villages all around. I would be in year one among the youngest girls in the school.
I was the first on the station platform—this was always to be the case, as Mum made me leave home very early—and I sat shivering with nerves. I had never been on a train without Mum. I was very conscious that the eczema on my legs had worsened, and I knew that the girls would notice it and might think, like the village children, that it was catching. I was also worrying about the fact that all new girls had to see the headmistress on the
ir first day to be interviewed, whatever that meant. It sounded frightening.
I was the only new girl from the village, after all. Barbara’s parents had decided to send her to the secondary modern school, although she had won a scholarship. No one could understand this decision at first, but we thought it must be because she wanted to be with her older sister at the school. Elaine’s parents used the scholarship to send her to a posh school somewhere, so she was not with me, either.
The school itself looked enormous to me. It had been a huge private house many, many years ago when the school was created. Extension after extension had been built, so that it now had two gyms, a hall with a stage, many classrooms, an art block, two science labs, shower rooms, a library and so on. There were four tennis courts and extensive grounds. I thought it was lovely, but frighteningly large. I was sure I would get lost! Some of the girls had their mothers with them, but they were sent away after we went in.
The new girls lined up outside the headmistress’s study (I was intrigued—I had never been in a study before), and we had to wait for the light over the door to change from red to green before we could go in.
I knocked and Miss Prestige said, ‘Come in!’
‘You do not need to knock,’ she continued. ‘You just wait for the light to change.’
I felt like an idiot because I had knocked instinctively—I still had to announce my arrival this way before entering any room at home. But I could not tell her that! She was very nice, with a quiet, very precise voice, and she peered short-sightedly at me through her pebble glasses. She hoped I would work hard and be happy in the school. She also said that my mother had rung to say that I had been so very sick, and she asked if I was better now.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said, and that was probably the last time I spoke to her for about two years. She seemed kind but very remote.
I liked the school, especially the art block, the gym and the library. As first years, we were only allowed in the library under supervision, but I could not believe my eyes when I saw the number of books there. I did not know that there were that many books in the world! Later, I loved to sit in the seats in the little dormer-type windows and read, read and read.
The first year was divided into three classes: L, B and C. I was astonished to find that I was in the top class, which was ‘L’, for the Latin class. We were presumed to be bright enough to learn Latin, and, while I was never brilliant at it, I have always been glad that I studied it. Suddenly, I was to learn English language and English literature: we had only ever done reading and writing at the village school!
French, history, geography and art, all of which I loved, were on the curriculum, as was science, which I didn’t like at all. Biology became a favourite and best of all was gym: real gym in a wonderful gymnasium. I was surprised that Scripture was taught in a classroom and not in a church. The three sorts of maths were a nightmare, and domestic science, which included sewing, caused a lot of trouble at home. As Mum had been a dressmaker, she insisted that the way I was being taught some sewing techniques was wrong and that I should do certain things her way. I spent many an early morning on the station, trying to unpick whatever I had done at home Mum’s way and redoing it to suit the rather booming DS mistress. Unsurprisingly, I did not get good marks.
It was all overwhelming at first, but gradually I began to find my way around, and I made friends with a girl called June, who seemed to come from a very strict home, as I did. We did not talk about it, but we formed an instinctive bond, which lasted until we left the school.
I settled in to the routine: one could do nothing else. There was strict discipline based on naming and shaming, and being made to stand in the corridor, or miss games or—horror of horrors—being sent to the headmistress. Over the years, I spent some time standing in corridors (usually for talking in class); I also missed one games lesson. But I managed to avoid being sent to the headmistress.
Worse still, for me, was the threat of a letter to my parents. Luckily, the only one that got sent home to Mum was asking her not to send me to school with a streaming cold again. This had happened several times, and I had just been sent back home. There were few trains in the middle of the day, so I would just have to wait on the station; sometimes, when I got home, Mum was not there, and so I had to sit in the greenhouse to wait for her. Mum was always very cross when she found me back home and seemed to think that it was my fault. I could never understand it.
The emphasis at school was on good academic work, respect for staff and a realisation that we were ‘young ladies’. This was most important. Anything rough or the slightest bit uncouth was not tolerated. And, indeed, there was great respect for the staff, amounting, in several cases, to abject fear. One mistress had piercing blue eyes, and, as she was a maths teacher, I was always falling foul of her. I was no good at maths anyway, but when in her presence I was a nervous wreck. I think she left under some sort of cloud; a scandal, we believed. It was all very intriguing.
In among all these new experiences I also felt a sense of freedom. I was away from home for most of each day, with interesting girls and learning new things. I was surprised to find that the staff and girls had opinions about things that were different from Mum and Dad’s, and I listened with amazement to snippets of conversation among them. Many of the girls were only my age, so how did they know all these things?
At first, Mum and Dad were genuinely interested in the school and the lessons, and I seemed to have tea with them more often in order to tell them all about it. When I told them that I was in the top class of the year, they believed me straight away and seemed pleased.
Although I would not have realised it, this was the beginning of the next phase of my childhood. There had been the ‘before time’, which I still thought about sometimes with nostalgia; the muddled time after Mummy’s death; then the settled time in the village school; and now the opening up of the academic world. Mum’s strict control was still there, of course, and I was frequently very miserable, but when I was at school I often managed to forget the problems at home.
The years gradually passed.
I did well in piano and singing. The piano playing was not more than average, but the singing was evidently good. After a concert in the third year, the head of music said that I should take it up, meaning have singing lessons with a view to a career in music. Mum and Dad would not hear of it. I should have a ‘proper job’ when I left, not some silly singing stuff, they said. Nothing more was said about it. We did not have careers information nor were we told about grants for further education; I did not know that there were such things, and I suppose that Mum and Dad didn’t, either.
I was also quite good at hockey. I was average to small and fast on my feet, so the forward line suited me, and I was soon playing for my junior house team. The games mistress said that I should play in the school junior team, but the matches took place on Saturdays, so I had to ask Mum and Dad.
‘No,’ said Mum. ‘You would be away all Saturday morning, which is when you do the bedrooms and the sitting room, and suppose we wanted to go out?’
So that was that.
I wanted to be a Girl Guide too, but that would have interrupted one evening a week and some days in the holidays, so that was out, as well.
At school, I became interested in medical matters. I found biology, which included the anatomy and physiology of the human body, fascinating, and by the time I was about 13 or 14, I had decided that I wanted to become a doctor. No one else in the class seemed to know what they wanted to do, so I kept quiet for a long time. I knew it might mean spending a long time training and I realised that this would cost money, so I was not surprised when I eventually broached the subject at home that I was told it might not be possible. Mum said she didn’t think I would be clever enough anyway, but Dad said they would ‘make the sacrifice’ if necessary.
I began to be afraid that I would have to be ‘kept’ by them, and that would mean that I would have to ask for everything and th
ere would be no freedom from Mum’s domination. I did not think it through in quite such a clear-cut way, but the general feeling was there that I would be ‘beholden’—that was a word I had heard and understood.
So, very early in my school life, I decided to go for second best. Nursing. I knew that I would live away from home, in a nurses’ hostel, and be paid (just) for my work and for the intermittent college times, and that it only took three years to become qualified.
That would be a ‘proper job’, which would please Mum and Dad, and they wouldn’t have to ‘keep’ me. Very importantly, it also meant I would be able to leave home. So I told them, and everyone, that I was going to be a nurse.
They were delighted; Grandma and Grandpa thought it was a very hard job to choose, and Grandma S. said she could not imagine having to touch ill people. Granddad S. said it was a calling. It wasn’t really because I had worked it all out, but I did want to help sick people, and this was the nearest thing to being a doctor.
The immediate effect of this decision was that I was allowed to join the St John Ambulance’s Junior Brigade. Although this meant doing first-aid training once a week in the evening and going out with the ambulance to various functions, like point-to-point races on a Saturday sometimes, I was allowed to do this, as it would be useful later on and, as I was told, I could always do the bedrooms on Sunday.
It was good fun, and I was learning a lot. However, at the races I was far more upset when the horses were hurt than the jockeys. Was this the way a nurse should feel? Probably not. What about being a vet instead, I asked myself?
I mentioned this in passing to Mum, who was horrified that I should even think about changing my mind. It had only been a very vague idea, but Mum said that once I had made up my mind, I must stick to it. So I did. What a mouse I was!
The Country Nurse Remembers Page 17