A Time for Courage (16 page)

‘What’s he sorting out, for heaven’s sake?’ she asked, passing a ruler to Marjorie, who sat behind and wanted to draw up her margins.

‘Oh, you know, his training for this romantic mining of his.’

Esther nodded as Mary Miller asked if she was warm enough. ‘Thank you yes, Mary, dear, and there’s no need to look like that, the swiftest wins the prize.’ She swung back to Hannah.

‘Well, where is he going?’ Hannah asked, desperately wanting to know because she had not been able to bring herself to speak to Harry before he had left for school.

‘Oh to the London School of Mines. It was a choice of that or Camborne but I pointed out to dear Papa that it would be so much easier all round if it was London, and surely London has that certain flair that perhaps Cornwall has not?’

Hannah sat back. ‘Why on earth should you involve yourself in it at all?’

She felt Marjorie prod her and reached over her shoulder for her ruler as Esther put her pencils on her desk.

‘Well, darling. If that lovely brother of yours is in London, then I shall see rather more of him. I know you love to disappear to the wilderness of the Cornish peninsula, but I don’t and anyway, it’s all far too far.’

Hannah was laughing now. ‘Are you really serious? He’s just a schoolboy. You know, like us.’

Esther grinned. ‘Hardly like us, dear.’

Hannah blushed, knowing to what extent that was true. Did Esther know, really know? She wondered and doubted it. The school bell was ringing for the start of assembly and she took the hymn book from her desk. It was covered with green cardboard, but for a moment she could taste red leather. Rising with the others, she caught hold of Esther.

‘But you’ll be studying too hard for your Cambridge entrance. It needs hours of extra tuition,’ she whispered.

‘Certainly not. Somehow I will have to make the time and it’s up to you to help me.’

They filed into the hall. Miss Dobson was already playing the opening bars to
Oh God Our Help In Ages Past
and Hannah wondered who it was that he had helped.

Luncheon in Miss Fletcher’s study was served by one of the maids on trays covered with white linen embroidered with pink thread.

‘A Christmas present from one of the leaving girls,’ Miss Fletcher commented, smiling at Hannah. ‘Just put Miss Hannah’s on the other side of the desk, please, Beatrice,’ she instructed, and unfolded her serviette, spreading it out on her lap while she waited for the maid to leave the room.

‘Come along, Hannah.’ Miss Fletcher pointed to the plate of roast pork and vegetables. ‘Eat up, for goodness sake, we have much to discuss and a full stomach is better than an empty one, so the sooner we have dispatched the pork, the sooner the talking can begin.’

As they ate, little was said. The fire was burning in the grate, the blue and white tiles of the surround glinting in its light. Miss Fletcher’s liver-and-white spaniel was now lolling in front of the fire on the small faded Turkish rug which toned in with the muted red of the Indian carpet. Two of the first-years had earlier taken it for a walk and the damp canine odour was heavy.

It was odd to be here, like this, but not uncomfortable somehow. She did not feel tension snapping at her back as she did when she ate with her father, but merely a companionable presence.

What was Esther thinking, she wondered. Her face had clouded when Hannah had explained that she had to speak to Miss Fletcher and would therefore miss lunch. Esther needed her, she knew that. She had few friends besides Hannah, perhaps because she was too quick to take and slow to give, but that was not because she was mean, Hannah had explained to Marjorie and Mary Miller last term. It was because her mind went from one thing to another so quickly that without meaning to she upset people sometimes. You become used to it, she had added, and Marjorie had tossed her head. You might have to because she’s your cousin but I don’t. Hannah had shaken her head. She’s only my cousin once removed which is different. I don’t have to like her, Marjorie, I just do. I’ve grown up with her and she’s like my sister.

The pork was tender and it was hard to leave some as she had been schooled to do. She placed her knife and fork together, wiping her lips with her serviette, leaving it crumpled on the tray as proof that it had been used and would require washing.

Bookshelves set behind glass lined the wall opposite the window. Hannah could see that Shakespeare was amongst the leather-bound volumes. Further from her, near the fire, were H. G. Wells and Oscar Wilde. Her father would not permit Wilde’s books to be discussed or read, and Hannah wondered why.

Miss Fletcher folded her napkin carefully and smiled at Hannah.

‘I shall use mine again this evening. The maids have more than enough to do without extra work created by me.’

Hannah smiled in reply but wondered why the maids’ workload had never occurred to her. They had always just been there.

Miss Fletcher rose and picked up her tray, and Hannah was quick to copy. She followed her over to the side table which stood near the window through which she saw that the fog had thickened, heavy, yellow and stinking.

‘Just put it down next to mine. Beatrice can collect it when we’ve finished our discussion.’ Miss Fletcher swept back to her chair, her straight skirt devoid of the statutory black bustle. Hannah watched as she drew a set of papers from the side of the desk and sorted them into three piles. She sat down in the seat opposite her Headmistress.

‘Now, Hannah. The first request was to accept you as my pupil teacher.’ Miss Fletcher patted the sheets of paper as she spoke. ‘Though it is unfortunate that we should have to be holding this particular discussion, it is none the less a remarkable coincidence that you should be having to plan your career at this time.’ Miss Fletcher sat back, her arms lying along the arms of her chair, her hands quite still. ‘You may or may not know that there is a movement afoot to reform the way the education of the country is run. Last year the Board of Education was set up as the first step towards regulating the present system which is failing to produce sufficient numbers of adequately educated young people. As a result a new Education Bill has been formulated whereby secondary education is to be substantially improved, as is the elementary stage.’

Hannah frowned. ‘Does this mean the government is beginning to care?’ She thought of her father and the Vicar and how they despised the poor.

Miss Fletcher laughed. ‘Certainly not. We have an Empire and an industrial revolution to maintain, a position of superiority to preserve in the world, and we cannot do so unless we have more people capable of working in it. It is expediency, that is all.’ She paused. ‘And it’s clearly keeping a few people awake at night. After all, what might an educated “mass” lead to?’ She laughed. ‘So there is certainly a hot debate going on in Parliament but, none the less, the Bill will be carried. The local authorities will be given responsibility for secondary and technical education and money from the rates will be made available for improvements.’

‘Does this mean public schools will go?’ Hannah asked, thinking of Harry.

Miss Fletcher lifted her hands in mock horror. ‘Good God,’ and Hannah was startled by this profanity. ‘Those bastions will be here until the end of time. They are the breeding ground for our leaders, my dear. It is there that Empire, Christianity and cricket are taught. It is there that the status quo is elevated to a religion, but I digress.’

Miss Fletcher broke off and looked into the fire, her face thoughtful, her fingers tapping on the desk. ‘It’s the development of the individual that I subscribe to, and perhaps this will be spread with this new system. There must be so much ability which never gets aired, and that is sacrilege. I shall be taking scholarship pupils, mixing them up with my girls. It will be exciting. Britain needs people who can think for themselves, break the mould of tradition.’

Hannah nodded, excited now. ‘Yes, advancement should be on merit, shouldn’t it, not privilege. We should unlock minds: teach, not instruct. We should make children explore, not just repeat and learn. That way they will question, that way rules will change.’ She was leaning forward now, talking quickly, her hands shaping her thoughts and Miss Fletcher watched her carefully.

‘Bravo, spoken like a true teacher.’ Miss Fletcher laughed but reached for the oil lamp which stood at the corner of the desk. ‘It really is too gloomy to be borne. I think a little light would be a good idea.’

The glass globe was tinged with green and Miss Fletcher moved to the fire and took a taper from the mantelshelf, shielding the flame that she lit from the glowing coals as she walked slowly back. The wick flared until she lowered it and placed the glass globe back in place. There was a smell of oil now, as there was in her mother’s bedroom in the evenings when they sat together and Hannah prayed that this baby would not destroy the woman whom she was beginning to know.

Miss Fletcher was speaking again. ‘Now, where were we? Oh yes. This new system will call for more qualified teachers and that is where you will benefit.’ She leant forward and picked up one of the sheets of paper, tapping it with her finger. ‘Pupil teachers have had to learn how to teach whilst actually in charge of a class. There have been attempts to give them some instruction at schools designed for that purpose but it has been totally inadequate and, since most of these pupil teachers start at thirteen following an elementary education limited to the three R’s, there has been a great problem. This new scheme will be improving on this deplorable state of affairs. Already facilities have been established for training teachers and this includes London. Now,’ and here she sat back, placing her hands on the desk, ‘I suggest that, as you have requested, I take you on as a pupil teacher, pay you accordingly, say ten shillings a week, and in the afternoons you attend college to become a qualified teacher.’

Hannah watched as Miss Fletcher passed her the piece of paper she had been holding. It seemed that her hand was slow to take it but somehow it was there, and she was reading the list of subjects she would have to study, the times she would have to attend, and the classes she would have to take at this, her own school, and knew that this was what she wanted; to teach and to be taught. What had been snatched from her by her father she was now taking back; or was it being given by this woman? She didn’t know but either way it was happening. Before she could show her gratitude Miss Fletcher moved on to the second pile of papers.

‘The St John’s group give regular lectures, as I suspect you already know, since you have clearly done some investigating?’ Miss Fletcher looked over the sheet of paper at Hannah who nodded. ‘None the less it does no harm to reiterate the facts in case you have not fully understood. Hand in hand with the lectures go demonstrations on first aid, hygiene and so on. At the end of the year you receive a certificate if you pass. This means that you can then go on to show others, or before that, if you felt confident. I certainly have knowledge of the local leader and have already written to her, saying that you will be visiting her shortly. I suggest straight after school one afternoon; you may leave a little early. You will, of course, write beforehand to Mrs Glover at this address.’ She was smiling as she pointed to the paper before looking up. ‘I, of course, am available to help with other queries about health and well-being that the admirable St John’s group might not feel equipped to deal with – like the prevention of children.’

Hannah took the second sheet of paper that Miss Fletcher handed her. Could it all really be this easy? But of course not, for she still had to gain permission from her father. She pushed that thought to the back of her head, because somehow she would make it happen. The fire was dying down now and Hannah rose, putting new coals on, watching as the red was hidden by the black. The tongs slid down when she tried to rest them against the fireplace but she caught and lodged them in between the wooden surround and the tiles. The dog lifted her head as she bent over her and she stroked her soft smooth coat before she walked back. Then she looked at Miss Fletcher and spoke.

‘Thank you. I can’t say how much this means to me.’

Miss Fletcher shrugged and shook her head, her smile quick but warm. ‘Not at all. You should really be given the chance of a university education as I was, but perhaps this vocational training might suit you better. I have a feeling that you will always need a commitment, a cause, my dear.’ Her voice died away and they both sat there, closed off in this study by the fog, by the crackling fire and the heavy oak door.

As Hannah eventually stirred, Miss Fletcher looked at her watch on the table.

‘We are running out of time, my dear, but before you return to your classroom there is your last problem. How to become a person, not a piece of property.’ Her sigh was long and her face looked tired suddenly, and dispirited. Hannah watched as Miss Fletcher rose from her chair and walked to the window. She stood with her hands loosely clasped before her, her face close to the glass, her breath misting the pane, but she did not seem to notice. Eventually she turned. She did not move back to the desk but stood against the curtain, which was dull green against her grey, like a person preparing to do battle. Her voice when she spoke was taut.

‘Women are still property. It is not a state peculiar to you, Hannah, but to all females.’ She was smiling but her eyes were distracted.

Hannah protested. ‘But not to you, Miss Fletcher. After all, you are independent. You own this school, you have your own income.’ She flushed. ‘I’m sorry, one should not discuss money but …’

Miss Fletcher laughed, throwing back her head so that her hair caught on the curtain. She pulled her head away and smoothed down the strands which had been pulled from her bun. Far away there was the sound of a fog horn on the river.

‘Nonsense, there is very little that one should not discuss if one is trying to get to the seat of a problem. Yes, I have money left to me by my parents.’ Miss Fletcher moved now, not back to her seat behind the desk but to the dark maroon carpet chair with its varnished wooden frame. She pointed to a similar one in the far corner of the room, by the door beneath a picture of a country cottage.