Forgive and Forget

by Dickinson, Margaret

  I’m so sorry not to have been in touch before, but there have been some recent developments at the school which were not entirely unexpected, but which have altered things slightly. So, if you can come to see me one afternoon this week after school, I will explain.

  Yours sincerely, Celia Broughton

  Celia. Polly had never known her teacher’s name, but seeing it at the bottom of the page, written personally to her, made her feel special, as if the teacher was treating her as an equal. Whatever the outcome of their meeting would be, it gave Polly a warm glow.

  Leaving Jacob with Selina, she was waiting outside the school gate the very next afternoon, long before the bell was due to ring. Again she eavesdropped unashamedly on the same three women whom she’d overheard talking previously.

  ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s gone?’

  ‘Who’s gone?’

  ‘The head, Mr Ellis. He’s only gone and volunteered.’

  The other two women – including the one whose teacher husband had already enlisted – groaned.

  ‘Silly man. What on earth are they going to do now?’

  ‘Bring back some old feller out of retirement, I wouldn’t wonder.’

  Polly’s heart plummeted. This would be what Miss Broughton wanted to tell her. Mr Hopkins would be coming back to take the younger man’s place. And he was an old stick-in-the-mud. He wouldn’t entertain the idea of a young woman with no training and no education beyond the leaving certificate level being anything more at the school than a cleaner! Well, Polly thought, her chin jutting out resolutely, there was no shame in that. She’d be proud to be a cleaner at the school if it meant she could be close to the children, could help to look after them and maybe one day . . .

  The bell interrupted her thoughts and, once again, she waited until all the children and their mothers had left. This time Miriam skipped towards her, hand in hand with Dottie Fowler.

  ‘Hello, Poll. Me an’ Dottie are going to the park.’

  Polly nodded. ‘Be careful then. Mind you stay together.’

  She waved the two girls off as she pushed open the squeaking door and made her way with dragging feet to Miss Broughton’s classroom.

  Polly knocked and opened the door and then stopped in surprise. A young, fair-haired woman was seated at Miss Broughton’s desk. She looked up and smiled, her cheeks dimpling prettily. ‘You must be Polly. Miss Broughton’s expecting you.’ She slid off the high chair and came towards Polly, who was still hovering in the doorway. ‘Come, I’ll show you to her office.’

  ‘Office?’ Polly repeated stupidly, now completely bewildered as she followed her along the corridor. The young teacher chuckled. ‘Oh yes, Miss Broughton has her own office now. Here we are . . .’

  ‘But – but this is the headmaster’s – ’ Polly began, but was cut short by the teacher knocking on the door and being bidden to enter.

  The young woman opened the door and ushered Polly inside, but did not enter herself. As she pulled the door shut again, she whispered, ‘Good luck.’

  Polly stood on the carpet in front of the huge desk that in her mind had always belonged to Mr Hopkins. On the very few occasions she’d been summoned to his forbidding presence, she’d stood on this very spot, nervously casting about her mind for whatever misdemeanour she might have committed. And the same feeling overwhelmed her now. But there was no need for her to feel like a schoolgirl in trouble any more. She was a grown woman – a married woman – with a child of her own. And yet she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling until Celia Broughton looked up from the papers on her desk, smiled a welcome and gestured towards a chair set in front of the desk.

  ‘Polly, how are you?’

  ‘I – I’m fine, thank you.’

  Polly perched on the edge of the chair and waited.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Celia said and Polly’s heart sank. That was what people always said when they had bad news to impart. ‘As I said in my letter, there have been some changes here and things have happened very quickly. Mr Ellis has enlisted and he’s gone already.’ She sighed. ‘We all tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen.’ Her face fell into lines of sadness and Polly knew she was fearful for her colleague. It was the same dread that Polly carried with her every minute of every day.

  Celia was speaking again. ‘I’ve been put in charge temporarily, though I have applied to be allowed to continue as headmistress for the duration of the war. Whether my application will be successful, I don’t know as yet. In the meantime, I have discussed the problem of staffing at this school with someone in authority. The situation was bad enough before Mr Ellis went, but now – ’ she spread her hands helplessly – ‘it’s deplorable. Anyway,’ she continued more briskly, ‘I mentioned you to him and I’ve now received written permission from him that I may take you on as a pupil teacher for a trial period.’

  Polly gasped, her mouth dropped open and her eyes were shining, but before she could speak Miss Broughton went on. ‘You do realize that this is only happening because of the war, Polly. In ordinary circumstances, it might not have been possible, particularly as you’re a married woman with a child, but in the situation we’re facing, we must utilize young women like yourself who have promise.’ She smiled. ‘I gave him such a glowing report – I hope you’re not going to let me down.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Broughton, I won’t. I promise I won’t. I’ll work so hard . . .’

  ‘I know you will, Polly. And this could be the start you need and – deserve. You will need to do some studying in your own time, but I can guide you with that. There’s just one thing I must ask you: what would happen if your child were ill? Would you feel willing to leave him in Mrs Thorpe’s care? And, perhaps more to the point, would she mind?’

  ‘I’ll have to ask her, but I don’t think so. Little Michael – Violet’s boy – had chickenpox a while back and Violet never stayed off work. Not once.’

  ‘Mm.’ Celia eyed her uncertainly. ‘But Violet’s Violet.’ How well Miss Broughton remembered all her pupils, Polly thought with a flash of amusement. ‘It might be different for you.’

  Polly took a deep breath. ‘I have to be honest with you, Miss Broughton. If he was seriously ill – which I hope he won’t be – but if he was, then I would want to take time off. I can’t deny that. I wouldn’t trust anyone else, not even Selina, to look after him if he needed his mother.’

  Celia regarded her solemnly for a moment and Polly held her breath. Were her dreams to be snatched away once more? But then the acting headmistress smiled. ‘That’s the sort of answer I’d hoped you’d give. I wouldn’t want any teacher of mine to be uncaring towards her own sick child. Now, Polly, when could you start? You’d be with Miss Miller, who brought you to my office. She’s not much older than you and is just out of training, so I think you would get on very well together. She’s taken over my class temporarily, but when we get everything sorted out, she’ll be teaching the infants and I think that’s where you could be most useful. Miss Miller is young, bright and enthusiastic with plenty of new ideas. Learn from her, Polly, and you won’t go far wrong.’

  Polly felt as if she was walking on air as she made her way to collect Jacob.

  Almost in a daze, she told Selina, ‘I’m to start as a trainee pupil teacher at the school on Monday.’

  ‘Aw, lass, that’s wonderful.’ Selina clapped her hands and smiled delightedly, though Polly wasn’t quite sure whether Selina’s pleasure was for her or for herself that she would have another little one to care for. Polly smiled; whatever the reason, the result was the same: this could be the start of her being able to achieve her ambition. But Polly was grounded enough to realize that she still might never become a real teacher. In the meantime the war had given her an opportunity she’d never dared to hope for, that she could never have foreseen happening.

  It was the only thing she had to be thankful to the war for.

  But the war had not only given P
olly an opportunity, it also gave William a second chance.

  When she arrived at the Longdens’ home that same evening, it was to find William in a state of excited agitation. Stevie was grinning and Miriam was dancing round the table. Polly was about say, ‘So, you’ve heard then,’ when she realized that her own news would not generate such obvious joy.

  ‘The union man came round this morning and told me if I went and saw the boss, there might be a possibility he’d take me back.’

  ‘There’s so many joining up, Polly,’ Stevie explained, but it was said without censure, he was just stating the obvious fact. ‘They’re getting short-staffed.’

  But even the implication behind his son’s words could not dampen William’s pleasure.

  ‘And?’ Polly looked at her father enquiringly.

  He took a deep breath. ‘So I went and saw Mr Christian. Christian by name and Christian by nature, that man is.’

  Polly pursed her lips before they should say what was in her mind: That’s not what you used to say about him. You used to call him all the names you could lay your tongue to in the old days. But she kept silent.

  ‘We had a long talk and he said if I gave him my word that there’d be no more troublemaking, then he’d take me back. In my old job in the goods department an’ all, Poll. And I can start tomorrow.’

  Polly beamed. ‘Dad, that’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you. Perhaps we can really start to put the past behind us.’

  They sat down to an evening meal that Miriam and Stevie had prepared between them, but Polly did not impart her news tonight. This was William’s moment and she did not want to take anything away from him.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell her family of her own good fortune.

  Fifty-Six

  Nancy Miller proved to be as sweet-natured as her looks implied. The children in her charge adored her and Polly, too, quickly became fond of her. Theirs was a working relationship that soon developed beyond the classroom into a firm friendship, though in school they were both careful to stick to the proprieties demanded of them.

  ‘You’re a natural teacher,’ Nancy told her as they sat together in the empty classroom eating their sandwiches during the dinner break. ‘You should apply for proper training.’

  Polly pulled a face. ‘I don’t think they’d take me, would they? I’m a married woman with a child. I’ve only been able to do this because of the war and because I have such good care for my little boy. In normal times . . .’ She said no more, but Nancy nodded sympathetically. ‘I know, but perhaps the war will change all that. Maybe, even after it’s over, there might be a way. You could go to the Lincoln Training College. That’s where I went. You wouldn’t be far from home then.’

  ‘I doubt it. When the men come back, the women who’ve taken on all their jobs while they’re away will have to go back to the kitchen.’

  Nancy’s face was solemn. ‘Yes, but how many men are going to come back, Polly?’

  Polly’s joy at embarking on what she hoped would turn out to be the fulfilment of her dreams was tempered by the news from the Front and guilt swept over her in waves. How could she revel in her achievements when they’d only come about through such tragic circumstances?

  The casualty lists continued in the newspapers and a cloud of despair hung over the whole city as family after family lost a loved one; sometimes even more than one member of the same family was killed. Fathers, brothers, sons and friends, who, caught up in the fever of patriotism, had enlisted together, trained together, were posted together and even died together. These became known as the ‘Pals’ battalions. And so many families mourned two or three at once and every street commiserated with one another when bad news came.

  Polly still went to her old home every day after school, pushing Jacob in the perambulator. Although Miriam, now aged ten, was doing her best to care for her father and brother Stevie, she was still very young to take on the responsibility of looking after the household. And Polly was determined that the fate she’d suffered as a young girl should not fall upon her little sister. So, despite her work at the school, which, although she found it exhilarating, was also tiring, she still made the effort to go to her father’s house every evening. At weekends she spent most of each day there.

  The Longden family settled into a routine, but it could not be called a happy one. When a printed postcard with the sentences that did not apply to him scratched out arrived from Eddie or a longer letter from Roland came, the family felt a surge of relief. But when the days stretched into weeks, and there was no word from either of them, the whole family became anxious and jittery and tempers were frayed. And Polly had the added burden of her secret fear: she couldn’t talk to anyone about Leo. Not even Bertha. Though they still bumped into each other in the street now and again, and Polly dared to enquire after Leo, she could not unburden the secrets of her heart.

  So the months passed. Violet was an affectionate, if careless, mother but a happier one because she could go out to work. Selina was in heaven with two little boys to care for. And Polly was following her ambition, yet she never forgot the reason why this had come about. Every day she prayed that this terrible war might come to an end, even though it might also mean the end of her dreams.

  Another Christmas, subdued for everyone, came and went and the New Year of 1916 dawned with still no sign of an armistice.

  ‘Will Eddie come home, d’you think?’ Miriam had asked hopefully.

  Polly had sighed. ‘They do get leave, but they don’t always have enough time to get back to this country. Sometimes they do,’ she added, trying not to dash the young girl’s hopes completely. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

  But neither Eddie nor Roland had appeared in time for Christmas. Nor did Leo and so Polly’s private anxiety continued. If only there was someone she could talk to, someone she could trust. She couldn’t speak to anyone about it, not even Selina, in case she should let a word or a gesture slip in front of Violet.

  But Polly had reckoned without Selina’s intuitive gifts.

  One cold, dark evening when Polly called at Selina’s home to pick up Jacob, Selina opened the door and gestured her inside.

  ‘Jacob’s having a little nap upstairs. Don’t disturb him yet, Polly. And Michael can play on the rug with his toy farmyard. Have you time for a cuppa?’

  Polly nodded, shivering as she stepped gratefully into the warm kitchen. ‘I’d love one, Selina.’

  ‘Sit down and get yourself warm.’

  Polly sat by the fire, drawing off her gloves as Michael tipped his toy animals out of a box onto the rug.

  When she’d made the tea, Selina sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace and regarded Polly steadily.

  ‘How are you coping, Polly?’

  Polly looked up sharply, almost spilling her tea into the saucer, but the woman’s gaze never flickered.

  ‘I – I – ’ Polly forced a smile. ‘All right. I love the work at the school. I can’t thank you enough for . . .’ Her voice trailed away as Selina shook her head.

  ‘I know that. But how are you – inside? There’s the worry of your family, I know. Your husband and brother. But – ’ She paused and her glance flickered briefly to Michael as if deciding how much the young boy might or might not understand of their conversation. ‘There’s your fears for someone else too. Someone you can’t speak of. I know it’s hard for you, Polly dear, and if you ever feel the need to talk, just know that I’m here.’ Selina smiled a little wistfully. ‘You’d be surprised how many secrets I hold. Some because folks feel they can confide in me, others – well, because I just know, I suppose.’ She held Polly’s gaze again. ‘And I know how you’re hurting deep inside.’

  Polly’s cup rattled in the saucer as her hands began to shake. Tears ran down her face. Selina rose quickly and took the tea from her. Polly covered her face with her hands and rocked backwards and forwards.

  ‘It’s all right, Michael,’ she heard Selina say softly. ‘Auntie Po
lly’s just a bit upset, that’s all.’

  Polly gulped back her tears and let her hands fall. ‘I’m so sorry. Michael, don’t worry. I’m fine.’

  Michael looked up at her, his face solemn, his eyes wide. She ruffled his hair. ‘You play with your toys.’

  Above his head, the two women exchanged an understanding look. ‘Any time you want to talk,’ Selina murmured. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Polly whispered.

  But then Selina dropped the bombshell that Polly had not been expecting. ‘Stevie’s sixteen in April, isn’t he?’

  Polly nodded.

  ‘Do you realize,’ Selina said slowly, ‘that he can enlist at that age? And probably will.’

  Polly gaped at her in horror. ‘No, no. He’s not old enough. It’s eighteen, isn’t it?’

  ‘Officially, I believe so.’ Again the violet eyes watched Polly. ‘But if boys lie about their age, the army sometimes doesn’t enquire too closely . . .’

  Fifty-Seven

  For the next two months, until his sixteenth birthday in April, Polly watched Stevie closely. But he gave no sign of wanting to enlist; indeed he displayed little interest in the progress of the war. He still worked for Mr Wilmott, still took home unsaleable vegetables on a Saturday night and went out with his friends at the weekend. And Stevie, Miriam told her, always arrived home at a reasonable hour and was helpful about the house too. Unlike Eddie – and Violet, for that matter – at the same age, Polly couldn’t help thinking.

  His birthday came and went and still he seemed settled. Conscription had been brought in in January, and at the beginning of May new rules were approved by Parliament. Polly devoured the item in the daily newspaper. The Prime Minister had stated that recruitment rallies all over the country had still failed to gain enough volunteers for the army. Now the ages of conscription would be between eighteen and forty-one. Polly gasped as she read the words; her father was only forty-five. He was safe for now, but what if they extended the age range yet again?