‘I’m doing very badly inside’
IT’S SURPRISING HOW often troubles can be sorted out, if only there are the right sort of people about to sort them out with. The afternoon at the Zoo was a sorting out time for Paul and Jane, and in a way for Cathy too.
The trouble, as a rule, about a family going to the Zoo is that everybody wants a look at different creatures. With the Bells and Cathy’s family there was no trouble, for they behaved like animals going into the Ark. Uncle Jim and Paul had a passion for snakes, and never wanted to look at anything else, so the moment they arrived at the Zoo they rushed for the snake house. Ricky’s and Ginnie’s passion was riding on the elephant. They were given enough money for three rides each, and at once they disappeared in the direction of the elephant house. Liza and Angus were almost exactly the same age, and their ambition was to visit every creature in the Zoo, and give food to them all, so loaded with packets of stale buns, nuts and fruit they ran off together. Cathy’s father, Mumsdad, didn’t mind what animals he saw, but he was especially fond of Jane, and Jane’s passion was bears, so they went to the bear pit.
As soon as they were all scattered, Mumsmum, Aunt Ann, and Cathy found a place to sit down. Mumsmum said:
‘What a pity Alex couldn’t come, Cathy.’
Cathy hated doing things without Alex.
‘Saturdays are bad for him, he’s always behind with his sermon.’
Mumsmum did not want to sound interfering but she was worried.
‘Jane looks peaky, dear, doesn’t she?’
Cathy was glad to talk things over. She explained about Angus’s birthday party, and Grandfather’s offer. Her mother and Aunt Ann saw at once what a dreadful business it was for Jane. Mumsmum, who always spoke her mind, said:
‘Angus learn dancing! What nonsense! His Grandfather must be mad. It’s no career for Angus, it’ll be throwing money away.’
Aunt Ann was fond of Cathy, and as well sorry for her, for she could see how difficult things must be.
‘Do you mean to say, knowing about Jane and how good she is, the old man actually chose to pay for Angus? What a mean old beast.’
Cathy tried to explain.
‘He isn’t really, he’s quite nice. Much nicer than Alex’s brother, Sir Alfred Bell. It’s just he doesn’t approve of dancing for girls. He thinks they ought to learn to cook, and useful womanly things like that. But one good thing is coming out of this muddle. Jane is going to the audition with Angus, so that’ll mean we should know where we are. We know she has talent, but what we don’t know is whether it’s too late to train her.’
‘What good will knowing do?’ Mumsmum asked gently. ‘You couldn’t pay for her to learn.’
Aunt Ann was so sorry about Jane she sounded cross.
‘I wish we could help. It’s a shame Jane shouldn’t have a chance, but Ricky and Liza have to go to boarding schools soon.’
Mumsmum patted Cathy’s hand.
‘I wish we could help, but it’s a bit of a squeeze making ends meet as it is.’
Cathy felt warm all through with knowing she was loved.
‘Bless you, darlings, but none of you can help. You don’t suppose I’ve told you my tale of woe to ask for help, do you? I only wanted to explain why Jane seems under the weather, and to feel you sympathise. You both know I wouldn’t change Alex, bless him, but I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t wish he could earn a little more money. I hate to see the children doing without things they need.’
While watching the bears Mumsdad was watching Jane. He might not be in practice any more, but he was still a doctor. Jane was always small for her age, and rather frailly built, which did not worry him a bit for he knew that was how she was meant to be, but now she looked more than frail. He tried to think what could be wrong, and suddenly he knew she was not ill, but was unhappy.
He waited until she had thrown her last piece of bun to the bears, then he tucked her hand under his arm.
‘And how’s my favourite granddaughter been getting on?’
Jane hesitated. It was a lovely sunny afternoon, should she spoil it by talking about what had happened? She knew if she talked about it she would feel a whole lot better.
‘I’m doing all right outside, at least I hope so, but I’m doing very badly inside.’
‘I’m jealous. I read somewhere jealousy is the worst of the seven deadly sins.’
Mumsdad squeezed Jane’s hand against his side.
‘So it can be. What has made you jealous? I shouldn’t have thought you were a jealous person.’
Out the story poured. The party. What everybody had said. Miss Bronson’s letter to Sadler’s Wells. The coming audition.
‘As a matter of fact I’m glad about the audition, I know I can’t go to the school, but just seeing inside will be something to remember always.’
Mumsdad was quiet for quite a bit, then he said in a thinking-it-over voice:
‘I don’t fancy it would be possible for you not to be a little jealous of Angus.’
Jane, having started confessing, decided to tell everything.
‘If it was only a little jealous I wouldn’t despise myself so much. If I tell you something awful, would you be ashamed of me for ever?’
Mumsdad chuckled.
‘I shouldn’t think so. What is it?’
‘When I’m at my most jealous-ish I hope and hope Sadler’s Wells will say they won’t train Angus.’
‘What good is that going to do you?’
Jane gave Mumsdad’s arm a little shake to make him understand.
‘If nobody goes it won’t be any different to what it was. But imagine me year after year, learning at St Winifred’s, getting older and older, and worser and worser, while Angus goes to Sadler’s Wells.’
‘Poor granddaughter! You have all my sympathy. I can’t say whether, if you had a chance, you would make a dancer, and at the moment I can’t see where the money is coming from to give you an expensive training, but one thing I have learned in a long life, and that is never give up hope.’
‘I’m doing very badly inside’
Jane gave a rather sad laugh.
‘If you were Daddy’s Miss Bloggs you would say “While there’s life there’s hope.” She’s always quoting things like that.’
‘If she quotes that she’s quite right, but what I would quote is this: “Honour lost, much lost. Money lost, little lost. Hope lost, all lost.”’
Jane repeated the words.
‘I like the last bit. I’ll write it down. Hope lost, all lost. I’ll make a vow, Mumsdad, no matter how despairing and worm-like I feel I’ll never give up hoping.’
Over the snakes Paul was talking to Uncle Jim. He had not meant even to hint at his problem, but a chance remark started him off. Uncle Jim said:
‘Let me know if there are any books I can lend you. I had read up no end of stuff while I was still at school.’
Paul did not want to sound grumpy, but the last thing he wanted just then was books about medicine.
‘Thank you, I’ll remember if I want any.’
Uncle Jim looked at Paul out of the corner of his eyes. He wondered what was the matter with him.
‘How’re things going at school?
‘Fine, thank you.’
There was no doubt about it, Paul was in a funny mood.
‘What’s wrong, old man?’
Paul, his eyes on the snakes, blurted out:
‘Nobody knows this, but I’ve more or less decided not to be a doctor.’
Uncle Jim knew it was impossible that Paul, who had never swerved from his longing to be a doctor, could suddenly have changed his mind, there must be some desperate reason.
‘What’s this about?’
Paul had agreed Grandfather’s offer should be kept private, but he was sure he could trust his uncle not to talk, and of course he would not tell him all Grandfather had said.
‘You must promise not to tell Dad and Mum.’ Uncle Jim nodded. ‘Well, I’m thinking of leaving school as soon as I’ve got my general certificate, and going into Grandfather’s business.’
Uncle Jim knew Alex’s father had always wanted Paul to join him.
‘What’s changed the situation? You always said you’d rather be a doctor.’
‘I still would, but I had a talk with Grandfather at Angus’s birthday party. I told him I’d think about it and write to him.’
‘No, but I think I’m going to.’
‘You take my advice, and do nothing in a hurry. After all, you won’t be taking that certificate for some while yet. No need to rush things.’
Paul longed to explain about the money, but he felt Grandfather had trusted him to keep it a secret.
‘There’s a special reason for making up my mind quickly.’
Uncle Jim wanted to say more, but he could feel Paul had said all he was going to say.
‘Well, it’s your business, old fellow, but I’m sorry. I always thought you were cut out to be a doctor.’
‘So did I, but other things could be more important.’
‘Could they? Will you let me know when you’ve decided?’
‘You’ll hear all right.’
By audition Wednesday the family, with the exception of Ginnie, were in a great state of excitement. Ginnie would have been interested in the audition, even though she could not imagine why anyone should want to go to one, but she thought she was being unfairly treated. The trouble was Jane and Angus were having a holiday and she was not. She complained to Cathy and Alex, and tried to get Paul to side with her and stage a strike. Nobody took in that she felt abused, they thought she was just trying to sneak a day off from school. Because there was so much talk and fuss at breakfast on the Wednesday morning, nobody noticed that she left for school wearing an expression which a lady of the time of the French Revolution might have worn as she marched to the guillotine.
In spite of delays, last messages for Mrs Gage, last kisses from Alex, last pats for Esau, and Angus forgetting his shoes and having to rush back for them, Jane, Angus and Cathy arrived at Sadler’s Wells School with a quarter of an hour to spare.
‘Don’t you think we ought to walk up and down outside?’ Jane suggested. ‘Won’t it look rather rude if we come too soon?’
Angus was disgusted.
‘Walk up and down outside! Here you’ve both been talking and talking, and taking hours to get ready, and there’s me been waiting and waiting, knowing it was getting later and later, and thinking I’d miss my turn at the audition, and now we are here you don’t want to go in.’
Cathy sympathised with Jane, but however shy she felt she would not be helped by waiting.
‘It won’t look rude at all, darling. Besides, think what fun it’ll be having time to look round, and seeing the other children who are being auditioned.’
Jane looked gloomily down at her very clean, but rather old, blue cotton frock.
‘I do wish Miss Bronson had said a party frock was right. I could have worn my new one. I’d have felt much more dance-ish in that.’
Cathy took Jane’s arm.
‘Come along, goose, you look very nice. I’m glad to see you in socks, I do so much prefer them to those revolting St Winifred’s stockings.’
Jane raised a foot, and looked at her sock.
‘You may like them, but I feel it in my bones the right clothes for a person as old as me would be tights and a tunic.’
Angus was losing patience.
‘Clothes, clothes, clothes! Here’s me just the same as usual, except for being cleaner, and here’s you fuss, fuss, fuss about what you wear.’
Cathy was feeling almost as nervous as Jane, for she had never been inside a dancing school before, so she was glad Angus was being firm with them.
‘Quite right. We women do fuss, don’t we? Now, come on, darlings, we’re going in.’
It is queer the way that occasions that look as though they were going to be exciting turn out not to be, and others which sound as though they were going to be dull end up by being thrilling. Before the audition both Cathy and Jane were keyed up to expect anything, and even Angus, though he was confident the school would take him, was what Mrs Gage called ‘proper above himself.’ But when it came to it, the audition proved a quiet, unfrightening affair. Angus was the only boy attending, so he was seen first.
Angus’s account of what happened to him was that a lady, having first admired the shoes he had bought with his birthday money, told him to copy the steps she danced. Angus said he had copied the steps, and found them easy. Cathy, who had been in the room, had quite a different impression. She had seen the steps Angus was supposed to copy, and she had seen, what appeared to her, some very funny attempts by Angus to do so. But both she and Angus agreed about what happened afterwards. The Director of the school asked Angus why he wanted to dance, and he explained in great detail what happened to his feet when he first saw a ballet. After that Angus was sent away, and Cathy was left alone with the Director. She was told Angus was too young to be a real pupil, but he might come to classes and, if there proved to be talent, he could become a full member of the school later on.
Cathy was surprised and grateful at the interest taken in Jane. Miss Bronson had evidently written quite a long letter about her, for the Director seemed to know just how much training she had had, her age, and that there was no money to pay fees. In a way it seemed to Cathy they took more trouble over Jane than they had over Angus. They made her take off her shoes and examined her feet, and they watched very carefully as she performed the steps she was told to do. When she had finished the Director thanked her very nicely, and then sent her to change her shoes while he talked to Cathy. He told Cathy he would, of course, be writing to Miss Bronson about Jane, but that naturally she would like to hear something too. It seemed to him that Jane appeared a talented girl but badly in need of training. If it were possible she should have proper lessons.
While Cathy, Angus and Jane were at Sadler’s Wells Ginnie was having a bad time at St Winifred’s. She went to school deciding that if her family were mean enough to send her on a day when Jane and Angus had a holiday she would not work. ‘I’ll just sit at my desk,’ she decided, ‘but I won’t listen to a word anybody says.’ Of course that sort of behaviour was soon noticed, and when Ginnie had been told for the third time to pay attention she found Miss Matthews, her form mistress, was not putting up with her any longer.
‘You’ve been totally unmanageable the whole morning, and I don’t intend to be bothered with you, so you can stand outside the door where I can’t see you.’
Ginnie felt even more martyred than she had when she had arrived at school. ‘After all,’ she said to herself, ‘I’m not doing any harm. It’s just that I’m not listening.’ To Miss Matthews she said:
‘That suits me perfectly, thank you.’
That was the last straw. Miss Matthews was a good teacher, and fond of Ginnie as a rule, but rudeness was more than she could stand.
‘Does it! Well, I’ve no wish for it to suit you perfectly, so instead of standing outside the door you will report yourself to Miss Newton. Tell her I sent you and why.’
Miss Newton! Ginnie felt her heart turn over. To stand outside the door was one thing, to be sent to see Miss Newton in her study was quite another. She gave a look at Miss Matthews to see if there was any possibility of her relenting, but Miss Matthews seemed to have forgotten her and had gone back to the class. Trying not to look frightened Ginnie opened the door and shut it gently behind her.
Miss Newton called out ‘come in’ to Ginnie’s nervous knock. She was sitting at her desk writing. She glanced at Ginnie standing in the doorway.
‘Good morning, Ginnie. What is it?’
Ginnie took a deep breath.
‘I was sent by Miss Matthews to report myself.’
‘What for?’
‘For being totally unmanageable this morning.’
Miss Newton laid down her pen.
‘Dear me! And have you been?’
Ginnie tried to speak bravely, but the word came out with a wobble in it.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve been meanly treated. Jane and Angus have had a holiday today, and I’ve been made to come to school.’
Miss Newton could not, for a moment, see what Ginnie meant.
‘But they’re at this audition, and that’s work.’
‘Not to them it isn’t, I’ve said and I’ve said it isn’t fair, but I’ve been sent to school just the same.’
Miss Newton leant back in her chair.
‘I see. So you decided to be totally unmanageable.’
‘No, I didn’t, that’s what Miss Matthews said I was. I just meant to be a deaf adder that stoppeth its ears.’
Miss Newton pointed to a chair.
‘Sit down, Ginnie. Have you ever tried to talk to somebody who won’t listen to you?’
Ginnie did not see what Miss Newton was getting at. To her it seemed as if she was just having a nice talk. She said with fervour:
‘More often than you could believe. Have you?’
Miss Newton’s voice became grave.
‘This is serious, Ginnie. If you’ve experienced such behaviour you know how annoying it is.’
Ginnie saw this was not a friendly talk. Miss Newton was thinking of her behaviour. All the same she was certain there was justice on her side; she tried to make Miss Newton understand.
‘But I did it because I was angry, and I had a right to be angry.’
Miss Newton thought about that.
‘Even if you have a right to be angry, and I don’t agree that you have, it is your parents you should be angry with. After all it was they who ordered you to come to school this morning. If we are going to accept anyone has a right to be angry it is, I think, Miss Matthews and the rest of the staff who have that right, because you have made them suffer because you were angry with your father and mother.’
Ginnie felt as if she had been caught in a corner, from which there was no escape, when playing hide and seek.
‘As a matter of fact, truthfully, Miss Newton, I hadn’t thought of that.’
Miss Newton looked at the clock.
‘What would you have done today if you had been given a holiday?’
‘Nothing special. Taken Esau, our dog, out for a walk, talked to Mrs Gage, she helps Mummy, and …’
Miss Newton spoke crisply.
‘It’s now eleven-thirty. You came to school at nine, and you’ve wasted two and a half hours of our time. You can go home for the rest of the day.’
‘Oh, good, thanks awfully, Miss Newton.’
Miss Newton stopped Ginnie with a gesture.
‘Wait. I haven’t finished yet. But as you have wasted two and a half hours of our time, next Friday Miss Matthews will give you work to take home that will take two and a half hours of your week-end time. I think that’s fair, don’t you?’
Ginnie was appalled.
‘Two and a half hours’ home work. But there’s lots of things I want to do on Saturday.’ Then she saw Miss Newton’s face, which did not look forgiving. ‘I’m sorry about this morning, I’ll be good now. As it happens I don’t want that holiday after all.’
Miss Newton had a way of brushing things aside she did not want to hear. She brushed Ginnie’s words aside now, just as if they had never been spoken.
‘I trust you to go straight home. I shall telephone the vicarage to say you’re on your way.’
Cathy had decided that she, Jane and Angus would have lunch in a shop, and Alex was away for the day, so Mrs Gage had planned what she called a proper turnout The last person she wanted to see that morning was Ginnie.
‘Whatever did you ’ave to act up for, and get sent ’ome? If my Margaret Rose played me up this way I’d ’ave taken a slipper to ’er, straight I would. And what you’re to eat I don’t know, there’s a bit of bacon over from breakfast, what I was goin’ to ’ave, and there’s a bit of ’orse meat cookin’ for Esau. I suppose I could cook you a couple of eggs, but that’s all you’ll get.’
Ginnie could usually get round Mrs Gage.
‘Didn’t Mummy leave any money about? Then I could have an ice while I’m out with Esau.’
Mrs Gage very nearly smacked Ginnie.
‘Ice indeed! I’ll ice you, my girl. Now off you go, and you’re not to put a foot in this ’ouse before one, and as soon as you’ve eaten your dinner, since you are ’ere, you’ll make yourself useful. I’ll ’ave all the bits of silver down and you can clean ’em.’
The family came home. Cathy tactfully did not go into the details of why Ginnie had been home for the day, she thought she seemed to have had punishment enough cleaning silver for two hours, and if, as Mrs Gage said, there were to be two hours’ home work as well at the weekend, there seemed no need for her or Alex to interfere. Jane and Angus felt as if nothing nice would ever happen again. When Jane came in to tea she looked gloomily at the tea table.
‘Isn’t it odd, here’s this most important Wednesday and now it’s turned into an ordinary day.’
Cathy knew just what Jane meant.
‘Feeling flat, darling?’
‘So flat it’s as if I were going to be a pie crust, and you were rolling me out on the kitchen table.’
Angus was frowning.
‘I wish I could go there right away, and never go back to the choir school. I didn’t want to go there only for dancing lessons.’
Alex thought Angus was old enough to be grateful for little mercies. After all, he was very much better off than Jane.
‘I don’t think you’ve got much to grumble about, old man. These classes are quite a good idea, they’ll learn then if there’s any chance of their making a dancer of you.’
Ginnie helped herself to a sandwich.
‘You’ll have to go into training, my boy. Dancers don’t stuff themselves with jam sandwiches, do they Daddy?’
Alex laughed.
‘I don’t know much about training for dancers. Your Uncle Alfred used to be in training when he was at Cambridge, he was quite an all-rounder.’
‘Really!’ said Ginnie. ‘If you’d asked me I’d have said he was an all-fronter, for that’s where he sticks out.’
Cathy did not want Ginnie to get into any more trouble that day, and it was obvious she was in a mood when she could very easily be rude to someone, so she said severely, ‘Ginnie,’ and was going to change the subject when Paul, who had hurried home from school to hear the news, came tearing in.
‘How did it go, Jane?’
Jane thought it was nice of Paul to be so interested, knowing, as he did, there was no chance of her going to the school.
‘They don’t say much, they’re going to write to Miss Bronson.’
Angus bounced up and down in his chair.
‘I’m going to dancing classes, and then to the school later on.’
Paul was disappointed. He had hoped for something much more clear-cut. He said rather crossly as he helped himself to a sandwich:
‘If they didn’t say much, going to this audition doesn’t seem to have done much good, does it?’
Cathy thought Paul must be tired.
‘Jane knew it wouldn’t, but it’ll be a help when Miss Bronson gets the letter. Now, Paul, we’ll put all the food round you and clear the table. I think that this has been the sort of day that needs a special finishing off. I thought we might play a family game.’
At once everybody felt better. Jane rushed round the table to help her mother clear.
‘You are the most gorgeous mother. A family game would be exactly right, let’s play charades.’
Angus thumped the table to attract attention.
‘No. Let it be hide and seek all over the house.’
Paul helped himself to bread and jam.
‘I can’t play for long because of my home work, but I could manage one game of racing demon.’
Ginnie put a pile of plates on a tray.
‘I suppose nobody cares what Miss Virginia Bell would like, but she thinks it would be a good evening for that blow feather game.’
Alex looked at his watch.
‘If you can wait until I get back from evensong I’ll join in. I think, as you all want something different, you should let your mother choose the game.’
Cathy looked round at her family, and remembered some cards she had played with as a child, which were still popular with her own family.
‘What about Happy Families? It’s ages since we played that. I should like to see the Bulls, the Buns and the Doses again.’
While the rest of the family were washing up Paul tried to get some more information out of Jane.
‘Didn’t they say anything at this audition? I thought they would.’
Jane put down the teapot she was carrying.
‘It’s not so much the way they say it, it’s the way they look. I think they were interested, because of the way they examined my feet. I mean, you wouldn’t bother to do that to somebody who couldn’t dance, would you? When the Director said good-bye he said thank you in an awfully nice way. I think truthfully he was rather sorry about me.’
Paul had finished his tea. He got up.
‘What it boils down to is that you might have a chance, if only we had the money to pay the fees.’
Jane nodded.
‘Quite honestly that is what I think, but I’m not going to despair. Mumsdad said it was silly to do that. He quoted something which finished up: “Hope lost, all lost.” It sounds rather Bloggish, but I like it.’
Jane carried Paul’s tea things into the kitchen. The only person left in the dining-room with Paul was Esau, still waiting hopefully, for more pieces from his plate. Paul knelt down by him, and played with his ears.
‘What would you do, my boy? Mumsdad can quote what he likes about not giving up hope, but if I write that letter to Grandfather I’ve put paid for ever to being a doctor. Fat lot of use hoping would be then.’