Miriam had been a one-time school friend - a Jewish girl with brown eyes and dark hair who had surprised everybody, including her strict orthodox parents, by being expelled for stealing. Jean smiled to herself; the growing pains of youth wanting to belong, wanting to be accepted, wanting to be friends with Carol Remington.
*
In 1963 at 16-years old, how Jean had envied Carol Remington. Carol had had it all, long blonde hair, good looks, no, not good looks - she was beautiful, tall as well. Carol’s parents had paid for her to attend the Lucy Clayton School of Modelling, and to cap it all she had been Head prefect.
Carol had been respected by all the teaching staff and definitely was Miss Soames’s favourite; the tweed-suited, hair-in-a-bun, starchy old head mistress of Scaynes Hill Grammar School.
Scaynes was a1930s built school with a high academic record. This had compounded Carol’s popularity as she had taken more GCEs than Field Marshall Montgomery had medals, and achieved top grades. She was down for good A-Level predictions as well. Miss Soames had commented on this in the staff room,
Carol, with the other eight prefects including Jean and Miriam, had been Beatle fans. They had formed their own Fab-Four fan club; the Scaynes Hill Scousers they had called themselves. Carol, of course, was secretary. Their strict rule being only prefects could be members.
Carol had already seen the Beatles. A year previous in the school holidays, she’d been to Liverpool to stay with her cousin. They’d been allowed to visit the Cavern club during the lunch time sessions. That’s when Carol had seen them. ‘They were hotter … hotter than molten steel,’ she had described them to the rest of the girls in a state of near ecstasy.
A year later, the Cavern and its raw smelly atmosphere had been just a distant memory. Now, Carol and the rest of her Beatles gang had had to make do with the prefect’s common room.
The staff had allowed them an old second-hand record player, but on strict conditions that it was only played during lunchtime breaks, and that it mustn’t interfere with the daily prefect duty rota. In addition, they had been allowed pin-up posters with concessions; no stripped-to-the-waist pictures of Cliff Richard, Elvis or any other pop stars.
So, there they had sat midday, from 12:30 to 1:30 p.m. with a window open, passing round a cigarette, chewing gum, drinking coke and pawing over Beatle magazines, in between kissing the occasional photo of George or Paul with sudden shrieks of delight from the others.
The gang’s Friday and Saturday nights had been taken up going to the Melody Ballroom. It was a young teen’s no-alcohol venue behind a local public house, where parents would drop them off around 7:p.m. and then collect them at about 10:30 p.m.
As they had tired of Cokes, Pepsi’s and orange squash, promising a snog, the girls would get the older looking boys to forage cigarettes and small bottles of rum from the pub off-license.
At that age, they had wanted to look cool. The ones, whose parents could afford it, had bought them collarless Beatle jackets and wedge shoes. Most of the night they’d chew gum and dance in a circle around their Mary Quant look-a-like handbags, occasionally bursting into song to some favourite Beatles tune, especially 'Please, Please Me'.
Although Jean had been a prefect, she had sat on the fringes. The only member of the group that had really spoken to her was Miriam. They’d become friends when they sat near each other in maths and French. Miriam did look Jewish, the other give-away being her Star of David pendant. Jean had asked her once what all the symbols meant. She had said they represented the twelve tribes as mentioned in the Bible.
Miriam had been the only one who, would listen to what Jean had to say. So, Jean would declare her love of the Fab Four, pretending she’d bought photos, magazines and badges from the fan club, when in fact, the money hadn’t been there for such things.
In reality, Jean had had to make do with a Beatles scrapbook filled with cut outs from girls’ comics and newspapers.
Truth was, the gang had never really taken to Jean. While the others had tried to cultivate a Mary Quant look, unfortunately, Jean had been a bit overweight with a chubby, spotty face, fat legs and short, mousy hair.
Her clothes had said it all. Friday and Saturday nights, the school uniform had stayed on in various dress combinations. She’d mix it up a little, try and hide the fact her mother couldn’t afford trendy stuff. However, the girls had seen through it. Jean had been all too aware of the sniggers and remarks. How she had yearned to be cool; to belong, to be like Carol Remington.
Carol’s father had been a bookings manager at the Empire Pool, Wembley. In addition, it just so happened the Beatles were to perform there on April 21st Sunday afternoon. Tickets had been like gold dust but her dad had managed to get eight complimentary. The rest had sold out.
When she had told the others, Carol had waded and oozed in her popularity, like a Hippo’ in mud. But she had reminded them, after keeping a ticket for her-self that there had been only seven to spare for eight girls. Of course, all the Scaynes Hill Scousers had wanted a ticket; they all had wanted to see the Beatles more than anything.
Friday March 22nd had been the expected release date of the new Beatles LP named after the hit single, Please, Please Me. Record sales were going to be gi-normouse, as DJ Alan Freeman had said, especially on the first Saturday. Queues would have formed before stores had even opened.
Carol had had an idea for the ticket allocation. She had suggested that those who wanted to go to the concert would have to purchase the new LP, bring it into school on Monday morning and sign the prefect progress book. The first seven names with the LP would get a ticket.
In Head Girl mode, Carol had stood in front of them in the common room and made it clear once again,
‘Only the first seven names down in the book with the LP will get a ticket.’
So, the morning of Monday 25th March 1963 had been going to be an important date for eight Beatle fans, apart from Jean. Jean had had a flat, ‘No,’ from her mother. ‘Maybe for your birthday in June,’ she had said.
‘But it’ll be too late by then, Mum,’ Jean had frantically explained. ‘I need the LP by this Monday morning.’
‘I don’t care when you want it,’ her unbending mother had said. ‘Get yourself a part-time Saturday job in Woolworth’s. Then you can buy it yourself.’ With that, the door had closed. All avenues of hope had been cut off.
Monday had arrived and it had been raining. The bus platform had been slippery, as Jean had found out. While she had been getting off, she had skidded and fallen onto the kerb outside her school stop, badly cutting her knee. The bus conductor and some passengers had helped her back on her feet. Someone else had picked up her satchel and a couple of schoolbooks, including her Mum’s Perry Como LP.
Jean had cried with the pain. Holding a handkerchief against the wound, she had held onto the bus conductor. The driver in his cab had looked around with concern, as he had tried to see what the delay was about.
‘Will you be okay, young lady?’ The conductor had offered his commiserations. ‘That’s a nasty cut.’
Jean had gritted her teeth and stiffened, ready to take the weight on her knee. Choking back the tears with some sniffs and wiping her eyes, she had concentrated on the matter at hand; hiding the LP so only the top two corners could be seen.
All at once, Jean’s face had brightened. She had seen Miriam walking briskly towards her looking concerned.
‘Jean, what’s up?’
‘I just slipped getting off.’
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Miriam had crouched down to take a look.
‘Better get her to school and let someone in first aid have a look at it,’ the conductor had said as eventually, to the passengers’ relief, he had mounted the platform and rung the bell.
With her arm around Miriam’s shoulder, Jean had limped the short distance to school.
‘Nurse should be in soon. Her car’s not there at the moment,’ Miriam had said, glancing at
the staff parking bays. ‘Let’s get you to the prefect room, that’s the nearest. You can rest up then.’
‘Thanks, Miriam.’ Jean had winced when she adjusted the red stained handkerchief, the blood still oozed down her shin onto her sock.
No one else had arrived yet when they reached the prefect room. ‘First things first,’ Miriam had joked as she had opened the progress book and signed her name. She had offered it to Jean.
Jean had pretended a wince and told her she’d do it in a minute.
‘Well, make sure you do, Jean. You don’t want to be a Cinderella.’
She had stifled a laugh, then frowned as the pain had come stinging back.
Miriam had unpacked as usual and put her stuff including the new Beatles LP into one of the numbered lockers. The keys to them all had been lost years ago, so she had just shut the door.
From the windows, the staff car park hadn’t been visible so Miriam had suggested, ‘I’ll check out if Nursy has arrived. If not I’ll wait for her and let her know. Will you be okay?’
Jean had nodded and forced a smile.
Miriam had disappeared through the door. Jean had heard her humming the strains of Love Me Do as she had made her way to the nurse’s office. She’d be a time; it was on the other side of the school next to the canteen.
The next one in had been Carol, looking gorgeous as ever with the new Beatles LP tucked under her arm. She had looked mildly concerned and listened with a plastic, sympathetic smile as Jean had explained her accident.
Carol had winced and put her hand to her mouth when Jean had shown her the wound.
‘That does look nasty. Can you walk on it?’
‘I guess so,’ Jean had said glumly.
‘Look, don’t move yet. I’ll check out if nurse is in.’
‘Miriam’s gone for her,’ Jean had cautiously replied.
Carol had spun round, ‘Miriam! What she doing poking her Jew nose in?’ Carol had turned ugly. ‘It’s my job as head girl to sort first aid.’
Jean had tried to make light of it.
‘She helped me to school, she was only thinking of…’
Carol had ignored her. She had unpacked and slammed her locker door shut. Jean had flinched and heard her mutter,
‘Trust that Jew to look good in front of me.’
Carol had made for the door. Avoiding Jean’s gaze, she had said with a mocking sneer
‘I’d better see if the nurse is in, get myself involved before Miss Longnose really flies her kite.’ With that, she had slammed her way out of the prefect’s common room. Jean had heard her distant laugh as she had realised all of a sudden what she’d said.
Then, there had been silence. It was still early. The others hadn’t arrived yet. Jean had looked at her knee. The blood had congealed at last. She had dabbed the wound and flinched as it smarted. As pupils had begun to arrive, she had heard the clacking of shoes on the stone passageways and the opening and shutting of doors. The excited exchanges with squeals of girlish delights, all peppered with running footsteps, someone singing Cliff Richard’s, Bachelor Boy.
Jean had felt alone. She had looked at the common room door. Then she had looked out the window. Rivulets of rain were making their way down the glass in ever changing patterns. She had looked at the Perry Como LP concealed in her bag. It was her half-feeble effort to convince the gang it was the latest Beatles album, so that she could be one of them. She’d let the others show theirs. She had signed her name at the bottom of the list. Let them collect the concert tickets, she had thought. She hadn’t minded not going. As long as they had believed she’d bought the record; as long as they had seen the shape sticking out of her satchel; as long as she could have got home with her dignity intact. How these things mattered so much.
Finally, she had looked at the locker doors, and had continued looking. She had looked at them so hard, her eyelids could have been nailed there.
Jean had spent most of the morning in first aid with the school nurse, Sister Watkins. It had been suggested she should go to hospital, but by lunchtime, Jean had been able to walk without limping. So, with a generous bandage around her knee, she had made her way back to the prefects’ common room. As Jean had entered, looking stern, Miss Soames the Headmistress had confronted her. Carol had been at the Head’s side. The other seven prefects had stood to attention with grim expressions.
‘Ah! Just in time, Connaught.’ Miss Soames had turned to Jean. ‘I’m afraid you have to be included in this.’
The Headmistress had put her arm around Carol’s shoulder and continued,
‘We have a thief amongst us. Someone has stolen Carol’s long playing record and Miriam’s Star of David pendant, from their lockers.’ She had looked at both girls for confirmation and added, ‘I understand these items were discreetly hidden, not on show as there are no keys for the doors.’ Miss Soames had paused, ‘it’s highly unlikely other girls have been in here, this room is only for prefects; out of bounds to the rest of the school.’
The Headmistress had looked accusingly at the seven remaining faces, then said, ‘The thief knew where to look.’
No one had moved. It was deathly quiet.
‘Right, everybody, including Carol and Miriam,’ she looked at them both, ‘in case someone’s playing jokes on you two, I want you all to empty out your lockers and then your pockets. I don’t want to call the police, but I will if I have to.’
After a few minutes, everything had been out on the large common room table in their individual piles. Miss Soames had walked around the belongings and sifted through the usual schoolgirl items of gym clothing, books, magazines, hair brushes, combs, hair spray, mirrors, nail varnish, lip stick, tampons, bubble gum, cheap cologne, small change, keys, diaries and of course, Beatle LPs.
Carol had leaned forward and whispered something in Miss Soames ear.
‘Are you sure?’ the Headmistress had said.
‘Yes,’ Carol had replied. ‘I always mark my own. I decided to after losing so many at parties.’
‘Sensible girl,’ Miss Soames had said with half a smile. Then she had turned to the other girls with a serious expression and continued, ‘Will all of you who brought in a long-playing record, please remove it from the sleeve.’
Some of the girls had muttered under their breath,
‘She can’t do this… I’ll tell my parents… don’t like being accused… my dad’ll sort ‘er out…’ Among some grumblings, they had slowly begun to fumble with their LP sleeves, the cover of which showed a photo of the Beatles leaning over the balcony of the EMI building.
Miss Soames had caught a few whispered threats,
‘Now listen, you can moan all you like,’ she had said, countermanding the remarks. ‘Better this way than in front of the police, heh?’
Then she had nodded to Carol to verify the records in their paper sleeves. She had felt it was fitting, as Carol was also head girl.
Carol had slowly moved along the table picking them up, one by one. At the centre hole she had scrutinised the pound trade mark of the Parlophone label. Then she had stopped; she held one with a look of disbelief. Carol had looked at the owner.
Miriam had shuffled uncomfortably, ‘What’s up?’
‘You know what’s up, you thieving cow!’ Carol had held out the record for her to see.
‘That’s my record that I bought Saturday,’ Miriam had snapped.
‘You lying Jew,’ Carol had said with a dark, sweet smile. ‘Look, my initials are on it, see, CR.’ Her finger had pointed to the spot.
‘Now, Carol,’ Miss Soames had interrupted. ‘There’s no need for those remarks.’
Carol had not been listening. She had slid out the record from its paper sleeve with a smug expression. At that moment, something had fallen onto the floor. All eyes had looked down as Carol bent and picked up the gold pendant. She had held it in her palm, the chain hanging down the back of her hand.
‘You conniving Jew,’
Carol had snapped at Miriam.
‘Now that’s enough, Carol,’ Miss Soames replied. ‘We can’t have ―’
‘You said it was missing, but you hid it in the sleeve.’ Carol had held out the Star of David pendant to Miriam. ‘You said it was stolen so nobody would suspect you?’
‘That’s a lie!’ Miriam exploded. ‘Somebody put it there.’ She looked in desperation at the Headmistress. ‘It’s a sick joke. I’m not a thief!’
‘Oh yea! So where’s your record?’ Carol had sneered, grinning. . The other girls had all looked at Miriam.
Miriam had lunged at Carol and grabbed the record, knocking two others girls off balance at the same time.
‘Girls, stop it!’ The Headmistress had rounded on both of them.
Miriam had stared at the initials in biro. ‘You could’ve written that on my copy and hid my chain. You’ve never liked me.’
‘Because, you’re a thieving Jew.’ Carol had spat out her anti-Semitism. ‘My dad says all Jews―’
‘Carol, that’s enough!’ Miss Soames had held them apart.
‘You light-fingered bitch!’ Valerie Johnson had said slowly, holding up something. Everyone had turned to Valerie. Her belongings were by the side of Miriam’s. ‘My mum’s horseshoe.’ She’d spotted her late mother’s broach fastened to the underside collar on Miriam’s folded school blouse. ‘I lost that two months ago. How could you?’ Valerie had folded the collar over to reveal the broach to Miss Soames.
Miriam had screamed,
‘I didn’t steal your fucking broach!’ The tears had started to flow. ‘Someone’s playing jokes! Setting me up.’
She had looked in desperation at the headmistress. With tears streaming down her face she had said, ‘Honest, Miss Soames, I haven’t stolen anything.’
The Headmistress had held up her hands to quash any further arguments.
‘I don’t want the police involved, Miriam. But, I’m going to phone your parents.’
Miriam had thrown herself onto Valerie – kicking, screaming, clawing, ‘You fucking bitch, you set me up’
From A Poison Pen: A collection of macabre short stories Page 14