Down an English Lane (8 page)

‘Those words still apply now when we stand on the threshold not of war but of peace…’

By the time Maisie left the church building, after chatting for a few minutes in the vestry with some of the other choir members, most of the congregation had dispersed. Luke was still at the door bidding farewell to his flock; it was his custom to stay until the last one had departed. She shook his hand and heard his sincere, ‘God bless you, Maisie, my dear.’ Then, as she turned away she caught a glimpse of Bruce with his parents and
Christine, standing near the gate talking to Miss Thomson.

She slowed her steps. She had been hoping not exactly to avoid him, but she did not want to come face to face with him. She had willed herself not to look at him there in the congregation, although she had noticed him when the choir had processed past the end of his row during the first hymn. To her relief, at that moment she also noticed Miss Foster, the headmistress of the school, and Anne Mellodey chatting to two other ladies. Anne lifted her hand in greeting as the two women said their goodbyes and moved away.

‘Hello there, Maisie. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you; you had disappeared last night when I was looking for you. I wanted to tell you how very much we enjoyed your song; well, we enjoyed all the concert, of course, didn’t we, Charity?’

‘Indeed we did.’ The headmistress nodded. ‘Your solo was delightful, my dear; and as for your Joanie, I felt so proud of her, and Jimmy too. It is so nice to watch a concert that one hasn’t produced oneself, isn’t it, Anne?’

‘So it is,’ replied Anne Mellodey. ‘Yes, we were very glad to be members of the audience last night and not to be taking part in any way… How are you, Maisie? I haven’t seen you for quite a while, not to talk to at any rate. You are looking well, and I can see you have been enjoying the sunshine.’

‘Yes, I’m…very well, thanks.’ Maisie was relieved
that the tears she had shed the previous night had not done too much damage to her face. She had bathed her red eyes in cold water and had been determined to smile and put on a happy face. It seemed as though her efforts had been successful. ‘And I’ve been enjoying this lovely weather, as you say.’ Her face and arms and her bare legs had turned a pleasing shade of brown. ‘So have all of us. I managed to persuade Mum that she needed a holiday, and she actually agreed to leave the shop – Mrs Jenner looked after it for a few days – while we went off to Scarborough, me and Mum and the kids.’

‘Very nice too.’ Anne smiled. ‘Miss Foster and I spent a few days in the Lake District, didn’t we, Charity? It was lovely and peaceful in Grasmere… Your mother is keeping well, is she, Maisie? I haven’t seen her just lately.’

‘Yes, very well indeed…’ Maisie stopped short, deciding not to say that her mother’s friend, Arthur Rawcliffe, was due home very soon. Anne’s fiancé had been killed in the second year of the war, during the Battle of Britain, and since then she had spent most of her time, both in school and out of it, in the company of her friend and colleague, Miss Charity Foster. Not a very exciting sort of life, Maisie often thought, for such an attractive and personable young woman. Anne, she guessed, was still only in her late twenties.

‘Maisie, come and have tea with us this
afternoon,’ said Miss Foster suddenly. ‘Then we can all have a good chat together. That’s a good idea, isn’t it, Anne?’ Her friend eagerly nodded her agreement.

‘Unless…unless you are seeing some of your other young friends, of course? Audrey or Doris or…anyone else?’

‘No…no, I’m not.’ Maisie shook her head decidedly. ‘Thank you very much; I would love to come for tea. What time shall I come?’

‘Oh, mid-afternoon, about three o’clock, shall we say? We will look forward to seeing you. Now, Anne and I had better hurry back or else our shoulder of lamb will be burned to a cinder.’

‘And I’d better go and give my mum a hand with the vegetables,’ said Maisie. Sunday dinner was a ritual in most Yorkshire homes.

She walked with them to the church gate, and then the two teachers crossed the green to the schoolhouse on the other side, whilst Maisie made her way to the draper’s shop halfway down the High Street.

‘Miss Foster and Anne have invited me to tea this afternoon,’ she told her mother as they ate their Yorkshire pudding, served in the customary Yorkshire way as a separate course before the main meal, with lashings of gravy. ‘That’s OK with you, is it, Mum?’

‘Of course it is,’ replied Lily. ‘It’ll be a change for you. You’ve always had a soft spot for Anne Mellodey, haven’t you, love? Such a nice young woman… I hope she’s not going to be left on the shelf and turn into an old spinster like Miss Foster. Such a pity her fiancé being killed, and she’s never met anyone else, has she?’

‘There’s not been much chance of that, has there, Mum, with all the men away at the war?’

‘No, I suppose not…’

‘And, do you know, I never really think of Miss Foster as an old spinster – not like Miss Thomson is, I mean. She’s always seemed so lively, especially for a headmistress, and not a bit old-fashioned and stuffy.’

‘Too old to be a bosom pal of Anne Mellodey though. That young woman wants to get herself out of a rut before it’s too late… Anyroad, I suppose it’s none of our business, is it?’ Lily smiled at her daughter. ‘I’m glad to see you’re looking more cheerful today. Got over it, have you?’ She did not wait, however, for Maisie to answer. ‘I thought you would. There’s plenty more fish in the sea, remember that, love, when the time comes… Mind you, you’ve got to be careful where you cast your net. You don’t want to make a silly mistake like I did, but I reckon you’ve got too much common sense for that… By the way, I’m expecting Arthur to call this afternoon. He should be back in Middlebeck by now, all being well.’

Maisie knew that the imminent return of Arthur Rawcliffe, due to be demobbed from his three years in the Army Catering Corps, was the reason for her mother’s cheerfulness and her bright eyes and pink cheeks. Nor did she begrudge her mother this happiness. Arthur was a decent fellow, and she knew that Lily would never again make such a disastrous mistake as she had done when she married Sidney Bragg.

‘Very nice, Mum,’ she replied. ‘Now I know why there’s such a gleam in your eye.’

‘Oh, give over! Don’t be silly,’ scoffed Lily.

‘Will he be staying here?’ Maisie asked innocently, although she knew what the answer would be.

‘Of course not! Whatever are you thinking of, Maisie?’

‘He could have my room, and I could sleep on the settee. I don’t mind, honestly.’

‘No, it’s quite out of the question. He’ll be staying with his sister at the other end of town until… Well, we’ll have to see how things work out, won’t we?’ Lily stood up, looking red-cheeked and flustered. ‘Now, let’s get these dishes cleared away, Maisie. You’ve finished your puddings, have you, Joanie and Jimmy?’ A needless question, as it looked as though the children’s plates had been licked clean. ‘Right then; we’ll go and see to the roast beef…’

Chapter Five

A
nne Mellodey had been living at the schoolhouse with Charity Foster for six years. She had joined the staff at Middlebeck school as one of the two teachers who had been sent – or, rather, had volunteered – to take charge of the evacuees from Armley. Her colleague, Dorothy Cousins, had returned home to Leeds after the first Christmas of the war, because the majority of the children had gone back. The anticipated air raids had not taken place, parents were missing their children, and vice versa. It was in 1940 that the air raids had started with a vengeance, and many parents had had cause to regret their decision.

But Anne had stayed, and now, after living in the little town of Middlebeck for so long, she had no desire to live or to teach elsewhere. She doubted, though, at times, the wisdom of remaining at the schoolhouse. Miss Foster had offered her a home in
the first place, anxious to play her part in the evacuation scheme, and it had seemed more appropriate to have a fellow teacher staying with her rather than one of the pupils. The two of them had soon become firm friends as well as colleagues, in spite of the age difference. Anne had known, deep down, that she really should think about finding somewhere else to live. After all, Miss Foster would not go on teaching for ever; she had been almost sixty years of age when the war had started. But the older woman had seemed glad of her company, Anne was contented, and so the years had drifted by…

And then Charity had dropped the bombshell which, in her heart of hearts, Anne had been long expecting. They had settled down at the fireside after returning from the Victory concert in the church hall, with their drink of cocoa, which had become something of a late-night ritual. They had talked about how much they had enjoyed their evening out; how rewarding it was to see some of their old pupils, and present ones as well, singing and dancing and acting on the stage, knowing that they, as teachers, had been partially responsible for nurturing the talents that the children displayed. And then Charity had told her…

‘Anne…’ she said. ‘I have some news for you, my dear. I hope it won’t come as too much of a shock, but…’ Charity’s brown eyes, so warm and yet so shrewd, looked earnestly into her own; and Anne
knew at once what the news must be.

‘You have decided to retire,’ said Anne. ‘Is that it?’ She smiled questioningly at her friend.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Charity. ‘I really feel that the time has come. I’m sixty-six years old now, and I think it’s time to call it a day.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m like an old war horse, aren’t I? And that was the reason I’ve kept on, of course. I wanted to stay till the war ended. And now…well, it’s time to let go and make room for someone younger, someone with new ideas…’

Anne could not think of her as an old war horse. She had the stamina and the strength and vigour, but Charity did not seem old. She looked very little different from the time Anne had first met her six years ago; a small woman, only five foot or so in height, with her mass of silver-grey hair drawn into a bun at the nape of her neck. She was slightly plumper now, maybe, and a few lines had appeared at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but she was still full of fun and vitality.

‘Yes… I see,’ said Anne. ‘I can’t honestly say that I’m surprised. I knew, at the back of my mind, that this would happen. But it’s still a shock; the thought of you not being there at the helm. Nor here, living in this house… The house goes with the job, doesn’t it? I mean…’

‘Yes, and that is why I am telling you, my dear, because this will affect you as well. I admit I’ve been rather selfish. I should have encouraged you to look
for a place of your own; I knew I couldn’t stay here for ever. But I enjoyed your company so much, and we get on so well together.’

‘And I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway,’ Anne told her. ‘I’ve been very happy here. And after…after Bill was killed I was so glad of your friendship and comfort. This was like a safe haven to me; that’s the reason I’ve never looked anywhere else. But what about you, Charity? Have you thought about where you will live?’

‘I have given it some thought, yes… I want to stay in Middlebeck of course. All my friends are here. I’ve lived here for twenty-six years, incredible though it seems, and I certainly wouldn’t want to return to Sheffield. But it would not be fair to the school – to the children and teachers and to whoever takes over my job – to live too near… There are some little bungalows between here and Lowerbeck; a newish estate, built just before the war started. Do you know where I mean?’

Anne nodded. ‘Yes, there’s a duck pond there, and a nice little park.’

‘Yes, that’s right; it looks an ideal spot to retire to. And there are one or two of them for sale at the moment.’

‘It’s a couple of miles or more, though, from Middlebeck,’ said Anne. ‘And there are no shops near, are there? And the bus probably only runs once a day… Sorry, Charity. That’s dreadful of me, being so negative, but I was just thinking that it
might be rather lonely for you, moving away from your friends.’

‘Ah, well now… I have another idea, you see. What I intend to do is to buy a little motor car; one of those nice little Austins, maybe. I’m hoping the petrol regulations will be relaxed soon, and, to be honest, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.’

‘But you can’t drive, can you?’

‘I can soon learn!’ Charity sounded brimful of confidence. ‘But finding somewhere to live, of course, is the most important thing. As a matter of fact, I’ve put in an offer with the estate agent, Leadbetter’s on the High Street, for one of the bungalows. So…as soon as we go back to school next week I shall send in my notice to the Education Office and… Bob’s your uncle, as they say!’

Anne stared at her in some amazement. She was certainly not letting the grass grow beneath her feet. New house, new car, plans for a new life; and she, Anne, had known nothing about it.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Charity. ‘I realise it has been something of a bolt from the blue. And here I am going on about my plans, and I know you must be thinking, What about me? But I haven’t forgotten about you, Anne, please don’t think that. There is something else I want to say…’ She paused and leaned forward in her chair, looking intently at Anne and half smiling. ‘How would you feel about applying for my post, for the headship of Middlebeck school?’

Anne gave a gasp of astonishment. ‘What, me? Oh no… I couldn’t possibly. For one thing, I’m far too young to be considered, surely. And…well, I’m a newcomer, aren’t I?’

‘After six years I don’t think you could be considered a newcomer, my dear. And as for being too young, it isn’t always age and experience that interviewing panels go for. They sometimes want someone with a fresh outlook and new ideas. Anyway, you’ve had ten years’ teaching experience, haven’t you? You are by no means wet behind the ears.’

‘But…what about Shirley?’ She was the third member of the teaching staff. ‘Shouldn’t she be considered? She has been here longer than I have.’

‘No…’ Miss Foster shook her head. ‘I am quite certain that Shirley would not want any more responsibility. She is a married woman, and now that Alan has been demobbed I should imagine they will be wanting to start a family; that is what she has hinted to me.’

Anne felt a pang of not exactly jealousy or bitterness but more a quiet sorrow. It was more than five years since Bill, her fiancé, a young pilot who had only a few months previously been awarded his wings, had been shot down and killed. The anguish she had felt for a long time afterwards had subsided to a dull ache, but she knew she would never forget him. She realised, however, that she would not be unwilling to enjoy male
companionship again, even something deeper, maybe; but she had not actively sought it, nor had any come her way over the past years. How did Charity Foster regard her, Anne wondered? Did she think of her as a war ‘widow’ as Charity herself had been? The headmistress had told her, soon after they had met, how her own fiancé, Jack, had been killed in the First World War. Charity had been older than Anne was, in her late thirties, and she and Jack had waited several years to be married, as couples did in those days. But it was not to be; and Charity, resigned to her spinsterhood, had accepted the position of headmistress at Middlebeck school. She had remained at her post for twenty-six years. Anne gave an inward shudder. She was not sure that that was what she wanted for herself.

‘You have gone very quiet,’ said Charity. ‘I’ve shocked you into silence, have I?’

Anne smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose you have. I will have to give it some thought… When would you be leaving?’

‘At Christmas; that is giving them a full term’s notice. The post will be advertised – nationally, I dare say – within the next couple of weeks.’

‘And there are sure to be lots of applicants?’

‘I should imagine so, although one can never tell. Not everyone wants to bury themselves in a little backwater in the Yorkshire Dales. I know we don’t see it like that. It is home to us, but I know that is how a lot of folk regard it, especially those from the
big towns and cities. A shortlist will be drawn up, and then…well, it will be up to the interviewing body to choose the best applicant; or the one they consider to be the best applicant.’

‘And…who would be on the panel?’ asked Anne.

‘Well, the rector, of course. The school was once in the control of the Church, you know. It is aided now by the Education Authority, but the rector still has quite a lot of say. And I think they would invite me along as a matter of courtesy. The others, I should imagine, will be members of the North Riding Education Committee.’

‘I wouldn’t stand a chance,’ said Anne.

‘Now, now – that’s defeatist talk,’ retorted Charity, ‘and you know what Queen Victoria said about that, don’t you?’ The words of the old queen, to her generals at the time of the Boer War, had been widely quoted during the early days of the recent conflict, when it had seemed, for a time, that Britain might be facing invasion and defeat.

‘Yes, I know what she said,’ smiled Anne. ‘“We are not interested in the possibility of defeat; it does not exist.” It was over a rather more grave issue though, wasn’t it… At the moment I am not at all sure about whether I want to apply. It would be a big decision. I need time to think about it.’

‘Of course you do. I have rather sprung it upon you, haven’t I? But having made my own decision and set the wheels in motion, I thought it was only fair that you should know.’

‘And…is it to be kept a secret, about your retirement?’

‘No; I don’t see any need for that.’ Charity laughed. ‘You know what the bush telegraph is like here, and once the natives get wind of it, it will spread like wildfire.’

‘I will give it serious thought,’ said Anne. ‘But in the meantime I will need to be looking around for somewhere else to live. I can’t count my chickens, can I? That is, if I do decide to give it a go…’

The best plan, she thought, would be to find somewhere to rent. Like Charity, she had been careful with her money and had saved quite a tidy sum; enough, maybe, to at least put a deposit on a small property. But it would be best not to burn her bridges, she decided, just in case she was granted the tenancy of the schoolhouse. She had already decided, albeit unconsciously, that she would apply for the post.

Anne had had a fondness for Maisie Jackson ever since the day she had first met her on the train bound for Middlebeck; and she knew that the feeling was mutual. She had noticed her at the school in Armley, of course, in the playground or corridors, but as she had not been in Anne’s class they had not become acquainted.

What Anne had been most impressed by on the day of the evacuation had been the little girl’s
bravery and determination to be cheerful. She must have been feeling confused and apprehensive, as all the children were – and the grown-ups, too – at leaving behind their homes and families. Although Anne had discovered, later, that for Maisie it had been more of a fortunate escape from her dreadful home circumstances. But the child had hidden her own feelings and had taken it upon herself to look after Audrey Dennison – now Audrey Fairchild – who had been most unhappy at leaving her home and loved ones behind. Chalk and cheese they had been, those two little girls; Maisie shabbily dressed in her too-short gabardine raincoat, pixie hood and scuffed shoes, and Audrey, looking as though she was going to a party, in her best coat and patent leather ankle-straps, rather than on an evacuation train to goodness knows where. Because the children, at least, had not known where they were bound until the teachers had told them, when they were nearing their destination. For security reasons, it was said; there had been so much red tape in those early days of the war.