Forbidden Lessons (2 page)

She saw Teresa Hubert simpering with her friends across the room, and also realised how good looking he was.

"I’m Mr Rydell," he told them. "I’m from Surrey, I read Modern Languages at Cambridge, I’ve previously taught at schools in Hertfordshire and Northamptonshire, and my goal is introduce you to German in a way that inspires at least some of you to love the language and its literature as I do."

Concise, factual, straight to the point. Their initial unasked questions all answered. Everyone always wanted to know where a teacher was from and where they had been, in part so they could assess how soft a touch lay before them. "This is my first job" or "I’m new to teaching" were fatal.

"German is more challenging in certain ways than French or Spanish, but also highly rewarding. If you put the effort in, you’ll very quickly be able to use basic German on holiday, or to talk with German visitors," he continued. "Hands up who’s done Latin?"
 

Around half the hands went up, including Laura’s. Latin was compulsory at Francis Hall for the top set and was the bane of their lives. Mr Rydell’s eyes went around the room. When they met hers - it was only for a moment, she felt a sudden jolt. For a split second the rest of the room disappeared, and then he moved on and she felt herself flush and wanted to hide behind her hair. Which she couldn’t do, because it was neatly tied back as school rules demanded.

Oh I hope I didn’t make an idiot of myself, she thought. Had he noticed? He seemed so much more serious than other teachers. In fact he hadn’t even smiled yet.

"Though German isn’t as complex as Latin, you will find your studies useful for recognising certain elements of grammar," he explained.

Textbooks were handed out, and opened at the first chapter. Teresa muttered and sniggered something to her friend, then froze as Mr Rydell looked directly at them.

"I would like this to be enjoyable for all of us," he said. "But it is going to be hard work, particularly for those of you taking exams a year early, and will require everyone’s full attention." He emphasised these last words while looking at Teresa. There was a faint contempt in his voice, which coming from him seemed more cutting than any direct censure or threat of detention.
 

The posse at the side of the classroom went white and quiet. There was a crackle of electricity around the room. Rarely did a new teacher assert that they meant business so quickly or so effectively.

The lesson progressed, and Laura was happy to discover that he was a very inspiring teacher. He had a broad depth of knowledge, and had spent considerable time in Germany.

"Are you fluent, Sir?" one girl asked.

"Not natively. Sufficiently for conversation and correspondence," he told her.

When Laura was looking down at a list of basic vocabulary, she had no idea how but she felt his eyes on her. She glanced up, and he held her gaze for a moment, before turning to the blackboard again. She couldn’t read his glance at all, but her stomach did the same flip that it had done earlier. Get a grip, she thought. He clearly can’t stand foolish schoolgirls, look at how he reacted to Teresa Hubert’s giggling.

* * *

"Wow, wasn’t he gorgeous but terrifying?!" was the general consensus voiced after the lesson. "I shall totally dread German!"

"Did you see how harsh he was towards Teresa?"

"I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side."

"What a shame that someone that looks like that has to be so strict and serious!"

Laura didn’t think so at all, but she kept her opinion to herself. Despite the steel grip of discipline that he maintained the class in, she had enjoyed her first German lesson. And she kept remembering the feeling in her stomach when he looked at her.

Normally she would have confided this to Charlotte and Margery but something held her back. Her reaction to the new teacher seemed so out of step with everyone else’s that she needed more time to analyse it. Her new journal would be the perfect place.

Lunch was awful. Laura predicted that once their tuckboxes, which helpfully supplemented school food in the first weeks of term, were empty, she would actually lose weight. She never understood how Charlotte could stuff down so much over-boiled stodge with apparent gusto. Exercise surely couldn’t make someone’s tastebuds that undiscriminating. But even Margery, albeit more slowly, steadily ate her way through soggy cabbage, dumplings and the horridly gristly beef stew.
 

You were required to finish your plate at Francis Hall, and thank goodness for Charlotte who could hoover up anything that Laura couldn’t bear to touch. Often quite gratefully. Swapping food had to be done on the sly of course, but so far they had got away with it.

"You’ll fade away if you don’t eat," Margery warned her.
 

"I would eat, quite happily, but I just can’t bear school food," Laura said. "I wish we could have packed lunches, or a canteen. I’ll have to eke out my tuckbox like starvation rations."

"If only you could do Home Economics you could smuggle yourself some more provisions," Charlotte said. Only lower set girls did Home Economics: those that weren’t considered bright enough for Latin, extra Maths and a second modern language.
 

"Perhaps I can bribe one of them to make me flapjacks. A homework swap maybe," Laura said.

"You can eat apple pie can’t you?" asked Charlotte.

"The apple, not the gluggy custard and crust," Laura said.

"Well here, have my apple part at least then," Charlotte offered generously. "You’ll need your strength for Games this afternoon."

* * *

It was a beautiful afternoon to be out on the hockey pitch. Clear and a comfortable temperature, it was also nice to escape the classroom. Maths had been absolutely horrendous and they were all sure they were going to fail Physics.

Laura felt herself sinking back into the timetable, the routine. She couldn’t fight against it, none of them could. School was all consuming and all absorbing. Every hour of their day was arranged and decided for them save some precious, cherished free time on Saturday evenings and Sunday after chapel.
 

Miss Partridge was the head Games mistress though other teachers took part in supervising sports as well. This term she had something different to announce.

"Those of you who don’t make the squad this year will only play hockey two afternoons a week. The third afternoon will be cross country, in rotation depending on your group."

There was a groan at this from some girls, and Margery’s face blanched. She hated hockey enough as it was, but the prospect of cross country running overwhelmed her with terror. "I’ll be ok," Laura whispered. "We’ll get through it. We’ll find short cuts."

"Laura Cardew, no chattering or you’ll get a demerit," ordered Miss Partridge.
 

Laura felt too anxious for Margery to care, but she obeyed. I’ll have to make sure I don’t make the squad, she thought. Absolutely no way could they leave poor Margery to suffer cross country by herself. There was no question that Charlotte wouldn’t make the squad for their age group as well as the actual team selected for matches, so that left Laura having to sacrifice for their friend. It was a bit of a shame as truth be told she didn’t mind hockey, but at least cross country would only be for one afternoon a week. It might even be interesting if the route took them out of the school grounds, she thought, trying to find a silver lining.

* * *

That night they sat down dutifully with their diaries, after the two hours of homework were finished. Supper was at six then it was back to the house for homework from seven to nine, then bed by nine-thirty for Lower School girls. Sixth formers enjoyed marginally more freedom - an extra hour of leisure before their bedtime - but they had so much more homework that they tended to use it all for study anyway.

If you were quick getting ready for bed, you had up to thirty minutes before lights out. This had now been decreed Diary Time.

"Dear Diary…"
Laura began, then stopped. "How are we supposed to do this?" she asked. "Like Samuel Pepys, or like Anne Frank, as though we were writing to someone?"

"I’m writing mine as though I was the sports correspondent for the BBC," Charlotte said.

"You can do it however you like," Margery told her. "I’m writing mine as a simple, historic account."

"I have no idea what I’m going to write on non-sports days, as every day and week is basically the same here. I can hardly keep writing 'Double Maths was awful, Liver and Onions again for Supper’," Charlotte said.

Laura decided that "Dear Diary" would be adequate.

"Dear Diary. The world changed today. I’m not sure if it was coming back to school and starting another year. Everything seemed the same yesterday, like it would be the same as it was last year, and the same for ever more. And now I’m not sure of anything at all."

All she could think of, as she closed the journal and lay in bed, was a pair of penetrating grey eyes.

They sat in straight, silent rows one either side of the school chapel, listening to the Headmistress’s address. The staff sat on the pews at the furthest end by the altar, and Laura looked for Mr Rydell. He was on the same side as Laura but several rows in front so she could only distantly see the side and back of his head.

The first assembly of term was held on Tuesday, because its timeslot in the first morning back was used to brief new girls. The first Monday was usually so chaotic that extra time was needed anyway to get everyone to the right classrooms. There were always changes from the previous year, sometimes at the last minute. This term the History and Geography classrooms had been inexplicably swapped around, and the new Chemistry lab still had wet paint so a temporary room had had to be found.

"Now I’d like to welcome our new staff, I hope you will all help them feel at home at Francis Hall," Mrs Grayson said. A widow with steely grey hair and military bearing, she had an absolute command of the school. She taught Maths but only to the sixth form.

"I’d like to introduce Miss Quayle, who’ll be filling Mr Carlisle’s much-missed shoes in Biology." Miss Quayle half stood and gave a sort of nod. She looked rather like a quail, Laura thought, she was shortish with dowdy brown hair and clothes.

"Miss Wingrove joins Mr Peters’ English department," the Headmistress continued. Miss Wingrove looked more interesting, in her early thirties, fair haired, intelligent. She had a nice smile. Laura hoped they’d get her rather than Mr Peters. They hadn’t had English yet so she didn’t know whom had been allotted.
 

"And finally Mr Rydell will be teaching German, following Frau Goettner’s return to Hamburg."
 

There was a rustle of interest among the rows on the opposite side as the new German teacher stood momentarily, the majority of girls not yet having seen him. He was certainly the most attractive male member of staff by a long stretch. Not the youngest perhaps - Mr Poynter who taught History was under twenty-five, but he was short with a round, boyish face and owlish glasses. And fey Mr Lanaway in Art was too odd for words. Rare were the hearts that fluttered in either of their classrooms.
 

Then there were various part time music masters, some of whom were younger than thirty, but unless you played a specific instrument you would never see them. Beyond that, most teachers were elderly males or female.

All in all the school appeared to take care to choose its male teachers from the ranks of the romantically untouchable in Laura’s view. Ironic perhaps that the only one crossing the line seemed to be horrid old Mr Peters. Either way, Mr Rydell was an aberration.

Charlotte grinned at Laura and whispered: "just wait until they see what Rydell’s like in class!"

"He wasn’t so bad," Laura whispered back.

"He’ll knock Peters off his perch with the sixth form," Charlotte said, then quickly closed her mouth as she spied a prefect glaring at her.

The organ strummed up, and the final hymn played. Laura sang without really thinking about the words. Francis Hall promised a "Christian education" but it rather washed over her, she wasn’t one of the earnest girls who went to confirmation classes and Christian Union. Neither, fortunately, were Charlotte or Margery.
 

Charlotte was an avowed atheist, Margery professed a sort of inactive belief, and Laura didn’t really know or care. There was too much else to think about and learn. Religion just buzzed along in the background, always there, more boring than offensive.

* * *

They didn’t have German that day but Laura saw Mr Rydell in the dining hall at lunch. She thought he looked back at her, but before she could be sure they had to turn around to say Grace and start the meal, which left her with her back to him. She could hardly crane around again and look at him.

She felt the changed world again. For a fleeting moment, she and the German teacher were the most important people in the world and everyone else in the room was a grey mush.

"Snap out of it, you’re daydreaming again," Charlotte said. "I asked you if it was History or Latin first this afternoon." Charlotte was hopeless with timetables unless they concerned Games practice or matches.

"Latin."

"Good. I’ve decided to try and enjoy Latin this term," Charlotte said.

This was startling coming from Charlotte. Even Margery raised her eyebrows.

"We’re stuck with it, so I thought we should make the best of it. Maybe if we managed to get on top of it it wouldn’t seem so awful. Last year it was the utter drag and dread of the week to me, and it put me off my game," Charlotte explained.

"So is this a resolution for all of us?" Laura asked.

"If you like. It will probably be easier as a group effort."

* * *

True to her word, Charlotte displayed a new and disturbing diligence in Latin. She answered questions, concentrated throughout the entire class, and even suggested to old Mr Tyrrell that they do slightly more than the usual amount of translation so they could reach the end of a particular poem. He agreed in happy surprise, and everyone else groaned.