Polly's March
Page 10
The baby had taken so long being born that Polly had stayed for supper with the Dalbys and played two games of chess with Maurice on the landing, losing both times, because Maurice was rather good at chess. “It’s like war,” he told her. “All about manoeuvres and stealth.”
It was almost bedtime before Mrs. Parks came down with the news. “You’ve got a new baby brother! Come up and meet him!”
“A boy! Oh, what wonderful news!” Mrs. Dalby clapped her hands. “There, didn’t I tell you it would be a boy? Your father will be so delighted!”
But Polly, not delighted at all, had felt a lump of sourness inside her as she climbed the stairs as slowly as she could – a lump that stuck in her throat and would hardly let her swallow.
“Come along!” Mrs. Parks urged, as if the new baby were already so important that he mustn’t be kept waiting five minutes.
In the bedroom, Mama smiled wearily from her propped-up pillows. “Here he is! Come and see.” She was holding a white bundle that looked too tiny to be a baby. Polly bent over to look, and saw a small red face bunched up tightly, an almost cross expression, and a hand with tiny, tiny fingernails.
“Oh!” She couldn’t help it; she heard the adoring note in her voice she had heard other people use when they looked at babies.
Papa was sitting in a chair beside the bed. “Meet your big sister!” he told the baby, in a funny, crooning voice Polly couldn’t remember him ever using before. “She’s going to be a very important person in your life.”
Mama reached up her spare hand to pull Polly towards her for a kiss and a one-armed hug. “He’s a very lucky baby, to have the best sister in the world! Would you like to hold him?”
He is so beautiful, Polly wrote. Have you ever held a new baby? I hadn’t, and it was amazing. He is so little and so light to hold, but then he wriggled and I could feel how strong and alive he is. His eyes are open but he doesn’t even know how to see things yet. Isn’t it amazing to think of all the things he will have to learn?
Mama gave a tired smile, settling her head comfortably against the pillows. “Thank you, darling.”
“What for?” Polly couldn’t think of anything that deserved thanks.
“For being so good.” Mama tried to stifle a yawn. “So helpful and considerate. You know you really can be such a good girl, when you want to be.”
Well, yes. It was funny, Polly thought, how grown-ups sometimes said what was not quite what they meant, but was truer than what they’d intended to say. Yes, when I want to be; but that isn’t always.
“What is it, Polly?” said Mama, who was sometimes very good at knowing when Polly was hiding something. Papa had gone into the drawing room to start writing cards to all the relations with news of the baby’s arrival.
“It’s – well, I—” Polly did not know how to put it, but came straight out with, “I expect you and Papa are very pleased to have a boy, because you’d have been disappointed if it had been another girl, wouldn’t you?” It sounded like an accusation. “I mean, everyone says, at least Mrs. Dalby does, that a boy would be best.”
“Polly! Is that what you’ve been worrying about?” Mama said gently. “Yes, we’re delighted to have a boy, because now we’re very lucky to have a son and a lovely daughter. But you mustn’t ever think we love one of you more than the other! Promise me you will never believe that?”
“The way Papa talked to the baby just now!” Polly said, to avoid answering. “I don’t believe he ever talked to me like that!”
“Polly,” Mama said firmly. “When you were born, your father was the proudest man in London. He told me he felt as if he could leap the River Thames in one bound or jump up and swing from the hands of Big Ben. And he still is, Polly – as proud of his daughter as I am.”
Mama and I have a secret, now, Polly wrote. I didn’t think Mama ever had secrets from Papa, but she does, and this is it.
“He gets such an unfair start, being a boy!” Now that Polly had started, something seemed to be pushing her to say more and more, all the things she had kept inside for so long. “I’m only a girl, so I have to be ladylike, and do what I’m told, and behave nicely, and have other people decide for me. He’s only just born, but he’ll be able to vote when he’s grown-up, and boss people about, and think himself better than me!”
“But, Polly, darling!” Mama rocked the baby gently in her arms. “Things are changing now, for women especially. You’ll have the vote when you’re old enough, I’m certain – thanks to the efforts of people like Miss Rutherford and Miss Cross, and their determination—”
“Mama!” Polly was astonished. “I thought you disapproved of them!”
Mama smiled. “I disapprove of some of the things they do. Your father disapproves of them, certainly. But—” She glanced at the closed door. “Perhaps this had better be our secret, Polly. I also admire them. I admire them for standing up for what they believe in, and for fighting for it. They are so brave, so determined not to give in! I could never do that myself, but I’m very glad there are people who do.”
So, who would have guessed it? My mother a secret suffragette sympathizer! And now that we’ve got one secret, we can have more – that I shall write to Violet in the Old Ford Road, and even go to visit if I can. I have written her new address in the marbled notebook you gave me, which I use for my Plans and Ideas. My Plans and Ideas will have to be secret, but I will share them with you.
Papa sets the rules of the house, but he cannot tell me what to think. Mama always does what he says, because he is her husband and she promised to obey him and that is what everyone expects. But things are changing, even Mama says so. Things will be different when we grow up. I’m going to be an explorer, and by then I expect women will be able to do all sorts of things they don’t do now. Papa will have to get used to it.
He is so pleased and relieved about the baby, and that Mama is recovering well, that she thinks if I explain to him again about Hyde Park, and make him understand that it really was all my idea, not yours or Aunt Dorothy’s, he will change his mind about the piano lessons, and will let me come to stay with you. Except now of course there’s the war and that changes things again, because who knows what will happen? Maybe I’ll be allowed to be friends with Edwina, too, now that she’s giving up campaigning, to support the war effort. Papa can’t object to that, can he?
So for now I shall have to make do with Maurice. But that’s another strange thing – I have decided that Maurice isn’t so bad after all, even if he does always beat me at chess. I think I will have to be truthful and say that I like him.
Isn’t it amazing how people can keep surprising you?
Author’s note
It was our editor who had the clever idea of publishing three stories set in the same house, at different times. From then on, we three authors had great fun deciding where “our” house should be, how it should look, inside and out, and how it would change as the years went by. That made it very interesting, once I’d written Polly’s March, to read the stories written by my two friends – especially as I bumped into one of my own characters, Edwina, who reappears in Ann’s story, Josie Under Fire!
It took me no time at all to decide that my story would be set in 1914 – the campaign for Votes for Women is something I’ve always wanted to write about. At twelve, Polly is too young to be a suffragette, but she is greatly impressed by Edwina and Violet, the older girls who move in upstairs.
By now, No. 6, Chelsea Walk really does feel like a house I’ve lived in myself. Who knows – maybe I’ll have the chance to revisit it in another story?
About the author
Linda Newbery is the successful author of over twenty books for children and teenagers. She was first inspired to write when teaching English at a secondary school. Her novels have garnered much critical acclaim and The Shell House and Sisterland have both been shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal.
Linda lives in an Oxfordshire village with her husband and three cats.
&
nbsp; To find out more about Linda Newbery, you can visit her website: www.lindanewbery.co.uk
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