Polly couldn’t believe her ears, for finally she’d met someone who saw things from the same perspective. Up until this moment she had believed herself to be alone in her thinking. After all, who has the right to decide what’s OK and therefore acceptable, as opposed to what’s not and therefore kooky? Who decided whether you were to be included as part of the in crowd or otherwise excluded to then be treated with pure contempt by others? Why should hideously unkind judgments be at the disposal of the beautiful-looking or the physically athletic pupils in the school? Were they within their rights to maliciously name-call or deem other pupils to be outcasts, nerds, or misfits?
Did these elite groups of students have the right to regularly send hideously spiteful letters about her and others around the classroom? To the girls concerned, this was seen as little more than light amusement to help them through another desperately boring day at school. However, for those at the receiving end, it felt very different. In fact, without wishing to appear too dramatic, it was life-threatening.
Sadly, this was indeed Polly’s field of expertise, for she knew firsthand all there was to know about the subject of bullying. She had always lived in fear at home and at school, and there had never been any help from anyone. No, not one teacher or helper or social worker, for that matter, had ever come to her aid. Sometimes the threats came in the form of signals, like an index finger ominously swiped across a throat, or other messages, such as when upon opening her desk she would discover a frightening message that warned, “Watch your back, Brown, or you’re dead.”
Of course, all these notes were always absent of any signature whatsoever, for that would require her oppressors to be brave enough to own their words, but such cowardly creatures rarely come out in the open, preferring to opt for complete anonymity as they continue on with their cruel, sadistic, abusive oppression—and in most cases without fear of any repercussions.
Even using the school toilets created tension as she tried to fight off bullies determined to grab hold of her head, and after bashing it against one of the metal changing room lockers, they would then unceremoniously stuff her head as far down the toilet bowl as they were able and for as long as they could without actually drowning her. This inhumane practice was sadly considered very normal, and it was not just Polly but also overweight pupils, timid pupils, and pupils with thick, national health glasses who suffered. Come to think of it, any pupils who did not match up to some unwritten criteria were regularly subjected to this, and worse. On one occasion when she was using the toilets, a group of girls had thrown a bucket of water over the toilet door, drowning her in water. Polly missed the next lesson, as she stayed behind and attempted to dry her hair and clothes. Her failure to turn up at the lesson ended with a visit to the headmaster’s office and a further lunchtime detention. To rat on her fellow pupils would certainly have meant further degradation the next time they caught up with her, so she had no choice but to quietly endure further punishment for bunking lessons.
Then there were the blatant, hideous lies that were fully intended to demean and degrade her in front of the boys. Yet again the girls making up the lies saw it all as merely having a bit of fun at the expense of others, of course! Polly knew with absolute clarity that they were nothing but filthy lies made up by the prettier and more popular girls in class so they could feel good and powerful. She also believed that if most students were stupid and susceptible enough to listen to and not question the lies, then those lies would stick and so might just as well be the truth. After all, why would anyone with even the teeniest amount of conscience spread wicked lies just for the sheer fun of it?
Whoever made up the ridiculously trite saying “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me” obviously needed to pay a visit Polly’s world, if only for a day, for her life bore testimony to the fact that physical injuries, given time, will heal, but a destroyed reputation, well, that lives on forever! Sad to say, but she had known a small handful of decent, sensitive souls who, having constantly suffered and endured such malicious and injurious lies and wickedness, had come to the sad and unthinkable decision that the only way to permanently end this abuse was to bring their own young and tortured lives to a most terrible and permanent end.
Polly knew with great clarity that she had no power whatsoever to stop these weak, cowardly bullies in their tracks, for any form of retaliation only made things a whole heap worse, so just like her life back at the castle, she felt she had little choice other than to remain completely demoralized and powerless. Every day she was forced to gather up courage and brave the school corridor as she walked past these shallow, hedonistic students huddled together, immersed in conversation as all in the group shared their latest foul feast of spicy, character-destroying tidbits. She knew these pernicious character assassinations were done purely for amusement purposes, and they cared nothing in terms of consequences, as they felt it was their right and virtue to systematically pull hers as well as other vulnerable students’ reputations apart.
All this in mind, Polly nodded her head at Will, for she was in total agreement with her new friend, and she really did appreciate the analogy of the washing machine, for it truly made her smile.
Witnessing Polly’s assent by a small nod of her head encouraged Will to take things further. “Polly, perhaps it would be helpful if, when it seems right, we could disclose to each other some of our best hidden secrets, and then you will know for sure that all my intentions are entirely honorable, hand on heart,” he stated, giving yet another irresistible smile as he lay an arm across his chest, pointing directly to where he believed his heart presumably lay.
Polly groaned and gave another consenting nod before giving herself permission to half-smile.
“There, that’s more like it. I was beginning to think you saw me as something of a freak or monster! Look, I had better be on my way, as my English class starts in less than five minutes, but how about coming back to my place for a while after school. I’m afraid my house may well shock you, for I warn you now that it’s a bit of a tip. But if you can see past the mess, well then, I’d love you to come and pay an impromptu visit to my world.”
“I’m awfully sorry, Will, but that really won’t be possible. I have duties that I need to attend to after school that sadly prevent me from saying yes.”
“Well then, what about after school tomorrow? I make a great cup of tea, really I do. And for such a lovely lady, well I might even consider handing out a scrumptious biscuit or two,” he said optimistically in his gentle but very persuasive manner.
Polly smiled but still continued to shake her head.
“Wednesday? Thursday?”
Still Polly shook her head.
“OK then, Miss Popularity! What about sometime over the weekend? Can you see your way to somehow squeezing me into your overbooked social calendar?” he asked in a voice oozing great charm as he pulled out all the stops in his attempt to win her over and thereby get her full agreement.
“We’ll see,” was all Polly could come up with in response to her new friend’s eager suggestion.
Completely undeterred, Will stood up to leave the table, and after gently pushing his chair to one side, he bent over to whisper in her ear. “I’m not about to give up on you, Polly Brown. You will be a good friend to me. Just you wait and see.”
Meanwhile, back in Piadora Ralph turned to face Hodgekiss. “My! Wasn’t it a reckless, if not most splendid idea of yours to move Will over to Polly’s school? Thank goodness he has the tenacity and character to persevere with young Polly, for I do believe there are times when she rather unwittingly plays very hard to get.
Hodgekiss nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, but considering all she has been through, I am more than delighted to observe that she has over time made a tremendous amount of progress.”
“Hmm. Needless to say, her trials are about to deepen, and then, Hodgekiss, you must surely agree that she will be in need of a strong shoulder for support,” Ralph stated,
a deep and perplexed look of concern written all over his face as he anxiously beheld his master’s loving eyes.
“And to cry on?” Hodgekiss interjected.
“Yes, and sadly, to cry on.”
Chapter Seven
MISS SCRIMP ’N’ SAVE
POLLY JUST ABOUT made it through the afternoon lessons without any further trouble or mishap, and soon she found herself sitting on a train with her eyes temporarily closed and her head back as she tried to rest. She felt unusually tired, and she just wished that she might get through the evening chores without physically collapsing.
Soon the train pulled into the station, and after exiting the station, she crossed the road to stand in line with all the other pupils by the bus stop. After finding a seat on the bus, Polly once more closed her eyes, and this time all she could do was think about her new friend, Will. “Dear God, please let Will turn out to be my first ever true and loyal school friend,” she quietly whispered under her breath.
She then picked up her schoolbag and spent a few minutes rummaging through it until she finally pulled out an exercise book. Polly opened the thin book and ripped out a clean sheet of paper. Then, taking a pen from her pencil case, she began to write another letter to her dear, much-missed friend Aazi.
Dear Aazi,
I do hope this letter finds you in extraordinarily good health. Every day I hope and pray for some word of you, but sadly to date I have heard nothing.This in itself has me feeling both worried as well as anxiously concerned for you. I therefore beg you to write to me, as I long to hear how you are getting on. Currently nothing much has changed in my sad little life, for I am still little more than a horrible stench under my guardians’ noses, and despite all my efforts to be good, I seem to always be in hot water (that means “trouble”). With all the chores I am expected to complete at home, it leaves me little time to do my homework, so then I am in even more trouble at school.
James, my younger brother, seems more distant than ever, as we rarely get the time to just be together as brother and sister. This makes it all the more difficult for me to bear. I love him so dearly, and I wish I could rescue us both from this awful place. Sometimes I despair that things could or will ever change.
Even our very precious time together now seems such a thing of the past that I do all I can to constantly recall those very special moments that I am most grateful we got to share.
On a much lighter note, a new boy has started at my school. His name is William, but we all call him Will for short. Anyway, he seems really nice and kind, and can you believe it? He appears to want to be friends with me. I must tell you privately that this really troubles me, because I have no idea as to the real reason behind why he is being so kind to a person such as me. I have to be honest and upfront when I tell you that my school is filled to overflowing with really pretty girls who are far more intelligent than I could ever hope to be and who come from the sort of nice families that I could only ever dream of being a part of, so it makes no sense at all that he should want to be seen hanging around with a useless urchin such as the likes of me.
I will try my very best to approach this friendship with extreme caution, and time alone will surely tell if he is the real deal, as opposed to just another artful imposter!
Anyway, Aazi, I am sorry this letter is short, so sadly lacking in any really interesting information, but the school bus is about to pull into the bus station, and from the moment I arrive back at the castle it’s one chore after another until bedtime finally arrives. So I send you all my love and wait with bated breath as well as great anticipation to hear all your news, good and bad. Please, please, I beg you to answer my letters, for I am beginning to feel hopelessly sad that something is very wrong or that I have unwittingly offended you, something I seem very clever at doing, according to many of my teachers, as well as my guardians. Well, I must sign off now.
Affectionately yours.
Polly, xxxxxxxx
PS: As per usual, please disregard all ridiculous rules regarding hygiene and just lick off yet another piece of rather yummy squashed and squidgy chocolate. Don’t wait. Just do it.
PPS: Aazi, I do feel the need to get something off my chest that is causing me great concern. In an earlier letter I mentioned that for a season the school would be showing us a number of films about everyday life in Africa. Well, over the past three months or so we have seen probably five or six films showing different regions of your beautiful country. Aazi, I have to concede to feeling most alarmed and shocked to discover that nobody on the African continent appears to wear any clothes whatsoever! And of the few tribes that do, most are still unbelievably very scantily clad. So my question to you is simply this, Are clothes so disgracefully expensive that they are beyond one’s purse, or is this more a case of personal preference?
I for one realize that the weather is extremely hot and humid, and I fully realize that this must also save on the washing bill, but I have to say that personally speaking I would feel most embarrassed to be out and about without a single stitch of clothing on my person. In England, people are expected to be a little more discreet, and so we do our utmost to cover up at all times, purely, I suppose, as a matter of decency. So if I were you, I would at least be on the look out for a loincloth or two! I would therefore be very grateful if you would explain this one to me. Oh, I hope my asking hasn’t offended you. (Can’t really believe I’m asking about this, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t!)
PPPS: Oh, I’ve completely forgotten my last point, so will most likely write it down in my next letter.
After producing an old, yellowing envelope from her bag, she then rummaged in her blazer pocket until she found a certain item she was looking for. After producing a small chocolate, she removed the foil wrapper and then proceeded to roll the chocolate between her fingers until it became melted. Satisfied that it was now sufficiently gooey, she then squashed the chocolate down hard on the bottom corner of the letter.
“There, finished,” she whispered as she slipped the letter into the envelope, and then, using her tongue, she licked the envelope before firmly sealing it down.
As she remained seated on the bus, she once again noted that there was not one single girl from Snobbits Preparatory School on the bus, and come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Mrs. O’Brien, their teacher, either for a long time—come to think of it, not since she returned from Piadora. All this was becoming very disconcerting for her, for Mrs. O’Brien had definitely told Polly that she too had to leave Piadora and make her way back to the school; otherwise, the girls would be without a cookery teacher. So what in the world was going on that could satisfactorily explain their continued absence from the bus stop?
In no time at all the bus came to a halt at the place where she normally got off. But today Polly still had one very urgent matter that needed to be taken care of, to once more visit dear, delightful Mrs. April Strudel and politely offer to take her yappy little dogs for a long walk to exercise them, so she stayed on the bus until it reached the village.
The sweet-smelling lavender-and-lace lady was, as always, overcome with delight at Polly’s generous offer to walk her dogs, and so she paid Polly handsomely for her services. She then dropped an extra penny into Polly’s hot little hand when she saw that both her usually overexcited pups had come back from their regular walk looking more exhausted and worn out than ever, so they were very ready for an afternoon nap.
“Same time next week,” Polly shouted at the slightly deaf, sweet-smelling lady as she waved her good-bye and hurriedly headed for the post office to get her stamp before the office shut for the day.
“Phew! Thank goodness. As usual I’ve only just made it just in time,” she said, beaming from ear to ear as she gladly passed the money over to a middle-aged woman who sat the other side of the glass counter.
“This is becoming quite a habit,” the mean woman sourly sniffed as she grabbed hold of the money.
“What do you mean?” Polly innocently asked, giv
ing another huge smile.
“Turning up here when I am just about to close the counter,” the po-faced lady bitterly stated.
“Oh, I am so sorry, but I am so very happy to be here posting another letter to my friend.”
“Has he ever replied to even one of your endless letters?” the miserable and moody lady sourly questioned Polly.
“Well, if I’m honest, to date, as you rightly suggest, I have not received a reply. But that does not mean I won’t, for you see he lives in the jungle in darkest Africa, so I imagine that it is probably much more difficult for him to get to a post office.”
“If you’ll believe that, then you’ll believe anything!” she snarled.
“Oh, I know he’ll write eventually, for he’s such a lovely person. Just you wait and see,” Polly stated in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice as she continued to beam from ear to ear.
The frosty looking lady in the horn-rimmed spectacles failed to respond with any form of kind gesture, other than to slip a small, single postage stamp under the glass counter along with a halfpenny in change before abruptly pulling the blind down to show the office was now officially shut. Polly failed to take any offense at the lady’s surly behavior because she was so caught up in the moment of posting yet another very important letter to her friend. She was also equally delighted to realize that she still had enough change leftover to buy four Black Jacks at the sweetshop, two for her and two for her younger brother, James.
She was in the process of sticking the stamp to the envelope when the distinctive red mail van on its last mission of the day pulled up at the curb. As the postman, with keys in hand, leapt out of the van and made his way toward the red pillar box that required emptying, Polly completely took him by surprise as she rushed over and stuffed her precious letter into his open hand.
The Trouble with Polly Brown Page 10