Dolly's Mixture (5 page)

I don't know why I had imagined that the head would be a physical giant but, after the initial shock of shaking hands with a petit doctor, I settled down to concentrate on answering correctly the questions put to me in a rich, baritone voice, a voice which an actor would have given a lot to possess. I must have passed muster, for at last the head said he would accept my son into his school, ‘provided he would not resent being beaten at any time, if necessary'. I was so delighted that William had a place at the school that, over the moon, I almost blurted out, ‘But he would
love
to be beaten,' before I became puzzled at the question. The head explained that, when he had occasion to cane a boy, he liked the boy to take his punishment like a man. He would not have any boy who
resented
the head for caning him. Possibly, I told myself, I have mistaken the purpose of the question. I would have thought that anyone sensible would quite rightly resent being beaten. William had never suffered any physical punishment and I never, ever, told him that I promised a happy non-resentment on his part should he ever be chastised. Like most mothers, I could not imagine him doing anything to necessitate such punishment from the head.

Through the influence of this great man the educational standards of the school were exceptionally, outstandingly, high. He had only to enter a room for all sound to be silenced as though sliced with a knife. One morning at assembly the head informed the school that he had arranged for the boys to take dancing lessons at the girls' school once a week. He said it was not enough in these enlightened times for a young man to attain an intellectually high standard, he must also possess the social graces. With a dramatic gesture, in the silence of assembly (one could hear a pin drop), he threw his arms wide and in his lovely voice announced sadly, ‘Boys, it is to my eternal regret that I cannot
dance
.' Whereupon from the back came William's voice, loud, clear and so respectful, ‘Well then, sir, give us a
song
.' The whole school burst into hysterical laughter, boys, teachers, higher staff on the platform, and the head himself.

William was invited on to the platform and the head asked for a round of applause. Then the head said, ‘Thank you, William, for brightening the remaining years of my school life and for the great pleasure you have always given me.' More rousing cheers from the boys. He added, ‘Now go to my study, William, and I promise I will beat you hard.' William's friends thought this the best humorous twist of the day.

William held the head in high esteem, but I often thought listening to him and his friends talking, that the more they liked a teacher, the rougher the ride the boys tried to give him. They nicknamed the German teacher, ‘Hermann the German', and would roar with laughter at his strange expressions. One day Hermann said, ‘I am fed up with you boys, enough of your idiot and clown behaviour, you think I know nothing, but I tell you, you are wrong, for I know damn all.'

Often the boys liked some lessons not because of the subject but because of the tutor, and the head's weekly lesson, British Constitution, was an hour they all looked forward to – William because History and English were his main interests and the head such a wonderful tutor, the other boys because sometimes the lesson turned into a debate between William and the headmaster, which they all seemed to enjoy. Strangely, they all looked forward to Religious Instruction because here, too the master held their interest like magic. At one lesson, however, the regular master was absent and the lesson was taken by a student teacher. The main theme of his lecture was ‘Hell'. But he rambled from one thing to another, interspersing his lecture with the remark, ‘If God were to enter this room at this moment...,' not satisfying the boys as to what might happen at such a momentous occurrence.

Sitting in the front row of the class was George the Gorilla, a large, morose youth with thick, black hair. He had not settled happily into the school and had been hauled back to intellectual pursuits after a period of truancy. The student teacher, at the beginning of a dedicated career, was anxious to help George realise what he was missing by absenting himself from the seat of learning.
He
would give the lad a desire to learn!

He approached George and said in a kindly manner, ‘And what do you think, George? Do
you
believe there is such a place as Hell?' ‘Well,' said George, in tones and language which proved he was at the end of his tether, ‘if there is such a place as you describe, I wish I was there now, for Hell could not be any worse than this place, with your ranting.'

When William was fourteen a special Open Day was held at his school. It was to be a big affair and the head hoped every mother and father would make an effort to get there For some reason William was not keen for me to go, mainly, I think, because like all boys he thought his mother would disgrace him by her dress. I felt quite hurt at this, for I had made up my mind to try really hard, dresswise, so that he would be proud of me. I wore a grey, tailored suit with navy-blue accessories and I thought I looked the perfect mother for such an affair. Chas was not looking forward to the evening with delight and when we arrived he was less than ecstatic, for the hall was crammed to capacity with boys and mums and dads. William disappeared with his friends to help with the refreshments and I prayed he would not slip on the polished parquet floor and deposit a cup of hot tea in a visitor's lap.

There was a sudden commotion at the end of the room and one young teacher was carried out. The room was terrifically hot and he had fainted. To my eternal shame, Chas made a joke – well, he thought it was funny and so did the boys lingering nervously around. He said, ‘Oh, one of the fathers has bashed a teacher.' The man to whom Chas had made the joke remarked that he was disgusted at the behaviour of present day parents.

We saw the maths master who informed us that, had he seen us before Open Day, he could not, in all honesty, have given us a good report as to William's aptitude for figures. However, that day the master had received an intricate problem which was to be set for the school. It had been going the educational rounds with little success; indeed, the problem was of such intricacy that success was not expected even of an above-average student. ‘And what did I find?' demanded the maths master belligerently. ‘Scannell had the correct answer.' I sympathised with the master. It had just been a fluke, this Einstein streak in my son, but of course it was going to make the teacher's report rather difficult if they were looking for a future scientist of genius, for no one could have been a poorer student of maths than William.

We all queued up to see the head about our boys. Chas was tired, having been on his feet all day, but he stuck the wait gamely. In front of us was a dear little Jewish boy with his father. The head was listening patiently (I thought he looked a little bored), for the boy's father was asking for ‘Work, more work for my boy, that's what
he
 wants and that's what I want.' I listened, amazed and envious. Here was a happy little lad, keen to do well, whilst William and his friends complained bitterly at the amount of homework
they
had to do.

I was nervous of saying my name to the head (Chas left it to me), for I had heard his resonant voice conveying cold, hard facts to several parents. At last came our turn, and in a timid whisper, so that no other parents would hear (for I knew they were, as I had been, all agog, although casually pretending not to listen to the parent in the enviable, or unenviable, position at the head of the queue), I said, ‘William Scannell.'
‘William Scannell!'
shouted the head. ‘Ha ha ha ha ha....' At his loud shout and roars of laughter the whole room seemed to me to become silent, and all heads craned in our direction. It was as though the wicked fairy had turned us all to marble. The head boomed on, ‘William is a
cert
for university, the ideal type. He
must
go, he
will
go, ha ha ha....' Then he said, ‘I agree with all that the experts have said about him, and I believe too that, with this goal in sight, his isolation from his fellows will end, for he will be with people who speak his language.' Chas looked amazed. I was delirious inside, although appearing calm and casual outside; I could have burst into song there and then. The head's enthusiasm for my son was like a laurel wreath for me, but I put on my suitably modest look. Then the head, still smiling happily, made his final victory announcement. ‘William
will
go to college, provided, of course;
that he learns to write.
' We decided it was time to make a dignified exit.

Because, unlike Chas, I couldn't live a life of just work and sleep, I always went up to bed an hour or so later than he did. I loved that quiet time before midnight, it was a sort of refresher course for me. But, however quiet I was when I finally went to bed, Chas would wake up and was always complaining about it. We therefore decided to purchase single divan beds – the bedroom was very large. But what to do with the double bed, that was the problem.

It would have to go, even though we'd had it such a short time. It had no stories to tell, unlike the girls' double bed at Poplar, once shared by four sisters (definitely not room for the fifth), then three, then two, then the baby, Marjorie, alone in vast state. That bed had been our library, story place, sick bed, gymnasium, a strong, iron bed with brass knobs which unscrewed. The wrought-iron ends contained birds and ivy leaves. I suppose I became a woman in that large double bed, even though at the time I thought I had met with a terrible accident, such was the ignorance of our lives. We lived in close proximity with one another, yet I did not know this same accident had befallen my older sisters at the mete and proper hour. At the time I shared the bed with sisters Majorie and Amy. Winifred was in Australia and Agnes, married, at Brixton (‘Clapham, really,' said Mother).

Marjorie and I had no real intercourse with Amy; her life was lived to the full; she was a decade older than Marjorie and six years older than me. Marjorie often let Amy down in public, for Marjorie always possessed a childlike honesty. I blushed for her, but she was proud of her truthfulness. When James, one of Amy's boy friends, came to tea for the first time, Marjorie, busily fussing about helping Mother to get the tea, said to James in a motherly tone, ‘My, my, we
are
having a
feast
today!' She then climbed up to a cupboard above James's head, not thinking to ask him to move – she seemed fascinated by his presence, somehow, and was acting the part of mother and prime provider – and dropped a quart jug filled with milk on the unsuspecting boy friend. The milk trickled, or, rather, poured down the new, blue serge suit he was wearing to impress his girl friend's family. As Marjorie and I later prepared for bed, her departing words to Amy, now holding the hand of her dampish-looking boy friend, were, ‘And tonight, Amy, will you be careful not to fidget, you took all the
coat
off Dolly and me last night!'

I did not tell Marjorie of the accident which had befallen me in the double bed, for Mother informed me I was ‘now a woman' and must keep my own counsel about such things. At times when my womanhood asserted itself I must take great care not to put my feet into cold water, and above all – this was of paramount importance – I must
keep away from boys
. This latter directive positively terrified me, for boys were everywhere in my young life at Poplar. The streets, our playground, permanently possessed these sections of humanity now dangerous to Dolly. At these dreadful times in my life I took to crossing the road to avoid the football-playing boys, which necessitated a diagonal and lengthy route between two points. I seemed to spend my time crossing from one side to another, for I was also afraid of dogs. At womanly times my bosom was somewhat painful, too, and so I not only crossed the road but I also crossed my hands across my offending portions. Amy saw me once (I was also a Sunday School teacher) and she announced to the family that she was afraid ‘Dolly was becoming a religious fanatic, for she walks about like the pictures of the saints'.

When Marjorie, the youngest, left the isolation of the double bed to get married, Mother had no problems. She gave the double bed to the rag man. It was on Empire Day and she was amused because the rag man insisted on presenting her with a little Union Jack ‘because of the lovely brass knobs on the bed'.

Then my friend Ade came to the rescue. ‘I'll buy your double bed for my spare room, it's in such lovely condition and I do know it's come from a clean home.' After a fierce argument – for when Chas and I no longer wanted anything we never sold the article – Ade accepted our nuptial couch with gratitude. Her twin sons, Derek and Donald, came to collect it. Ade marshalled them like an old warrior: ‘Mind the paint, watch the banisters, boys.' So tough with them she always seemed, and how they worshipped their mum. Ade's boys were something special. I knew they'd get good wives eventually; with Ade about they dared not do anything else.

Because she had so few relations herself, she would listen for hours to my stories of the past and wanted to know every detail of the lives of my nine brothers and sisters. Amy was the one who captured Ade's imagination. Amy was the one Ade wanted to meet. This was a bit difficult, for I could hardly let Ade know that Amy thought Ade was ‘common'. Then one day Amy phoned. She was ecstatic. She was to be a royal lady-in-waiting in a medieval tableau. ‘Oh Dolly,' she enthused, ‘you
must
see my lovely wimple!' I told her Ade would be with me on the day she wanted to come. ‘That's fine, Dolly;' a now excited Amy had forgotten my friend's common touch. ‘I expect Ade will be interested to see my wimple, it's all my own work.'

I told Ade she was to see Amy's wimple, adding that I was sure Ade had never seen a wimple like it, or anyone so happy to possess such a lovely one. Ade was a bit quiet at first and then she said, ‘I know people like us don't like to talk about such things, but what exactly – what thing
is
your sister's wimple?' Poor Ade, I shouldn't have teased her, but she roared with laughter and said, ‘Well, Dolly, with you I learn a new thing every day.'