There were three people in the room, one elderly man with a splendid set of white whiskers, who introduced himself as Mr Gillard, chairman of the governors, and two well-dressed women in rather grand hats. They were sitting on the opposite side of a long table facing the chair that had been centrally set for the candidates and they all smiled at her as she sat down.
‘We were all intrigued by your application, Miss Smith,’ Mr Gillard said. ‘It was quite a credo, was it not? Would you care to tell us why you believe as you do?’
She told them at length, stressing that everything she now believed had grown from her observations of the children she’d taught at Bridge Street and was currently teaching at St Barnaby’s High and that the methods she used had been evolved by trial and error. ‘It has been a learning process for me too,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been learning together. It’s been something of an experiment.’
‘And now you are looking to extend the experiment from a single classroom to an entire school,’ the older of the ladies said. ‘Would I be right in that assumption?’
There was no point in denying it. That was exactly what she was doing.
The questioning went on. Did she expect to find other teachers with the same views?
‘I would hope to find other teachers who would be sympathetic to what I’ve been trying to do.’
‘They would be rather exceptional I fancy?’
‘Very exceptional but I am confident I could find them, given the right advertisement.’
‘Which you would compose with the same care you devoted to your application form.’
‘Exactly so.’
‘It would be a very small school to start with,’ Mr Gillard told her. ‘We estimate about fifty pupils, all girls, and a staff of five including yourself.’
She would have preferred more teachers but agreed that five would be sufficient to make a good beginning.
The interview continued. They asked about the sort of staff she would hire and she told them she would need a Science teacher, and a mathematician, someone to teach History and Geography and someone else for French and Latin if possible, and if she could find one, a teacher prepared to take PE and Cookery. The younger of the two women wanted to know how and when she would punish her pupils.
‘I deal with whatever happens as it occurs,’ she said, ‘and would hope to continue with the same approach as a headmistress. If a child has done something wrong or unacceptable, she needs to know as soon as possible and to face the consequences.’
‘Which would be?’
‘It would depend on the offence. If someone has been hurt by it, then there must be an apology and an attempt to make amends. That is essential. If it is caused by bad temper, the reasons for the temper must be discovered and dealt with; if it is laziness, the child must be helped towards greater effort, if it is misery she will need cheering. I suppose what I’m saying is that it is necessary for me to understand the cause of the offence if I am to deal with it adequately. There are always reasons for bad behaviour and that’s what I try to tackle.’
‘What if you can’t find the reason though, Miss Smith?’ Mr Gillard asked. ‘What would you do then?’
‘I would try harder,’ Octavia said.
He laughed out loud. ‘By Jove, she would too,’ he said.
Eventually they asked her if she had any questions for them. She had of course and asked them at once. ‘If I were to be appointed,’ she said, ‘how soon could I advertise for my staff?’
‘How soon would you want to advertise?’ Mr Gillard said.
‘As soon as possible,’ Octavia told him. ‘It might take quite a while to find the sort of teachers I would be looking for, and finding the right staff would be extremely important if we are to make a success of our venture.’
‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t advertise as soon as you were appointed,’ he said. ‘But where would you interview them? That could present a problem could it not?’
‘Could I use the school building? It is currently empty you say.’
‘Empty but extremely dirty.’
‘I could take a broom.’
He laughed again, looked round him at the other two and closed his notebook. ‘I think that will be all, Miss Smith,’ he said. ‘If you have no further questions. No? Then would you be so kind as to wait in the reception room.’
The reception room, to which the secretary led her, was just along the corridor. It was comfortably furnished with a good fire in the grate and armchairs for six people but they were all empty. How odd, she thought, where are the other candidates? Or do we have a room each? There was no one to ask, so she walked across the room to the window and stood looking down at the cars and trams that were clattering their way through Hammersmith Broadway. I should like a car, she thought, and imagined herself down there among all the others, manoeuvring among the trams.
A movement at the door, the secretary had returned, she was being asked to rejoin the committee. That was quick, she thought, glancing at her watch, and feared that they were going to turn her down.
But she was wrong. The job was hers. Her relief and delight were so strong she knew she was grinning like a fool but she simply couldn’t control her face. I’ve got it, she thought. I’m twenty-nine and I’m going to be a headmistress. I must be the youngest head they’ve ever appointed. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I hope I shall be worthy of the trust you are putting in me.’
‘I will send you a broom,’ Mr Gillard said and shook her hand warmly.
Oh, wait till I tell Ma and Pa.
‘Champagne!’ her father said. ‘We’ve got one bottle left and what better time to open it. Don’t you think so, Amy?’
‘I think it’s perfectly splendid,’ Amy said. ‘When do you start?’
‘In September,’ Octavia told her, ‘and I can’t wait either. Just think, Mama, I can have a place of my own, a nice little flat somewhere near the school.’ Oh, the possibilities were endless! ‘I shall have to go house-hunting.’
Her mother’s face fell markedly. ‘There’s no rush is there, my dear?’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want you to buy something that didn’t suit. You need to take your time over a house.’
‘Don’t worry, Mama,’ Octavia said, reassuring her. ‘I shan’t rush into anything. I’ve got plenty of time. September’s a long way off. I shall choose something really suitable, you’ll see.’
But Amy didn’t want her to choose anything. There was no necessity for it. She should stay at home with us and be looked after properly, not go rushing off on her own. ‘You might be married by then,’ she pointed out. ‘You never know. And then you’ll be setting up house with Tommy.’
That looked very unlikely now but Octavia decided not to argue about it. Mama was anxious and it was better to drop the subject – for the time being. She could stay at home for the first year and let her get used to the idea. ‘There’s plenty of time,’ she said. ‘And there are so many things to be done. I think I shall keep a journal, Pa, like you do.’
‘You shall have my spare one,’ he said, relieved to see that the difficult moment had passed, and went off at once to get it.
She began it that evening, in her best handwriting because only the best would do for such a document and feeling so inordinately proud of herself that she was afraid she was getting conceited. I must guard against conceit, she thought, as she dipped her pen in the inkwell. It wouldn’t do to get swollen-headed. So she began soberly.
‘February 1918. Today I have been appointed headmistress of a new secondary school for girls in Hammersmith. I truly believe I am setting out on my life’s work.’ But then her pride in this achievement reasserted itself and she went on, ‘I am sure it is going to be a great adventure. I cannot wait to see it. My own school!’
* * *
She visited her own school on the following Friday evening and, although she was loath to admit it, her first sight of it was not encouraging. She stood in the empty playground for quite a long time while s
he assessed it – dark brick, three forbidding storeys high, with a sternly separate floor for infants, girls and boys. The entrance marked ‘Girls’, which she’d been told led to her floor, was narrow and dark and not at all welcoming. She would have to do something about that come September – a bright notice board perhaps, with a red arrow to show her new pupils the way. Something eye-catching. Inside there was the usual flight of concrete stairs, which led to five more, which took her eventually to the top floor and the rooms she had been allotted.
There were eight of them, five surrounding a hall full of broken furniture and old exercise books, and three more along the corridor, one of which had obviously been a Cookery room. They were all half-tiled in the usual dark green and impossibly scruffy, the dark green paintwork peeling and the floorboards stained and covered in dust. Being positive she noted that they were well lit, with the usual long high windows, and plenty big enough for the sort of classes she was expecting. Spot of paint’ll work wonders, she thought. That and a good scrub down. At least there were plenty of cupboards. She checked them out one by one – broom cupboard, smelling of disinfectant and beeswax polish; PT cupboard heaped with hoops and ropes and with an antique horse pushed into the corner, much scuffed; three stock cupboards full of books, most of them as old and tattered as the horse. Oh dear, oh dear. Then she went to check the room that would be her study.
It was in the corner of the hall and it too was full of broken furniture, chairs with three legs, two broken easels and a cracked blackboard, two boxes full of tattered books and broken cups, even a pile of old coats. Where did they come from? It’ll take months just to clear it, she thought. But that’s where she would have to start because this room was where she would hold her interviews. I will write to the board and tell them what I want, she decided, and the sooner the better. She stood in the dust, took her notebook from her handbag and began there and then, determined not to be downhearted. ‘My study must be completely cleared and thoroughly cleaned. That is a priority, for this is where I shall be interviewing my staff. I shall need a good sized desk, several comfortable armchairs, similar to the ones in your waiting rooms, a large bookcase, a small tea table, curtains and a carpet.’ Then she went back home to write the letter and to compose the advertisements for the teachers.
By the end of the following week, to her public delight and private surprise, she had received five applications.
‘Isn’t that encouraging?’ she said to her parents at breakfast. With a constant flow of good news, breakfast was becoming the best meal of the day, despite the chill of the room and the poor quality of the bread.
‘I don’t mean to nag you, my dear,’ her mother said, ‘but have you told Tommy yet?’
In the excitement of planning her campaign, she’d forgotten all about him. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted. ‘But he wouldn’t be interested if I had. All he ever thinks about these days is the war.’
‘Isn’t that a letter from him?’ Amy asked, looking at the envelope beside her daughter’s plate.
‘Yes, it is,’ Octavia said and was ashamed to think that she’d set it to one side until she’d read the applications. Poor Tommy. ‘I’ve left it till last,’ she felt she should explain. ‘I’ll read it to you if you like. It’ll be all about how many men are sick and how atrocious the food is and how he hates the German spies and what a lot of fools the commanders are.’
In fact it held a surprise. ‘There’s a rumour we’re pulling out,’ he wrote. ‘If I’m any judge we shall be back in Flanders before Easter, ready for the next big push. Might even get a spot of leave. God knows I’ve earned it.’
‘Good heavens,’ Amy said. ‘Does he say when it will be?’
‘No,’ Octavia said, reading on, and felt ashamed again because she knew she was hoping it would be after she’d chosen her teachers. ‘Soon I should imagine.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ her mother said.
But Octavia was thinking of the car she meant to buy.
It was a little black Ford and she was totally enamoured of it from the moment she sat in the driving seat. It came with a book of instructions so it didn’t take her long to learn how to start it and put it into gear, speed it up and slow it down. Steering round corners made her arms ache until she got used to it but that was a small price to pay for the convenience of being able to drive to school exactly when she wanted to without standing in line for a tram. Her pupils were very impressed to have a car-driving teacher. ‘That’s never been known before, Miss Smith,’ they said, and came out into the playground in inquisitive groups to admire it.
‘The time will come,’ she predicted, ‘when all your teachers will drive cars. It will be as normal as riding on a tram.’
But for the moment, of course, it was unusual – but then so was being a headmistress designate at the age of twenty-nine. She decided to treat herself to some new clothes as well as the car. If she was going to interview staff and parents – for she’d be bound to be interviewing parents when the school was officially opened – she needed to look the part.
She was in Derry and Toms, trying on dresses, when Tommy came home on leave, two days earlier than she’d expected him.
‘Not to fret, Mrs Prof,’ he said to Amy. ‘I’ll just stick around here and wait for her, if it’s OK by you.’
Amy gave him her permission and made him a pot of tea but he had a long wait. It was over an hour before Octavia’s little black Ford drew up behind his big black Packard and then she was so hung about with hat boxes and huge carrier bags that he could hardly see her.
‘My stars, Tikki-Tavy!’ he said. ‘Have you bought the shop?’
She had bought rather a lot, she had to admit. A summer dress in white cotton with a stylish scarlet jacket with a long white shawl collar to match, a pale green linen suit and a brown felt hat, decorated all over the crown with the prettiest pale green leaves, gloves and silk stockings, a fine pair of button boots in tan leather with Louis heels, even a boater with a blue and red ribbon to match the scarlet jacket. But she had a bigger surprise for them than her new clothes. She grinned at her mother, took off her old hat and threw it into the nearest chair. Her long frizzy hair had been cut into a short frizzy bob.
‘Oh, Tavy!’ her mother said, ready to reprove.
But Tommy was speaking at the same time and his tone was all delight. ‘My stars, Tavy,’ he said. ‘You’re a corker, damn if you ain’t. What say we go to the pictures? See this Charlie Chaplin feller they’re all talking about. You look just the ticket for a night at the pictures.’
So they went to the pictures and the theatre and the music hall, wined and dined at expensive restaurants, none of which seemed to have heard of meatless days, and returned to his flat at frequent and delectable intervals. And for eight of his ten days they were ridiculously happy together. Like everyone else he too was hoping that this last big push that was being planned would actually drive the Germans back.
‘If we can do that once,’ he told her, as they were driving off to another picture palace, ‘it’ll be the beginning of the end. Break their morale. That’s what we need. Should have done it years ago. Break their morale and then back to Blighty. And about time too.’ Then, feeling he ought to compliment her on her appearance, ‘Is that one of your new dresses?’
‘Good heavens no,’ she said. ‘This is ever so old. You must have seen it dozens of times. I wore it in Paris.’
He pretended to remember. ‘Then when am I going to see the new ones?’ he asked.
‘Not for a long time,’ she said. ‘They’re my Sunday-go-to-meeting suits. I bought them to wear at my interviews.’
He was disappointed because he was sure they’d been bought to please him. ‘What interviews?’ he said.
She didn’t notice the tetchiness in his voice so she told him – exactly.
He was very cross. ‘Oh, come on, Tavy,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to be a headmistress now. That’s all over and done with. Once the war’s over I shall come h
ome and join the foreign office – it’s almost certain, did I tell you? You’ve no idea the strings I’ve been pulling – and then we can get married. We’ll have such a life together. I’ve got it all planned. We’ll choose a house for starters. Something rather grand, don’t you think? There are bound to be all sorts of parties – dinner parties, cocktail parties, diplomatic parties. I can just see you playing the hostess. You’ll be top hole. We shall be in our element.’
‘No,’ she said angrily. ‘You’ll be in your element. My element is a school.’
‘You don’t want to bother with that,’ he said, pursuing his own thoughts. ‘I shall earn good money. Very good money. You’ll never have to work again. We’ll have holidays in the south of France, run a Rolls Royce. Oh, we shall live in style, I can tell you. You don’t want to mess about being a headmistress. You can leave all that.’
‘I’m a headmistress already,’ she told him.
‘Then write and tell them you’ve changed your mind.’
‘It may have escaped your notice, Tommy, but it’s what I want to be.’
‘Not when the war’s over, surely to God. Once we’ve done with all this fighting, you can marry me and live the life of Reilly.’
It was too much. He wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. ‘Stop the car,’ she said. ‘I want to go home.’
He was genuinely surprised. ‘What do you mean, want to go home?’
‘Stop the car.’
He obeyed her, looking puzzled, and watched as she struggled to open the door and got out, very ungracefully. By that time he was cross.
‘I thought we were going to the pictures.’
‘Well, you thought wrong.’
‘Shall I ring you tomorrow?’
She was already walking to the tram stop. ‘Do as you please,’ she said. ‘Just don’t live my life for me.’
He didn’t ring until his last day and then it was to suggest that she might like to say goodbye at Victoria, ‘the way you used to’ and as he was going back to the fighting, and it would have been unkind to let him leave unkissed, she went.
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