(2/20) Village Diary
Read (2/20) Village Diary Online
Authors: Miss Read
Tags: #Fiction, #England, #Country life, #Country Life - England, #Fairacre (England : Imaginary Place)
| Village Diary | |
| Fairacre [2] | |
| Miss Read | |
| Houghton Mifflin (1957) | |
| Rating: | ★★★★☆ |
| Tags: | Fiction, England, Country Life, Fairacre (England : Imaginary Place), Country Life - England Fictionttt Englandttt Country Lifettt Fairacre (England : Imaginary Place)ttt Country Life - Englandttt |
Product Description
The enchanting follow-up to Village School, Miss Read's beloved first novel, Village Diary once again transports us to the picturesque English village of Fairacre. Each chapter describes a month in the life of the village school’s headmistress, Miss Read. As the villagers prepare for their country pageant, Fairacre welcomes many newcomers, such as the headstrong Amy, Mr. Mawne (whom the villagers would like to see the reluctant Miss Read marry), and the earnest new infants' teacher, Miss Jackson.
About the Author
Miss Read is the pseudonym of Mrs. Dora Saint, a former schoolteacher beloved for her novels of English rural life, especially those set in the fictional villages of Thrush Green and Fairacre. The first of these, Village School, was published in 1955, and Miss Read continued to write until her retirement in 1996. In the 1998, she was awarded an MBE, or Member of the Order of the British Empire, for her services to literature. She lives in Berkshire.
Village Diary
Miss Read
Table of Contents
Illustrated by J. S. Goodall
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston • New York
First Houghton Mifflin paperback edition 2007
Copyright © 1957 by Dora Jessie Saint
Copyright © renewed 1985 by Miss Read
All rights reserved
For information about permission to reproduce selections
from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Company,
215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
Visit our Web site:
www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Read, Miss.
Village diary / Miss Read ; illustrated by J.S. Goodall.—
1st Houghton Mifflin paperback ed.
p. cm.
ISBN
-13: 978-0-618-88415-5
ISBN
-10: 0-618-88415-7
1. Fairacre (England : Imaginary place)—Fiction. 2. Country life
—England—Fiction. 3.Villages—England—Fiction. I. Title.
PR
6069.
A
42
V
54 2007
823'.914—dc22 2006103462
Printed in the United States of America
MP
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Jill
the first reader
CONTENTS
January
[>]
February
[>]
March
[>]
April
[>]
May
[>]
June
[>]
July
[>]
August
[>]
September
[>]
October
[>]
November
[>]
December
[>]
JANUARY
A
S
I have been given a large and magnificent diary for Christmas—seven by ten and nearly two inches thick—I intend to fill it in as long as my ardour lasts. Further than that I will not go. There are quite enough jobs that a schoolmistress just
must
do without making this one a burden.
Unfortunately, the thing is so colossal that I shan't be able to carry it with me, as the adorable Miss Gwendolen Fairfax did hers, so that she 'always had something sensational to read in the train.'
It was a most surprising present for Amy to have given me. When we first taught together in London, many years ago, we exchanged two hankies each, I remember; and since she cropped up again in my life a year or so ago, it has been bath salts on her side ('To make you realize, dear, that even if you are a school teacher there is no need to let yourself go completely') and two-hankies-as-before on mine.
When Amy handed me this present she remarked earnestly, 'Try to use it, dear. Self-Expression is such a wonderful thing, and so vital for a woman whose life is—well, not exactly abnormal, but restricted!' This smacked of Amy's latest psychiatrist to me, but after the first reaction of speechless fury, I agreed civilly and have had over a week savouring this
bon mot
with increasing joy.
Mrs Pringle, the school cleaner, told me yesterday that Miss Parr's old house at the end of the village has now been turned into three flats. The workmen have been there now for months; they arrived soon after her death, but I hadn't realized that that was what they were doing. A nephew of Miss Parr's now owns it, and has the ground floor. A retired couple from Caxley evidently move into the top floor this week, and a widower, I understand, has the middle flat.
'A very nice man too,' Mrs Pringle boomed menacingly at me. 'Been a schoolmaster at a real posh school where the boys have to pay fees and get the cane for nothing. Not in his prime, of course, but as Mrs Willet said to me at choir practice, there's many would jump at him.' Mrs Pringle eyed me speculatively, and I can see that the village is already visualizing a decorous wooing, culminating in a quiet wedding at Fairacre Church, with my pupils forming a guard of honour from the south door, with the aged couple hobbling down the path between them.
I said that I hoped that now that the poor man had retired, he would be allowed to rest in peace, and went out to clean the car. This is my latest and most extravagant acquisition—a small second-hand Austin, in which I hope to be able to have wonderful touring holidays, as well as driving to Caxley on any day of the week, instead of relying on the local bus on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays as heretofore. So far I have not been out on my own as I am still having lessons from an imperturbable instructor in Caxley, who thrives on clashing gears, stalling engines and a beginner's unfortunate confusion of brake and accelerator. Miss Clare, that noble woman, who taught the infants at Fairacre for many years, says that she will come out with me 'at
any
time, dear, whether you feel confident or not. I am quite sure that you can master anything.' Am touched, but also alarmed, at such faith in my powers, and can only hope that she never meets my driving instructor.
Miss Clare spent the evening with me recently and our conversation turned, as it so often does, to life in Fairacre in the early years of this century, when Miss Clare was a young and inexperienced pupil-teacher at this village school. I love to hear her reminiscing, for she has a tolerant and dispassionate outlook on life, born of inner wisdom and years of close contact with the people here. For Miss Clare, 'To know is to forgive,' and I have never yet heard of her acting in anger or in fear, or meting out to a child any punishment that was hastily or maliciously devised.
Her attitude to those who were in authority over her is as wide and kindly as it always was to the small charges that she taught for forty years.
We were talking of Miss Parr, who had died recently. She had been a manager of Fairacre School since the reign of King Edward the Seventh, and was a stickler for etiquette. It appears that one day she met Mrs Willet, now our caretaker's wife, but then a child of six, in the lane, and was shocked to find the little girl omitted to curtsy to her. At once she took the child to its mother, and demanded instant punishment.
'But surely—' I began to protest. Miss Clare looked calmly at me.
'My dear,' she said gently, 'it was quite understandable. It was customary then for our children to curtsy to the gentry, and Miss Parr was doing her duty, as she understood it, by correcting the child. No one then questioned her action. "Other days, other ways" you know. It's only that now, sometimes, looking back—I wonder——' She put down a green pullover she was knitting and stared meditatively at the fire.
'When you say that no one questioned the actions of his superiors, do you mean that they were automatically considered right or that verbal protestations were never made, or what?' I asked her.
'We recognized injustice, dear,' answered Miss Clare equably, 'as clearly as you do. But we bore more in silence, for we had so much more to lose by rebellion. Jobs were hard to come by, in those days, and no work meant no food. It was as simple as that.
'A sharp retort might mean instant dismissal, and perhaps no reference, which might mean months, or even years, without a suitable post. No wonder that my poor mother's favourite maxim was "Civility costs nothing." She knew, only too well, that civility meant more than that to people like us. It was a vital necessity to a wage-earner when we were young.'
'Was she ever bitter?'
'I don't think so. She was a happy, even-tempered woman, and believed that if we did our best in that station of life to which we had been called, then we should do well. After all, we all knew our place then. It made for security. And here, in Fairacre, the gentry on the whole were kindly and generous to those they employed. You might call it a benevolent despotism, my dear—and, you know, there are far worse forms of government than that!'
Miss Clare's eyes twinkled as she resumed her work and the room was filled again with the measured clicking of her knitting needles.
Tuesday was a beast of a day; foggy and cold, with the elm trees dripping into the playground. Two workmen arrived from Caxley to see to the school skylight over my desk: it must be the tenth time, at least, that it has received attention since I came here just over six years ago. Usually, it is Mr Rogers, from the forge, who has the job of clambering over the roof, but the managers decided to try the Caxley firm this time, hoping, I imagine, that it might be better done by them. The village, of course, is up in arms at this invasion of foreigners, and Mr Rogers wears a martyred expression when he stands at the door of his smithy. I am confident that he will soon be in a position to smile again, as the skylight has defied all comers for seventy-odd years—so the school log-books say—and I doubt whether any workmen, even if hailing from the great Caxley itself, will vanquish it.