The Bell Family

by Noel Streatfeild

  ‘She’s so prancy, Mummy,’ he complained, ‘and she never lets me talk. She keeps talk, talk, talk herself. I do think talking should be fair, half one person and half the other.’

  Her family’s forebodings about their special entrance were not helped by Ginnie.

  ‘Poor beasts! I can just see you. Miss Newton’ll come first with Uncle Alfred, and all the school governors, and perhaps Daddy, then Aunt Rose looking terribly posh, and smelling so much of scent that everybody puts a handkerchief to their nose as she passes. Then Mummy, in Aunt Rose’s old frock, without the roses which I think is a great pity. Then Paul, slinking like a murderer. Then Angus, and then dear little cousin Veronica, mimsy-pimsy-ing along, saying Mumsie says I look sweetly pretty in blue.’

  The family entrance, when they had to make it, was so very nearly as Ginnie had described it that Cathy almost laughed. The only difference was that she and Alex, with Aunt Rose and Uncle Alfred, came first, and the school governors came behind. Cathy was not a vain woman, but she could not help thinking that she must look a very shabby figure beside Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose’s old black dress was still good, but it was very old, and Aunt Rose was looking so resplendent. It was no wonder she was, for when Cathy said: ‘How nice you look, Rose,’ Rose looked down at herself casually and answered in her whiney way:

  ‘It is rather fun, isn’t it? But then I think this autumn’s fashions are rather fun, don’t you?’

  Veronica, too, had new clothes. A very smart yellow coat and cap, and a fine wool frock of delicate lemon. Ginnie, sitting in the gallery at the back of the hall on the outside seat, so as to be handy to get out with the bouquet, nudged her next-door neighbour, the Alison who had mumps.

  ‘That’s them. The fat man with the red face is Uncle Alfred. That dressed-up woman is my Aunt Rose, if you were a little nearer you could smell her. That thing in yellow is my cousin Veronica.’

  Alison loved beautiful clothes.

  ‘Well, I must say Veronica looks lovely.’

  Ginnie was disgusted.

  ‘She may look lovely from here, but you ought to be very, very glad, Alison, that you don’t have to know her, because she is the nastiest, whiniest girl you’ve ever heard of.’

  Miss Newton, Uncle Alfred, Aunt Rose and the governors were climbing on to the stage. Miss Newton waited until everybody was seated, then she got up and told the audience what was going to happen that afternoon. She explained about the charity, and that they were very honoured that Uncle Alfred had agreed to appeal for it. She said that after the appeal collecting boxes would be passed round, and while this was going on everybody on the platform would come down into the front row, and then they would see the school play. She then spoke as nicely as she could about the play. She said that it had been written by the wife of the chairman of the governors, and, when the clapping about that was over, that she was not going to hold up the proceedings any longer, but would ask Sir Alfred Bell to speak.

  There was one thing Uncle Alfred never was, and that was short. He was one of those speakers who did not believe it was necessary to prepare a speech. He liked to know a good deal about the subject on which he was speaking, then get up and tell those who were listening all he knew about it and, as well, his views on what he had learnt. Because he did not prepare his speech he was apt to go on and on going round and round the same point, looking for a suitable phrase on which to end up and sit down. Sometimes finding such a phrase took him an extra three minutes or so; it did that afternoon.

  ‘Miss Newton, school governors, teachers, girls. There is nothing that gives me more pleasure than to stand on a school platform, for I know that I am looking at young folk, with all their lives before them. You girls may not know it now, but you are living through the happiest times of your lives …’

  Speakers like Uncle Alfred make audiences cough and whisper. Two of the first whisperers were Mr and Mrs Gage. Mr Gage had not wanted to come to the school play, he had wanted to watch football on television, but Mrs Gage had been firm.

  ‘I tell you you’ll miss a treat if you don’t come. You’ve never seen our Jane dance, and it’s time you did. Anyway, you’re comin’ and that’s flat.’

  As Uncle Alfred went on and on Mr Gage thought more and more longingly of football on television.

  ‘We could’ve seen a bit of the game and then come along to watch the dancin’ later.’

  Mrs Gage dug her elbow into him.

  ‘Ssh, that’s the reverend’s brother.’

  Mr Gage nodded.

  ‘So I supposed. Shocker, isn’t ’e?’

  Mrs Gage put her mouth close to Mr Gage’s ear.

  ‘You ought to ’ear the children lead off about ’im. Puts you in mind of a bluebottle shut in a cupboard, doesn’t ’e?’

  The school fidgeted, and those near enough to her looked reproachfully at Ginnie. Messages were passed down the lines of girls. ‘Ask Ginnie if she knows any way to shut her uncle up?’ ‘Tell Ginnie she’ll be had up for cruelty to schoolgirls.’ Ginnie, going over her speech to Aunt Rose in her head, looked disdainful and murmured to Alison:

  ‘Let them say what they like, I’ve told everybody he’d be awful. It isn’t my fault Miss Newton asked him.’

  Presently, after what felt to the girls like three-quarters of an hour, Uncle Alfred reached the word ‘lastly.’

  ‘Lastly, may I say that I fully appreciate that most of you in this room have to turn every penny before you spend it….’

  Ginnie got up.

  ‘Is my dress all right, Alison?’

  Alison gave a pull to the skirt.

  ‘It’s pulled up at the back a bit, and it’s rather creased where you’ve been sitting.’

  Ginnie looked disgustedly at her frock.

  ‘Let’s hope it stops down behind until after I’ve given the flowers.’

  Alison gave her a push.

  ‘Go on. Mam’zelle’s beckoning to you, and looking in no end of a flap.’

  Ginnie was not to be hurried.

  ‘Look at the bouquet. Isn’t it mingy! I knew it would be.’

  When Uncle Alfred at last sat down Miss Newton got up, and Ginnie, holding a small bouquet of chrysanthemums, began to walk up the hall. Miss Newton smiled politely.

  ‘Thank you very much indeed, Sir Alfred, I feel certain that, thanks to what you have said, we shall have very full collecting boxes this afternoon.’ Then she turned to Aunt Rose. ‘Thank you too, Lady Bell. I know you are a very busy person, it has been extraordinarily kind of you to come here today.’

  That was Ginnie’s cue. She had to climb the steps on to the stage, curtsy, and say ‘On behalf of the governors, staff and girls of St Winifred’s may I present you with these flowers. And thank you very much for honouring us by being with us today.’

  The curtsy had been a last moment idea, decided on as being prettier than a bow. Ginnie hated having to curtsy and in the excitement of the moment, forgot it and started her speech without it.

  ‘On behalf of the governors …’ Then suddenly she remembered. ‘Sorry, I ought to have curtsied first, I’ll start again.’

  The audience, unspeakably bored by Uncle Alfred, were delighted with Ginnie. As she curtsied there was a roar of laughter. Ginnie thought the laughter was for her curtsy, which was not fair, for curtsying had never been her idea. She turned on the audience.

  ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you oughtn’t to laugh, I know the curtsy looks silly, but I didn’t want to do it. Now you’ve put me off, and I’ve forgotten what I’d got to say.’ She turned back to Aunt Rose, and shoved the chrysanthemums on to her lap. ‘These are for you, Aunt Rose. I know you don’t need them, because your house is always stuffed with flowers, but St Winifred’s give bouquets when people like you come, so thank you very much.’

  Ginnie walked back to her seat amongst roars of laughter. The school mistresses tried to look disapproving but the girls were delighted. Alison, as Ginnie sat down, whispered:

  ‘People clapped yo
u sixty times harder than they clapped your uncle, he hardly got any applause at all.’

  The school play was very much the play Ginnie had described to Mrs Gage. The wife of the chairman of the governors believed that lots of words, and whimsy thoughts, made a nice play for girls, and there was no need for anyone to be funny, and no need for a real plot. Ginnie had not exaggerated when she said that the games’ captain and the head of the school were not well cast as the shepherd and shepherdess. Nobody, except perhaps the parents of the performers, were sorry when the shepherd said that his heart was broken, and fell with a crash to the floor. Uncle Alfred, who had slept through the act, woke with a jump and exclaimed in a hearty I’ve-enjoyed-every-minute voice: ‘Admirable, admirable.’

  Rose, on Miss Newton’s other side, said:

  ‘Very pretty.’

  Miss Newton, who knew the play was awful, and that Uncle Alfred had not heard a word, thanked them both politely. Then she explained how difficult it was for the drama section to find suitable plays for the school, so they were fortunate this year to have had one written for them. They would see in the next act how well this play was contrived to use the whole school. Then she smiled past Rose at Cathy and Alex, and said the big moment was when Jane danced. She was sure they would be very proud of her. Veronica, who had climbed on to her father’s knee, felt enough attention was not being paid to her.

  ‘These are for you, Aunt Rose’

  ‘I learn dancing. My dancing mistress says I’m very dainty, doesn’t she, Dada?’

  Miss Newton looked at Veronica; on her face was an expression that none of her girls would have cared it to wear had she been looking at them.

  ‘Indeed?’

  Aunt Rose gazed proudly at Veronica.

  ‘She’s a beautiful mover, Miss Newton, but we shouldn’t care for her to study ballet, so bad for the feet, I think.’

  Uncle Alfred’s voice boomed out.

  ‘My father’s paying for my nephew Angus to train for ballet. Very impractical, there’s no money there, you know.’

  Miss Newton felt sorry for Cathy and Alex, who could not fail to hear. She raised her voice slightly.

  ‘Few of my girls have parents with much money.’ Then she changed the subject. ‘Where do you go to school, Veronica?

  ‘Minden House.’

  Rose smiled at Veronica. How pretty she looked in that shade of yellow, how lucky that she had managed to get shoes of exactly the same colour.

  ‘It’s quite a small school.’

  Alfred’s voice boomed out again.

  ‘Just a few pupils, all hand-picked.’

  Veronica enjoyed being talked about.

  ‘Mumsie chose it because I don’t have to wear uniform, she thinks uniform awful, and so do I.’

  Miss Newton was conscious of a hush in the row behind her. She wondered what the parents were thinking. The school uniform was ugly, but it had its advantages. It prevented one girl looking better dressed than the other. She had an almost uncontrollable longing to shake Veronica. She wondered if parents who had overheard this conversation were longing to do the same thing. But all she said was:

  ‘Do you?’

  Veronica leant towards Miss Newton.

  ‘When I’m old enough I’m going to a finishing school, aren’t I, Dada?’

  Miss Newton heard movement behind the curtain, and distant sounds of the school orchestra tuning up. Evidently the stage was set. Thankfully she raised a hand.

  ‘Quiet, dear. I think the next act is going to begin. In a moment you will be in the land beyond the stars.’

  The second act went better than the first, because, as there were more characters, so many more parents were interested in what was going on. But by the time the shepherd had killed what Ginnie had called ‘the demon thing,’ interest was again beginning to flag, for really it was a very muddling play. When the choir filed on to sing again several members of the audience, including Uncle Alfred, had gone to sleep. Then suddenly, just as Ginnie had explained to Mrs Gage that it would, the stage lighting dimmed, and then went out. Then, through the darkness, the first lovely notes of ‘Sheep may safely graze’ filled the hall. Then, very slowly, the lights came up, and there was Jane in her silver tunic.

  At all times Jane’s dancing was worth watching. She needed any amount of training, much of her technique was faulty, but she was born with what is called ‘lyricism.’ When Jane danced each step was part of the whole, and so the movements flowed into each other, and it was hard to say where one began and the other ended. Coming towards the end of a very silly play, in which not only were the words banal but the songs sung to tinkling tunes, Jane’s dancing, together with Bach’s music, made the audience feel as if they were looking at one real flower in a bowl of artificial ones. Even Ginnie was carried away.

  ‘Goodness, Alison, doesn’t she look marvellous?’

  Cathy and Alex were transported. Paul, watching Jane, knew his decision had been right. She must have her chance. He would see she had her chance. He would write to Grandfather the moment he got home.

  Mrs Gage gave a large sniff.

  ‘To think that’s our Jane. I ’ave to cry, she dances that beautiful.’

  For Angus it was the night of his birthday all over again; watching Jane, his legs knew what they ought to do.

  Suddenly, the spell was broken. Veronica said in a loud voice:

  ‘She dances rather well, don’t you think, Mumsie.’ Her family, Miss Newton and all the parents within hearing gave very angry shushes. Veronica, annoyed, raised her voice. ‘I won’t shush if I don’t want to.’

  A mother, who had shared Miss Newton’s longing to shake Veronica, tapped Aunt Rose on the shoulder.

  ‘Would you please take your little girl out. She doesn’t seem to know how to behave herself.’

  Miss Newton spoke in a freezing whisper to Uncle Alfred.

  ‘You will please tell your daughter to be quiet.’

  Alfred put his arm round Veronica.

  ‘Ssh, Veronica pet.’

  Jane’s dance came to an end, and she received the greatest tribute any artist can receive, a moment’s complete silence before the stamping, shouting and clapping began. There was only a few more minutes of the play, and then the curtain was down, and the cast were bowing and smiling. In the middle of the stage were the shepherd and shepherdess, but nobody, not even their parents, considered they were the stars. There was no question about it, the afternoon belonged to Jane. When the curtain had come down for the fifth time, it rose on a surprise. Standing between the shepherd and shepherdess was Miss Newton. She stepped forward and held up her hand.

  ‘One moment, please. The school governors have asked me to make an announcement. We are not, as everybody here knows, a wealthy school, but we have a fund on which from time to time we can draw. Usually the governors give this money in grants, to assist the more brilliant of our girls to go to universities or to study some special subject. A short time ago, however, I thought it my duty to bring a case before the governors of possible brilliance, but not of the type to whom we have made grants in the past. Jane, dear, will you come here.’

  Jane, completely puzzled as to what was going to happen, stepped forward. The school, beginning to guess, held its breath. Miss Newton put an arm round Jane’s shoulders.

  ‘Jane, the school governors have decided to grant you a scholarship at Sadler’s Wells School. You have already been to an audition there, and they are prepared to accept you as a pupil. The grant will last until you are trained or, and I feel this very unlikely, until such time as the school should decide there is no future for you in dancing.’ Then she turned to the audience. ‘You’ve all seen Jane dance this afternoon, and I feel sure you would like to say by your applause, God bless you, good luck, we hope you have a very successful future.’

  Miss Newton asked Cathy and Alex to stay to tea and meet the governors, but Cathy asked if they could be excused.

  ‘You’ll think it very idiotic, Miss Ne
wton, but I know for the first time what it is like to cry because you’re so happy. It would be a shocking thing if I cried over the governors instead of saying thank you.’

  Alex, too, was almost past speech. He held Miss Newton’s hand.

  ‘We shall of course be writing to the governors…. Will you tell them how grateful we are …’

  Miss Newton quite understood how they felt.

  ‘That’s all right.’ Then she laughed. ‘After Jane, the star of the afternoon was your Ginnie. Don’t tell her so, bad girl, but her speech to her aunt was a much needed comic relief, I thought.’

  Cathy had another reason besides feeling emotionally upset why she wanted to get home to tea. Directly the family reached the vicarage she shooed them upstairs to wash, and told them tea would only be a moment, it was all laid. When the children came down they knew why they had not been let into the dining-room before. On the table was a tea as if it was a birthday party, a pink and white cake, ice cream with strawberries in it, and crackers. Cathy laughed as everybody gave pleased squeaks.

  ‘I thought it was going to be a suitable day for a party, but I couldn’t know how suitable. You know, Jane, even now I can hardly believe it.’

  Ginnie pulled out her chair.

  ‘Do let’s start, I’m starving. Now you know why Miss Newton asked Uncle Alfred and Aunt Rose to come, and why she kept fussing about you and Daddy coming.’

  Jane hugged Cathy.

  ‘Now we know why Miss Bronson wrote to Sadler’s Wells School, and why Miss Newton wanted to find out if I was worth training.’

  Alex was looking at Paul.

  ‘You’re very silent, old man?’

  Ginnie helped herself to a sandwich.

  ‘Paul’s been looking like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland all the way home. It’s almost as if you’d had the scholarship, Paul.’

  Cathy was pouring out the tea.