tender towards her, especially in the light of all the physical burdens she had to bear. She looked up at her silent class, sensing that in some way they had drawn closer together through sympathy with what had happened.
‘Jack – go and find Mr Gaffney for me, please.’ She knew the gentle assistant headmaster would help arrange to get Lucy home.
She would have liked to pour out all that had happened to Millie Dawson, but Millie had apparently been taken ill, which was why Miss Monk had taken her place. The staffroom felt lonely without Millie to chat to. Gwen went in at dinner time, dreading having to see Miss Monk again. The woman’s cruelty and bitterness horrified her. She must be unhinged , Gwen thought. Of course the children were aggravating and a trial at times, but there was no need for that!
Miss Monk was in the staffroom, but had settled herself in the corner with her back to the world and was reading a book in a manner that forbade anyone to come near her. For a moment Gwen felt like doing something childish to release her feelings – sticking her tongue out or thumbing her nose at the woman’s forbidding shape.
‘Would you like to give me a hand, dear?’
Lily Drysdale was in the corner near the scullery, kneeling in front of what looked like a pile of old rags, sorting through them. Seeing Gwen, her face lit up under its frame of soft, white hair. Looking at her, though, Gwen realized that despite her white hair and spectacles, Miss Drysdale was not as old as she had supposed. She was wearing an unusual dress with a large-buckled belt at the front, in a fabric of a thick, loose weave in a rich green, a colour she seemed to favour. She shifted back on her knees a little with a grimace, then gave a rueful smile.
‘Legs aren’t what they used to be!’
Drawn in by her, Gwen knelt down. ‘What are you doing?’
Lily spoke quietly. ‘I do what I can to give a bit of extra to some of the little ones. You’ll have seen the state of their clothes. Some of these families are living under such terrible strain. I ask around for contributions, you see. People have got to know – my neighbours and so on.’
‘How kind,’ Gwen said, touched. ‘There are certainly a few in my class whose clothes are in shreds.’ She thought of Joey Phillips. His filthy, ragged state was not the only thing that had struck her. She found her gaze often drawn back to Joey’s intense, frowning features. Just occasionally, when he was playing with Ron, or when his face relaxed, she saw that his pinched, wide-eyed face had a real beauty.
‘Well, that’s what they’re for, dear. Have a fudge through and see if you can find anything that fits, and take it to them. I’m just trying to sort them into different piles for size.’
Dinner time flew past. Gwen had found a bakery near the tram stop, from where she bought her lunch every day. She munched on one of her cheese and onion cobs, and when Lily Drysdale said she had forgotten about bringing in food, Gwen gave her the second one.
‘That’s so kind,’ the other teacher said, holding the bread with one hand and continuing to sort through clothes with the other. ‘I’m really so disorganized about food . . .’
Gwen stored Lily Drysdale up as another thing to tell Edwin. To her Lily seemed more alive than most people she met, but then she wondered if Edwin would really appreciate Lily. He could be quite dismissive about some of the older ladies of the parish, as if in the nervous fussiness of widowhood or spinsterhood they didn’t quite count as people. She decided to keep Lily to herself.
Some of the clothes were threadbare, but among them she found a pair of short trousers and a slate grey jersey with patched elbows which she thought might fit Joey Phillips. She wouldn’t humiliate him in front of the class. She’d call him aside to wait until after the others had gone. She imagined the austere face of the withdrawn little boy lighting up at the sight of
‘Jack – go and find Mr Gaffney for me, please.’ She knew the gentle assistant headmaster would help arrange to get Lucy home.
She would have liked to pour out all that had happened to Millie Dawson, but Millie had apparently been taken ill, which was why Miss Monk had taken her place. The staffroom felt lonely without Millie to chat to. Gwen went in at dinner time, dreading having to see Miss Monk again. The woman’s cruelty and bitterness horrified her. She must be unhinged , Gwen thought. Of course the children were aggravating and a trial at times, but there was no need for that!
Miss Monk was in the staffroom, but had settled herself in the corner with her back to the world and was reading a book in a manner that forbade anyone to come near her. For a moment Gwen felt like doing something childish to release her feelings – sticking her tongue out or thumbing her nose at the woman’s forbidding shape.
‘Would you like to give me a hand, dear?’
Lily Drysdale was in the corner near the scullery, kneeling in front of what looked like a pile of old rags, sorting through them. Seeing Gwen, her face lit up under its frame of soft, white hair. Looking at her, though, Gwen realized that despite her white hair and spectacles, Miss Drysdale was not as old as she had supposed. She was wearing an unusual dress with a large-buckled belt at the front, in a fabric of a thick, loose weave in a rich green, a colour she seemed to favour. She shifted back on her knees a little with a grimace, then gave a rueful smile.
‘Legs aren’t what they used to be!’
Drawn in by her, Gwen knelt down. ‘What are you doing?’
Lily spoke quietly. ‘I do what I can to give a bit of extra to some of the little ones. You’ll have seen the state of their clothes. Some of these families are living under such terrible strain. I ask around for contributions, you see. People have got to know – my neighbours and so on.’
‘How kind,’ Gwen said, touched. ‘There are certainly a few in my class whose clothes are in shreds.’ She thought of Joey Phillips. His filthy, ragged state was not the only thing that had struck her. She found her gaze often drawn back to Joey’s intense, frowning features. Just occasionally, when he was playing with Ron, or when his face relaxed, she saw that his pinched, wide-eyed face had a real beauty.
‘Well, that’s what they’re for, dear. Have a fudge through and see if you can find anything that fits, and take it to them. I’m just trying to sort them into different piles for size.’
Dinner time flew past. Gwen had found a bakery near the tram stop, from where she bought her lunch every day. She munched on one of her cheese and onion cobs, and when Lily Drysdale said she had forgotten about bringing in food, Gwen gave her the second one.
‘That’s so kind,’ the other teacher said, holding the bread with one hand and continuing to sort through clothes with the other. ‘I’m really so disorganized about food . . .’
Gwen stored Lily Drysdale up as another thing to tell Edwin. To her Lily seemed more alive than most people she met, but then she wondered if Edwin would really appreciate Lily. He could be quite dismissive about some of the older ladies of the parish, as if in the nervous fussiness of widowhood or spinsterhood they didn’t quite count as people. She decided to keep Lily to herself.
Some of the clothes were threadbare, but among them she found a pair of short trousers and a slate grey jersey with patched elbows which she thought might fit Joey Phillips. She wouldn’t humiliate him in front of the class. She’d call him aside to wait until after the others had gone. She imagined the austere face of the withdrawn little boy lighting up at the sight of
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