Anne Mellodey had been living at the schoolhouse with Charity Foster for six years. She had joined the staff at Middlebeck school as one of the two teachers who had been sent – or, rather, had volunteered – to take charge of the evacuees from Armley. Her colleague, Dorothy Cousins, had returned home to Leeds after the first Christmas of the war, because the majority of the children had gone back. The anticipated air raids had not taken place, parents were missing their children, and vice versa. It was in 1940 that the air raids had started with a vengeance, and many parents had had cause to regret their decision.
But Anne had stayed, and now, after living in the little town of Middlebeck for so long, she had no desire to live or to teach elsewhere. She doubted, though, at times, the wisdom of remaining at the schoolhouse. Miss Foster had offered her a home in the first place, anxious to play her part in the evacuation scheme, and it had seemed more appropriate to have a fellow teacher staying with her rather than one of the pupils. The two of them had soon become firm friends as well as colleagues, in spite of the age difference. Anne had known, deep down, that she really should think about finding somewhere else to live. After all, Miss Foster would not go on teaching for ever; she had been almost sixty years of age when the war had started. But the older woman had seemed glad of her company, Anne was contented, and so the years had drifted by…
And then Charity had dropped the bombshell which, in her heart of hearts, Anne had been long expecting. They had settled down at the fireside after returning from the Victory concert in the church hall, with their drink of cocoa, which had become something of a late-night ritual. They had talked about how much they had enjoyed their evening out; how rewarding it was to see some of their old pupils, and present ones as well, singing and dancing and acting on the stage, knowing that they, as teachers, had been partially responsible for nurturing the talents that the children displayed. And then Charity had told her…
‘Anne…’ she said. ‘I have some news for you, my dear. I hope it won’t come as too much of a shock, but…’ Charity’s brown eyes, so warm and yet so shrewd, looked earnestly into her own; and Anne knew at once what the news must be.
‘You have decided to retire,’ said Anne. ‘Is that it?’ She smiled questioningly at her friend.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Charity. ‘I really feel that the time has come. I’m sixty-six years old now, and I think it’s time to call it a day.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m like an old war horse, aren’t I? And that was the reason I’ve kept on, of course. I wanted to stay till the war ended. And now…well, it’s time to let go and make room for someone younger, someone with new ideas…’
Anne could not think of her as an old war horse. She had the stamina and the strength and vigour, but Charity did not seem old. She looked very little different from the time Anne had first met her six years ago; a small woman, only five foot or so in height, with her mass of silver-grey hair drawn into a bun at the nape of her neck. She was slightly plumper now, maybe, and a few lines had appeared at the corners of her mouth and eyes, but she was still full of fun and vitality.
‘Yes… I see,’ said Anne. ‘I can’t honestly say that I’m surprised. I knew, at the back of my mind, that this would happen. But it’s still a shock; the thought of you not being there at the helm. Nor here, living in this house… The house goes with the job, doesn’t it? I mean…’
‘Yes, and that is why I am telling you, my dear, because this will affect you as well. I admit I’ve been rather selfish. I should have encouraged you to look for a place of your own; I knew I couldn’t stay here for ever. But I enjoyed your company so much, and we get on so well together.’
‘And I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway,’ Anne told her. ‘I’ve been very happy here. And after…after Bill was killed I was so glad of your friendship and comfort. This was like a safe haven to me; that’s the reason I’ve never looked anywhere else. But what about you, Charity? Have you thought about where you will live?’
‘I have given it some thought, yes… I want to stay in Middlebeck of course. All my friends are here. I’ve lived here for twenty-six years, incredible though it seems, and I certainly wouldn’t want to return to Sheffield. But it would not be fair to the school – to the children and teachers and to whoever takes over my job – to live too near… There are some little bungalows between here and Lowerbeck; a newish estate, built just before the war started. Do you know where I mean?’
Anne nodded. ‘Yes, there’s a duck pond there, and a nice little park.’
‘Yes, that’s right; it looks an ideal spot to retire to. And there are one or two of them for sale at the moment.’
‘It’s a couple of miles or more, though, from Middlebeck,’ said Anne. ‘And there are no shops near, are there? And the bus probably only runs once a day… Sorry, Charity. That’s dreadful of me, being so negative, but I was just thinking that it might be rather lonely for you, moving away from your friends.’
‘Ah, well now… I have another idea, you see. What I intend to do is to buy a little motor car; one of those nice little Austins, maybe. I’m hoping the petrol regulations will be relaxed soon, and, to be honest, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.’
‘But you can’t drive, can you?’
‘I can soon learn!’ Charity sounded brimful of confidence. ‘But finding somewhere to live, of course, is the most important thing. As a matter of fact, I’ve put in an offer with the estate agent, Leadbetter’s on the High Street, for one of the bungalows. So…as soon as we go back to school next week I shall send in my notice to the Education Office and… Bob’s your uncle, as they say!’
Anne stared at her in some amazement. She was certainly not letting the grass grow beneath her feet. New house, new car, plans for a new life; and she, Anne, had known nothing about it.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Charity. ‘I realise it has been something of a bolt from the blue. And here I am going on about my plans, and I know you must be thinking, What about me? But I haven’t forgotten about you, Anne, please don’t think that. There is something else I want to say…’ She paused and leaned forward in her chair, looking intently at Anne and half smiling. ‘How would you feel about applying for my post, for the headship of Middlebeck school?’
Anne gave a gasp of astonishment. ‘What, me? Oh no… I couldn’t possibly. For one thing, I’m far too young to be considered, surely. And…well, I’m a newcomer, aren’t I?’
‘After six years I don’t think you could be considered a newcomer, my dear. And as for being too young, it isn’t always age and experience that interviewing panels go for. They sometimes want someone with a fresh outlook and new ideas. Anyway, you’ve had ten years’ teaching experience, haven’t you? You are by no means wet behind the ears.’
‘But…what about Shirley?’ She was the third member of the teaching staff. ‘Shouldn’t she be considered? She has been here longer than I have.’
‘No…’ Miss Foster shook her head. ‘I am quite certain that Shirley would not want any more responsibility. She is a married woman, and now that Alan has been demobbed I should imagine they will be wanting to start a family; that is what she has hinted to me.’
Anne felt a pang of not exactly jealousy or bitterness but more a quiet sorrow. It was more than five years since Bill, her fiancé, a young pilot who had only a few months previously been awarded his wings, had been shot down and killed. The anguish she had felt for a long time afterwards had subsided to a dull ache, but she knew she would never forget him. She realised, however, that she would not be unwilling to enjoy male companionship again, even something deeper, maybe; but she had not actively sought it, nor had any come her way over the past years. How did Charity Foster regard her, Anne wondered? Did she think of her as a war ‘widow’ as Charity herself had been? The headmistress had told her, soon after they had met, how her own fiancé, Jack, had been killed in the First World War. Charity had been older than Anne was, in her late thirties, and she and Jack had waited several years to be married, as couples did in those days. But it was not to be; and Charity, resigned to her spinsterhood, had accepted the position of headmistress at Middlebeck school. She had remained at her post for twenty-six years. Anne gave an inward shudder. She was not sure that that was what she wanted for herself.
‘You have gone very quiet,’ said Charity. ‘I’ve shocked you into silence, have I?’
Anne smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose you have. I will have to give it some thought… When would you be leaving?’
‘At Christmas; that is giving them a full term’s notice. The post will be advertised – nationally, I dare say – within the next couple of weeks.’
‘And there are sure to be lots of applicants?’
‘I should imagine so, although one can never tell. Not everyone wants to bury themselves in a little backwater in the Yorkshire Dales. I know we don’t see it like that. It is home to us, but I know that is how a lot of folk regard it, especially those from the big towns and cities. A shortlist will be drawn up, and then…well, it will be up to the interviewing body to choose the best applicant; or the one they consider to be the best applicant.’
‘And…who would be on the panel?’ asked Anne.
‘Well, the rector, of course. The school was once in the control of the Church, you know. It is aided now by the Education Authority, but the rector still has quite a lot of say. And I think they would invite me along as a matter of courtesy. The others, I should imagine, will be members of the North Riding Education Committee.’
‘I wouldn’t stand a chance,’ said Anne.
‘Now, now – that’s defeatist talk,’ retorted Charity, ‘and you know what Queen Victoria said about that, don’t you?’ The words of the old queen, to her generals at the time of the Boer War, had been widely quoted during the early days of the recent conflict, when it had seemed, for a time, that Britain might be facing invasion and defeat.
‘Yes, I know what she said,’ smiled Anne. ‘“We are not interested in the possibility of defeat; it does not exist.” It was over a rather more grave issue though, wasn’t it… At the moment I am not at all sure about whether I want to apply. It would be a big decision. I need time to think about it.’
‘Of course you do. I have rather sprung it upon you, haven’t I? But having made my own decision and set the wheels in motion, I thought it was only fair that you should know.’
‘And…is it to be kept a secret, about your retirement?’
‘No; I don’t see any need for that.’ Charity laughed. ‘You know what the bush telegraph is like here, and once the natives get wind of it, it will spread like wildfire.’
‘I will give it serious thought,’ said Anne. ‘But in the meantime I will need to be looking around for somewhere else to live. I can’t count my chickens, can I? That is, if I do decide to give it a go…’
The best plan, she thought, would be to find somewhere to rent. Like Charity, she had been careful with her money and had saved quite a tidy sum; enough, maybe, to at least put a deposit on a small property. But it would be best not to burn her bridges, she decided, just in case she was granted the tenancy of the schoolhouse. She had already decided, albeit unconsciously, that she would apply for the post.
Anne had had a fondness for Maisie Jackson ever since the day she had first met her on the train bound for Middlebeck; and she knew that the feeling was mutual. She had noticed her at the school in Armley, of course, in the playground or corridors, but as she had not been in Anne’s class they had not become acquainted.
What Anne had been most impressed by on the day of the evacuation had been the little girl’s bravery and determination to be cheerful. She must have been feeling confused and apprehensive, as all the children were – and the grown-ups, too – at leaving behind their homes and families. Although Anne had discovered, later, that for Maisie it had been more of a fortunate escape from her dreadful home circumstances. But the child had hidden her own feelings and had taken it upon herself to look after Audrey Dennison – now Audrey Fairchild – who had been most unhappy at leaving her home and loved ones behind. Chalk and cheese they had been, those two little girls; Maisie shabbily dressed in her too-short gabardine raincoat, pixie hood and scuffed shoes, and Audrey, looking as though she was going to a party, in her best coat and patent leather ankle-straps, rather than on an evacuation train to goodness knows where. Because the children, at least, had not known where they were bound until the teachers had told them, when they were nearing their destination. For security reasons, it was said; there had been so much red tape in those early days of the war.
Anne had been pleased when Maisie and Audrey had been placed in her class of nine to ten-year-olds at Middlebeck school, along with Doris Nixon, the girl from the farm, and Timothy’s sister, the girl who, so tragically, had returned to Hull and had then been killed in a bombing raid. A close little foursome they had been, she recalled. She had been fond of all four of them, but her affection for Maisie had been foremost, although she had tried, as an impartial teacher, not to let it show.
She was glad that Maisie and Audrey had remained firm friends over the years, and Doris too, although the girl from the farm had drifted away slightly from the other two. After the scholarship examination Doris had gone to the local Senior school, now called the Secondary Modern, whilst her two friends had been awarded places at the Girls’ High School. Consequently, Doris had left school at fourteen to work on the family farm, whereas the other two still had years of study ahead of them.
Maisie had always seemed the most mature of the girls, and this was still the case. She and Anne had progressed beyond the stage of pupil and teacher and were now good friends. Anne had watched her progress with interest and affection. She could tell when she was happy and she was aware, too, when something was troubling her young friend.
And something was at the moment, she was sure of that. Moreover, she had a good idea as to what it might be. She had been pleased when Miss Foster had invited the girl for tea. It was good at times to unburden oneself to someone outside one’s own family. And if Maisie wanted to do that, then she, Anne, would be ready to listen.
Maisie knocked at the door of the schoolhouse at precisely three o’clock. The house did not adjoin the school, but was at the other end of the playground; a greystone building dating from over a hundred years ago, the time when the school was opened, when Middlebeck was still a village.
Anne opened the door quickly, looking bright and summery in a floral patterned cotton skirt and a white blouse, with Clark’s openwork sandals revealing her toes. Her bare legs and arms were brown and her dark hair shone as though it had been newly washed. Her blue eyes smiled welcomingly at her visitor; she did not look a day older than she had when Maisie had been in her class.
‘My goodness, you’re prompt,’ she exclaimed. ‘Right on the dot.’
‘Old habits die hard,’ said Maisie. ‘Aunty Patience used to make sure that Audrey and I were never late for school. We had no excuse, though, had we, living just across the green.’ She followed Anne into the living room which opened off the tiny hallway.
‘Sit down and make yourself at home,’ said Anne. ‘You have no coat or cardigan, have you? It’s such a lovely day again. We’ve lit a fire though, because we need it to heat the water, but we don’t need to sit too close to it, and I’ve opened the window.’
A vase full of roses and sweet peas, from the small garden patch at the rear of the house, stood on the window sill, delicately perfuming the air, and the rose-patterned curtains lifted gently in the breeze. Maisie sat down in the chintz-covered armchair nearest to the mullioned window. The little room did tend to get rather warm at times, but it was a cosy and homely place with its oak-beamed ceiling and delft rack, along which was ranged a selection of blue and white plates. The wooden shelves on either side of the stone fireplace were filled with books belonging to Miss Foster and Anne, along with photographs, ornaments and holiday souvenirs. Maisie noticed an exotic creamy-pink shell, from Scarborough or Whitby, maybe; not found on the beaches there, but for sale in several of the gift shops; and a china model of a country cottage; Wordsworth’s ‘Dove Cottage’, she guessed; Anne had mentioned that they had visited Grasmere recently.
‘Where is Miss Foster?’ asked Maisie. Although she now called Anne by her Christian name she would not have dreamed of calling her former headmistress Charity, nor had she been invited to do so!
‘She has gone to have a rest,’ replied Anne. ‘At least that is what she said, but I think she is giving us a chance to have a little chat together, just the two of us. She will be reading I expect, certainly not sleeping. She is still as lively as ever. She will join us later when we have our tea. Now, Maisie, what’s new?’
‘Nothing much…’ She gave a slight shrug. ‘I told you we’ve been on holiday, and now…well, I suppose I’m looking forward in a way to going back to school. I know a lot of girls don’t say that, but…’
‘But you have never minded school, have you? That’s the right attitude to have, or else school can become such a drag.’
‘I’ve been helping my mum in the shop and trying to amuse our Joanie and Jimmy some of the time. But now, I must admit I won’t be sorry to see this holiday come to an end.’
‘It’s an important year for you and Audrey,’ said Anne. ‘School Certificate next June. I don’t need to tell you to work hard, because I know you will; you always do. You don’t find it hard to study, though, do you, like some girls do?’
‘No, I suppose not… I’ve managed exams and all that without having to do too much swotting. I like school well enough, but not enough to think of being a teacher, Anne, if you don’t mind me saying so. I don’t think I could ever do that.’
Anne laughed. ‘Why should you? We are all different, Maisie, and we all have to make our own choices. Is Audrey still sure she wants to be a teacher?’
‘Yes, she seems to be…’
‘And what about you? Have you any ideas about a career? You could go a long way with a good brain like yours.’
‘No, I’ve no idea at all.’ Maisie shook her head. ‘I feel sort of…lost and bewildered at the moment. I don’t know what I’m doing or even what I’m thinking.’ She suddenly knew that she had to confide in Anne. ‘That’s why I want to get back to school, to help to focus my mind.’ She looked across at her friend. ‘D’you mind if I tell you something, Anne? It’s sort of…personal, although some people do know about it – my mum and Audrey – but they think I’m being silly, I know they do. And I suppose I am, really… You see, I thought I was in love with somebody; I know I was. Well, I still am, but now I know that I’ve been a complete idiot.’
Anne nodded gravely, and Maisie could see the concern in her eyes. ‘Yes, by all means tell me about it; I’m glad that you want to. But I think I can guess… It’s Bruce, isn’t it?’
‘Yes…’ breathed Maisie. ‘Oh dear, is it so obvious? D’you think everybody knows? D’you think they’ll all be laughing at me? Or feeling sorry for me and saying, “Poor Maisie”?’
‘No, I don’t think so at all,’ replied Anne. ‘I guessed because I know you very well. I know you and Bruce have been friendly over the years, and you told me once that you were writing to him. But you haven’t had a great deal to do with boys, have you, Maisie? Bruce came along when you were feeling vulnerable and in need of friends, and he was kind to you, wasn’t he?’
Maisie nodded. ‘I know I’m only fifteen. That’s what my mum says, and I know it’s what everybody would say, that I can’t know what it’s like to be in love at my age. But I do, I really do…and I know, now, that he only thought of me as a friend; as a kid, I suppose. And it hurts, Anne; it hurts so much.’
‘I’m sure it does…’ Anne smiled sadly. ‘I know what it feels like to lose someone, too.’
Maisie looked at her in horror. ‘Oh, Anne! How dreadful of me! I’m so sorry; I was forgetting about you and Bill. Well, no, that’s not true; I hadn’t forgotten about it, how could I forget? But I’ve been so wrapped up in my own concerns that… I’m really sorry. I know this doesn’t compare at all with what happened to you.’
‘It’s all right, dear,’ said Anne. ‘Losing Bill was terrible and I thought I would never get over it. But the pain subsides to a certain extent. And although it’s an awful cliché, life has to go on. You’ll get over this. I know it’s painful… I saw Bruce last night with a young lady, and I guessed that you might be upset. But there will be somebody else for you. Maybe quite a few somebodies before you meet the right one.’
‘D’you think so?’
‘Of course I do. Bill wasn’t my one and only boyfriend. When I was in the sixth form I was madly in love – or imagined I was – with a lad I met at a dance hall. My parents didn’t like him, and they tried so hard to convince me that he was not a suitable friend for me to have. He was an apprentice plumber. Not that that was what mattered to them; my parents were not snobs, although they did hope for someone – what shall I say? – rather higher up the career ladder. But they were right, not because of the job he did, but because they knew he was so wrong for me. I wouldn’t listen, though…’
‘And…what happened?’
‘He chucked me, to put it bluntly. He was two-timing me and I found out and that was that. I thought my heart would break, but I was going to college soon afterwards so I had other things to think about. I went out on a few dates after that – my friends’ brothers and that sort of thing – but I didn’t think seriously about young men again until I met Bill. Then we both knew that that was it.’
Maisie began to feel quite ashamed of her reaction to what she had regarded as Bruce’s infidelity, although it was really nothing of the sort. She knew that now. It was her first experience of heartbreak over a member of the opposite sex, and it hurt like mad. But Anne’s loss of her fiancé had been a tragedy, not to be compared with her own disappointment which, seen in that context, seemed quite trivial.
‘I’m sorry…’ she said again. ‘I shouldn’t have gone on like that. But I couldn’t tell Mum all about it…’
‘No, I realise that.’ Anne smiled. ‘And I’m very honoured that you wanted to share your problem with me. Now… I have something to tell you as well.’ She decided it would be good to get Maisie thinking about something else other than her own heartache. ‘Not the same sort of thing, but there are going to be a few changes of one sort and another round here, Maisie.’
‘Oh…you’ve not decided to go back to Leeds, have you, Anne?’ Maisie looked a little crestfallen, and it was gratifying to Anne to see the girl’s reaction.
‘No, not at all. I go back from time to time to see my parents, and I always will, but my home is here now, Maisie, as yours is. And I guess it always will be. No; the big change is that Miss Foster has decided to retire at Christmas.’
‘Oh goodness! That is a surprise,’ said Maisie. Then, thinking about it more rationally, she said, ‘Although I suppose she must be…quite old by now.’
‘Yes…well, elderly at least,’ replied Anne, laughing, ‘but I don’t think she would like to be told that. Anyway, she’s decided to go…and the other news is – guess what? – that she would like me to apply for the post.’
‘Of headmistress?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Gosh!’ said Maisie. ‘And…are you going to?’
‘I think so,’ said Anne, smiling in a confident way. ‘Yes, I’ll have a try, but if it doesn’t work out, then I will realise it was not to be. There may be a lot of applicants.’
‘But you will be as good as any of them,’ replied Maisie staunchly.
‘Thank you for the vote of confidence,’ laughed Anne, ‘but I expect it will be a tough contest… It’s not a secret, by the way, about Miss Foster’s retirement, but she might want to tell you the news herself. If she does then…well, you can’t pretend that you didn’t know, but we can say that I just mentioned it casually.’
‘OK,’ grinned Maisie. ‘I’ve got it… Now, can I help you with the tea, Anne? Setting the table or anything?’
‘Yes, thank you. You can put the cloth on and the cups and saucers and cutlery. Charity and I prepared the food earlier…’
Miss Foster joined them for the meal of afternoon tea; thinly cut boiled ham with salad and triangles of bread and butter, followed by tinned peaches and evaporated milk, and finished off with homemade fruitcake and gingerbread. The cloth was Miss Foster’s best lace-edged one, with napkins to match, and they ate and drank from delicate china patterned with wild flowers, using silver cutlery that gleamed with recent polishing. It was all what Maisie termed very posh. She felt almost like a Junior schoolgirl again, aware that she must be on her very best behaviour. But the two adults did not treat her as a child and the conversation flowed quite naturally. And as Miss Foster seemed to realise that Maisie would already know about her retirement, that little hurdle was surmounted.
Anne thought, as the girl said goodbye at five-thirty – evening service started at six-thirty and she had to get ready to sing in the choir – that she seemed to be in a more positive and cheerful frame of mind than she had on her arrival. Young love could be devastating in its effect, she pondered, but Maisie was a sensible girl and she would learn to put it behind her.
And Maisie’s thoughts, surprisingly, were no longer solely of herself, but of Anne as well. Her friend and Miss Foster were too much in one another’s pockets, she mused. Like a couple of old spinsters, except that Anne Mellodey was not old, and neither did she look or act as though she was. So it was perhaps as well that the two of them would be parting company. But Maisie had reservations, too, about her friend applying for the headship, although she would not have dreamed of saying so. What Maisie hoped was that Anne would meet someone who might help to take her thoughts away from Bill. She did not want to see her mouldering away in the schoolhouse for years and years.