CHAPTER SIX ~ THINGS DON'T GO ACCORDING TO PLAN

The first lesson that morning was history with Mrs Lambert, a grey-haired woman who looked like everyone’s favourite grandmother but who had the habit of appearing very friendly and then frightening the girls by shouting very loudly.

‘I marked your homework last night,’ she would say with a beaming smile. ‘IT WAS TERRIBLE!’ Some of the girls found this rather amusing, but most tried to do the right thing by her so that she wouldn’t shout. She really was the most terrifying teacher imaginable.

‘Mary Hamilton, you can sit at the front with Linda Barrett,’ Mrs Lambert said. ‘I know you’re quite capable of behaving properly, but all the same I’d like you at the front if you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind at all, Mrs Lambert,’ Mary said politely, but a sideways glance from Linda Barrett seemed to be not at all friendly.

The teacher began by instructing the girls to take notes on the English Civil War which she had already written on the board. Mary found it easy to keep up with her, but Linda was way behind. When Mrs Lambert went to the back of the room to see how some of the other girls were doing, Linda reached across and snatched Mary’s work from her desk. When Mary demanded that she gave it back in a loud whisper, two things happened. Mrs Lambert heard her speak and strode back to the front of the class, but before she got there, Linda had ripped Mary’s paper in half and tossed it back at her.

‘Mary. Why have you torn up your work?’ Mrs Lambert asked with a frown.

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she knew that Linda had a reputation for being a bit of a bully, so she muttered something about it being an accident, which didn’t seem to satisfy the teacher at all.

‘You can stay after class and write it out again properly. And you, Linda, you’d better stay too – you’re way behind all of the others!’

‘But Miss, I’m supposed to go for hockey training!’ Mary protested. Mrs Lambert waved her hand airily.

‘I don’t care about that. History is far more important than silly games. You will do as I say. If you care to debate the matter with further, I’m sure we can find you some lines to write out as well. Now get on with your work.’

Mary felt her eyes moisten, but she was determined not to let Linda see how upset she was. There were other girls in the form who could tell Miss Eggleton where she was. She buried her head and applied herself dutifully to the task set by Mrs Lambert. She had read many stories for girls about the Civil War in which the heroes always seemed to be the cavaliers, whilst the roundheads always came across as brutes and cowards. From what Mrs Lambert was saying, it seemed to be quite the opposite. Mary could not imagine how anyone could ever have thought seriously about deposing and beheading the King, but then she had not been alive in the seventeenth century, and she realised full well that there were always two sides to any story. In spite of the lesson she still favoured the roundheads, but now there was a seed of doubt in her mind as to which side had been the more righteous.

The end of the lesson came, and Mrs Lambert allowed all of the other girls to leave, keeping only Mary and Linda back. She went off to get a cup of tea, leaving the girls alone.

By mid-morning break both girls had covered several sides of paper with notes, although Mary could see that Linda was struggling with some of the spelling, and offered to help.

‘No, thank you!’ Linda said, her nose in the air. ‘You’re the little baby from the lower fourth, aren’t you? I don’t think I need your help!’

‘Well, suit yourself. I was only trying to be friendly!’

‘Don’t bother. It’s no secret that I was supposed to be the fourth member in your dormitory.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I would never have intentionally taken your place.’

‘It’s too late for that. Gloria and the others have cut me right out now you’re there. I hate them!’

‘I’m sure they don’t mean to,’ Mary told her.

‘I bet they don’t talk about me.’

‘Not to me, no,’ Mary admitted. ‘But they don’t talk to me much either. Only Ros.’

‘Ros was my best friend!’ Linda said, pouting.

‘I’m really sorry. She’s not well, you know.’

‘How would I know? She’s not my friend any more!’

‘Sorry again. But it’s not my fault.’

Mrs Lambert appeared in the doorway, cup in hand. ‘You’re not getting on very well. Show me your work, Mary,’ she said.

Mary handed her the paper, some six sides in all. Mrs Lambert scanned them quickly and expertly. ‘Yes, that will do. You can go now. I think you’ll be too late for the hockey, though. Linda, let me see yours, please.’ After a quick examination of Linda’s notes and few disapproving frowns and “tuts”, she handed it back and gave a long sigh. ‘You weren’t really paying attention, were you, dear girl? Off you go now, both of you. I want you to write out in your own time “I really must pay more attention in Mrs Lambert’s class”, five hundred times, and bring it to me by lunchtime tomorrow morning. Off you go.’

Mary’s heart sank. Five hundred lines would take at least an hour! There was another hockey practice after teatime, but the chances of her being there now were practically nil! She started off down the corridor at a trot but Mrs Lambert was watching her from the doorway. ‘Walk, please, Mary, there’s a good girl. It is most unseemly for girls to be seen running in the school corridors.’ In a few moments Linda had caught up with her.

‘Five hundred lines! I’m supposed to be singing in the school choir tonight! That’s all your fault, you little swot!’

‘You’ve only yourself to blame. It was you that started it. I said I was sorry for getting your place in the dorm. It really wasn’t my fault!’

‘Well, I’ve a good mind to get you to write out the lines for me,’ Linda said. Mary’s mouth dropped open. The older girl was clearly serious.

‘My writing’s nothing like yours!’

‘Then you’d better start practising, hadn’t you?’ Linda said, and went off to join her own circle of friends, all of whom were older than Mary, and included the school’s bully, Angela Ryan, a tall blonde girl who was very attractive but not very bright.

‘I can’t, I don’t have time!’ Mary called after Linda, but she was gone. Dejected, Mary sought out Miss Eggleton to explain what had happened, and found her in the staff room. But Miss Eggleton was in no mood to listen to Mary’s excuses.

‘If you get yourself into trouble and can’t be bothered to turn up for practice sessions, I’ll have to find someone more reliable,’ she snapped. For the second time that day Mary felt tears well up in her eyes and turned hastily away, so that the teacher would not see. But Victoria Eggleton had her nose buried in a magazine and was not particularly interested in anything else. ‘Just make sure you turn up after tea, or your place will be gone.’

‘Yes, Miss,’ Mary said meekly, and ran off to her next lesson, which was Latin. Though she was quite good at it, Mary didn’t really like it, and found it dry and lifeless. She could not imagine how people could ever have spoken to each other using such clumsy and formal sentences. The teacher was a fussy, middle-aged little woman with grey hair. Miss Quigley was a widow, her husband having been a pilot who had been shot down and killed during the war. She taught with the air of one who assumed it was their duty to do so, and was very strict, with no favourites. Mary tried to start on her lines when she had done the work Miss Quigley set, but seeing that she had finished ahead of the rest of the class, she set Mary to learn some more Latin vocabulary, and the lesson passed with none of the five hundred lines written at all. On top of that, the first lesson the next morning was also Latin, and Miss Quigley set the girls an enormous amount of preparation for it. The chances of Mary getting to hockey practice that evening were dwindling by the minute!