Tom Munday, listening to this, was not so certain about the theology of it; but he felt a nameless unease, something he could not put into words, a sense of the precariousness of human life, in spite of the wealth and prosperity of the age. He agreed that the tragedy had shaken them all out of their complacency, for if the unsinkable Titanic had proved unable to withstand an iceberg, who knew what other disasters awaited a generation that increasingly put its faith in scientific advance?
Isabel had similar thoughts when Miss Daniells led the school in prayer, impressing on them the need to live good Christian lives, and not to follow the ways of this world, which to her meant modesty in dress and behaviour, especially on the part of young women who played tennis and golf, even on the Lord’s day.
‘I simply don’t know what the world’s coming to, Miss Munday,’ she sighed, though she commended Isabel’s brother Ernest for putting his church before cycling on the Sabbath. If only all families would follow the example of the Mundays, she said, how much better life would be for the whole nation.
But just one week into the new term, the exemplary Mundays were called upon to face a humiliating blow. What they had dismissed as Grace’s self-will and naughtiness was now a real cause for concern – to the extent that Mr Chisman the headmaster had summoned her parents to his private office where he informed them that their thirteen-year-old daughter’s behaviour would soon result in expulsion unless she changed her ways as a persistent troublemaker. The Mundays stood together before Mr Chisman’s desk as if they were the culprits, and begged for Grace to be given another chance.
‘It is only because I know you as respectable and caring parents that I have not taken this step before,’ he told them gravely. ‘I had hoped that she would improve as she grew older, but this has not been the case. Cheating in the weekly class tests and copying other pupils’ homework is one thing, but using foul language – which I know she won’t have learnt at home – and attacking her classmates with fists and nails is something that cannot go on. Other parents have complained of injuries inflicted by her on girls and boys alike. And I’m sorry to say that Grace has the ability to turn into an angel of light when challenged, and will break down in tears, pleading that she had only been defending a younger child who was being bullied.’
‘She’s told us about an incident like that, Mr Chisman, and I can assure you that she has often stood up to bullying, both in school and out of it,’ said Mrs Munday, anxious to defend her daughter.
‘That may be so, Mrs Munday, but I have to tell you that she is thoroughly disruptive in class,’ said Mr Chisman. ‘She has a regrettable tendency to stir up trouble and then disappear from the scene, leaving others to take the blame. I’m sorry, but this cannot be allowed to continue.’
He frowned and turned to address Tom Munday. ‘I am prepared, more for your sakes than hers, to overlook her behaviour on this occasion, but there will not be another reprieve. Do I make myself clear, Mr Munday?’
Tom nodded and murmured his thanks, but the ignominy of the situation reduced his wife to tears; Tom looked very grave as they left the school.
‘We’ve spoilt her, Violet. We’ve let her wrap us around her little finger, and it hasn’t done her any good – quite the opposite.’
‘Heavens, Tom, she’s only thirteen, a child as yet, and it’s probably just a phase she’s going through. We just need to be a little bit firmer with her, let her see how upset we are, and I’m sure she’ll take it to heart and make up her mind to be good in future,’ said Mrs Munday, wiping her eyes.
‘If it isn’t already too late,’ muttered Tom, half under his breath. He blamed himself entirely for his blindness and lack of firmness with his wife as well as his daughter. It’s up to me, he thought, to see that things would be different from now on.
At Miss Daniells’ school Isabel blossomed. Seated at a small table near to Miss Daniells’ desk, she was adored by the children, especially the five-year-olds who were her particular responsibility. She showed them how to form letters and numerals on their slates, allowing for their mixed abilities; from seven onwards the children had exercise books supplied by the parish council, but reusable slates were more economical for the little ones’ scribbles. Her duties extended to their physical needs, and she took them to the lavatory, wiped runny noses and sticky hands, and was always there to pacify and encourage. She could play the piano when required, freeing Miss Daniells to stand in front of the whole school to teach a new song or chorus and explain the scriptural message it conveyed, made simple and tuneful for little voices. Miss Daniells was delighted with the benefits Isabel brought to the school and to herself, for she now felt far less tired. She praised Miss Munday to the Reverend Mr Saville on his regular visits to the school as chairman of the parish council and school governor; Miss Daniells assured him that her young assistant was worth every penny of the seven shillings and sixpence she was paid weekly.
And there were the days when the vicar had other duties and responsibilities, and sent his curate Mr Storey in his place. Isabel blushed as she answered this visitor’s courteous questions about her duties with the little ones, and was rewarded by his smiling approval. He would then take time to go among her small pupils, praising whatever they’d scrawled on their slates and commending their teacher. To Isabel he was the epitome of all that a good clergyman should be, and it was impossible not to imagine falling in love with such an excellent young man, some ten years older than herself. She was thankful that he could not know how her heart fluttered when he came to the school, though she was unable to hide her blushes and hoped he put them down to shyness. As long as he remained unaware of her feelings, she thought, there was no great harm in indulging in her half-acknowledged dreams.
How little she suspected Mark Storey’s own thoughts, and his dilemma over this beautiful young girl! He had been used to dropping in at the post office with letters to hand in or collect for the vicarage, and exchanging a smile and perhaps a casual remark about the weather with her. On the day he went in and noticed that she was no longer there, he was utterly dismayed, supposing that she had left North Camp to take up a new job; but on learning from Mr Teasdale that she was now a pupil-teacher at the church school, he gladly looked forward to many more opportunities to see and speak with her again: to feast his eyes upon her unspoilt beauty.
For Mark Storey was in love, and had been ever since he had first seen her. And now his thoughts turned to the serious possibility of marrying her in another two or three years’ time. Girls married at eighteen, and he reasoned that if he had been appointed to a living by then, there would be a house available; and even if not, there might still be a house for a married curate, a home to which he could take her as a bride if she accepted him and her parents approved. But if he was moved from North Camp before then, another man might step in and claim her. For him she was everything that could be desired in a clergyman’s wife: a devout Christian, a dutiful daughter and good with children – ideal in every way except for the matter of her age. Mark’s thoughts circled round and round, without coming to any resolution.
Then came a visit from the bishop of the Winchester diocese to Everham and its surrounding villages, North and South Camp and Hassett. His lordship was a pleasantly jovial man, outwardly uncritical, though neither Mr Saville nor his wife forgot for one moment that this was an inspection. Mark did not expect the great man to have much to say to a humble curate, but to his surprise he was taken aside during an informal tea at the vicarage, and asked to accompany his lordship on a walk in the garden, or rather the grounds, for this was where fêtes and parish picnics were held. After a few questions about his curacy, the bishop surprised Mark by asking with a fatherly smile if there was any young lady in the parish that he particularly admired.
‘Such as a sensible, industrious young woman, Storey, not necessarily a beauty, but amiable and likely to make a good wife for a clergyman – somebody who would discreetly support you in your parish work, never causing embarras
sment by injudicious talk. Tell me in confidence, have you met anybody who might suit?’
Mark Storey was speechless, and for one mad moment imagined himself answering, Yes, indeed, my lord, I am desperately in love with a girl of barely sixteen, and dream of her by day and night. She’s the daughter of a local tradesman, and is the sweetest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’m willing to wait until she’s older, but please don’t send me away from North Camp, my lord, because if another man came and took her from me, I don’t think that I could… well, I’d join the China Inland Mission and leave this country for ever.
But of course he said nothing of the sort, and the bishop interpreted his silence as meaning that he had in fact got a suitable young woman in mind.
‘No great hurry, of course, Storey, but think over what I’ve said. A bachelor vicar can find himself in an awkward, even scandalous situation, there being many young ladies in every parish who are drawn to the cloth – and a few older ones, too,’ he added with a smile. ‘A good clergyman needs a good wife to look after him, that’s what I say to all you newly ordained men. Anyway, if there is a young lady in your sights, Storey, I won’t move you for the time being, though I don’t usually keep single curates in one place for longer than two years, because you need to widen your experience of parish life. What do you say, Storey?’
Mark took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, my lord, I-I’d prefer to stay in North Camp for a while longer if you will allow me.’
‘Good! Then I take it that you’ve answered my question,’ the bishop answered kindly. ‘Mr Saville speaks very highly of you, and if there were any, er, obstacles in your path, I know that you could safely confide in him. Right, my boy, let’s get back to sampling Mrs Saville’s delicious scones!’
Ernest’s last term at college was clouded with growing anxiety about his future. Since disappointing his father’s hopes that they would work together as partners, he had taken a good deal of money from that father, with no foreseeable prospect of paying it back. He searched the local and county newspapers in vain for a suitable opening, and began to think that he might, after all, have to go to London to find work, which would mean finding lodgings there, as Ted Bird had done. Ted had become a junior assistant with an exclusive London tailoring establishment patronised by the nobility, and in the course of time he would return to Birds’ Gentlemen’s Outfitters in North Camp, to be his father’s successor. Thinking about Ted led Ernest’s thoughts to Phyllis Bird, now working in the post office in place of Isabel, and quite unmistakably smiling in Ernest’s direction. It was she who had told him about the tennis courts, newly built beyond the North Camp cricket pavilion, and the jolly young people who gathered to play tennis in the long, light evenings.
‘It’s such a beautiful summer,’ she said, looking up at him shyly, having learnt from Isabel that he played tennis at Guildford. ‘It seems a pity not to take advantage of it while you’re at home at the weekend. We’re a very friendly crowd, and you’ll know most of them – Cedric Neville’s home from Cambridge, and he came over from Hassett one evening last week with another fellow from his college, to play a couple of games. Why don’t you give it a try?’
She was a pleasant girl, and their families knew each other well. There was no good reason to refuse, and Ernest accordingly accompanied her to the courts one Saturday evening, where his skill surprised everyone, Phyllis included. He had walked her back to her home in the twilight, and parted with her on the doorstep with smiles and thanks for a delightful evening. She was a nice girl, he thought, from a family much like his own, and a few more evenings on the courts might well lead to a good-night kiss, though the idea alarmed him, having had no previous experience, and if he was honest with himself, no real inclination to kiss Phyllis Bird. In the end he decided that the cycling club held more appeal for him than the mixed membership of the tennis set, and in any case the pressing need to find himself suitable employment drove other thoughts from his mind.
Mr Chisman’s interview with her parents had thoroughly shaken Grace Munday, and their severity with her was worse than she’d expected, especially from her father who was not to be won over by tears and protests to ‘dear Daddy’ that she had never meant any harm, and had been sadly misunderstood by her class teacher Miss Forster who had never treated her fairly.
‘Stop that whining, my girl, and think yourself lucky you weren’t expelled!’ he said sharply, and she drew back, her dark eyes wide; tears began to flow again, but Tom Munday hardened his heart, and told her that she had shamed her whole family, especially her mother who had been deeply distressed. He demanded her promise that in the time remaining to her at school she would endeavour to be a credit to her parents, and not a disgrace. She had sobbed bitterly, and promised not to cause any more trouble at school, ‘no matter how unkindly they treat me, Daddy!’ – but inwardly she made up her mind that if Ernest did go to London, she would join him there, just as soon as her fourteenth birthday freed her from that rotten school. She’d get a job in a music hall, and progress from the chorus to being a star turn like the beautiful, daring Marie Lloyd; she too would become famous and wear elegant, expensive outfits – and she’d visit North Camp and Everham to show herself off, and all the girls would envy her. Oh, yes, Miss Grace Munday would show old man Chisman and that bitch Miss Forster how mistaken they’d been about her!
But meanwhile she kept her pretty little nose down and her eyes lowered; right now she needed to get back into her parents’ good books.
Tom learnt that the Mundays were not the only family to have problems with a daughter. As he talked with Eddie Cooper over a pint at the Tradesmen’s Arms, he heard the latest about Mary, now living at Yeomans’ farm, so her father rarely saw her. When the farmer had asked him to repaint the dairy throughout, he had eagerly accepted, and put Yeomans at the top of his order list, thinking it would give him a good opportunity to see and speak to his daughter.
‘But I wasn’t so pleased, Tom, when I went into the kitchen and found her, all smiles and rosy cheeks, in the middle of half a dozen clodhoppin’ farm-hands, in for their bread and cheese. “Mornin’, Mary,” I said, lookin’ pretty straight at her, and she started tryin’ to explain, said that Mrs Yeomans was busy with the baby cutting his teeth or somesuch, and she was takin’ her place in the kitchen. They found their manners when they heard her call me Dad, but I made up my mind to have a word with her, soon as they’d gone back to the fields.’
‘And did you get a chance to speak to her, Eddie?’ asked Tom.
‘More than enough,’ came the terse reply. ‘When I went back mid afternoon I found her laughin’ and gigglin’ with that oaf Dick Yeomans – you know, the son – and he was ticklin’ her with his great hands and tryin’ to kiss her, if you please!’
‘The devil he was! I’d’ve given him a clout, Eddie! What did you do?’
‘It’s not that easy, Tom,’ said Eddie with a sigh. ‘Mrs Yeomans has been good to Mary, and given her a better home than she’s ever had before, but the girl’s never crossed our threshold since Annie had the baby. I couldn’t very well go for that lout in his own kitchen, so I just grabbed hold o’ Mary, and said, “Here, that’s enough o’ that, my girl” – and told him to take his dirty paws off her, or I’d be lettin’ his father know. He turns round and says somethin’ about who the hell are you, this isn’t your house – but when he sees I’m her dad he looks a bit sheepish. Mary just looked down at the flagstones, and I felt that helpless, Tom, I didn’t know what to say to her, so in the end I just told her that if she wanted me at any time, she knew where I was.’
‘And what did she say to that, Eddie?’ asked Tom, wondering how he would have reacted if it had been his daughter Isabel. Or Grace.
‘She nodded and muttered something, and then said, “Excuse me, I can hear the baby crying” – and off she went.’
‘Must be rotten for you, Eddie – put you in a bit of a spot, didn’t it?’ said Tom, knowing of the dislike between stepmother and dau
ghter. Everybody knew that Mary had not once visited her little half-brother, and most felt sorry for Eddie who’d patiently endured years of worry with his first wife, and yet had looked after his daughter as well as he could.
‘They just don’t get on, Tom, Annie and Mary, and that’s the top an’ bottom of it,’ said Eddie, shaking his head. ‘Means I worry over Mary and that damned Yeomans boy, and there’s nothin’ I can do to look out for her. Been through a lot together, Mary an’ me.’
Tom Munday looked at him with real pity, but had no useful advice to offer. ‘So will you have a word with Yeomans?’
‘Yeah, but I’ll have to go carefully. Don’t want a quarrel, and Mary losin’ her job. There’s nowhere else for her to go,’ answered Eddie flatly.
‘Just a quiet word with him, then, that should do the trick,’ said Tom, trying to sound encouraging. ‘You could ask him to speak to his wife about it – she’d be the best one to look after Mary.’
‘You won’t say a word, will you, Tom? Not to your missus?’
‘’Course I won’t,’ Tom assured him, adding to himself, especially not to the missus. Poor old Eddie, stuck between two women who couldn’t get on, and a daughter facing temptations that could ultimately ruin her life; he, Tom Munday, could only be thankful that he had no such anxieties.
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