Two Penn'orth of Sky (14 page)

When she had finished telling her story, Wendy looked at her shrewdly. ‘You’re not fittin’ in, that’s the trouble,’ she said. ‘For a start off, I’ll bet no one else in your class calls their mam Mammy; only posh kids ’n’ babies do that. An’ then there’s your clothes. If you mussed ’em up a bit yourself before you went in each day, then they wouldn’t have to do it for you, see? I don’t know either of them girls what’s pickin’ on you but I guess it’s the same reason some girls
used to pick on me . . . well, not exactly the same, but sim’lar. They used to pick on me ’cos I were so filthy an’ me clothes were rags; I were different from them, see? There weren’t much I could do about it, ’cos me mam never has two pennies to rub together, an’ anyway, if I gorra decent dress, it ’ud be in Uncle’s before I could say knife. But it’s different for you.’

‘Yes, I know what you’re saying and I know it’s true,’ Diana said. ‘But I
like
being clean and neat, and I like getting all the answers right and being top of the class, and Mammy likes . . . oh dear, I mean me mam likes me to do well in school, too.’ As she thought over the woes of this afternoon tears rose to her eyes, and when she spoke again her voice had a break in it. ‘Mammy – I mean Mam – bought me a lovely new pencil box because I got all me spellings right, and two brand new pencils with little rubbers on the end – d’you know the sort? – only Hilda snapped the lid off and Maur-Maureen broke the pencils in two and ch-chucked them through the window.’

‘Well, ain’t that too bad?’ Wendy said. ‘But I’m tellin’ you, queen, that if you can’t fight ’em you’ve gorra join ’em. Tell you what, how about a bit o’ saggin’ off school? Luvvy Duvvy ain’t the sort of teacher to gerrout the cane, and if you show her the pencil box . . . well, you know what teachers are. They don’t seem to care if a kid gets bullied an’ covered in bruises, but if property gets damaged they’ll make a big fuss.’

‘Saggin’ off school? What does that mean?’ Diana asked, her eyes rounded. ‘If it means staying off, I can’t. If Mammy’s too busy to take me – she works now, you know – then I go with the Fishers, and if I didn’t turn up there’d be a real rumpus, I’m tellin’ you.’

‘An’ you don’t want to sag off school, do you?’ Wendy said shrewdly. ‘Awright, queen, we’ll try the other way first. Go in tomorrer, only kick up some dust off of the pavement so your socks ain’t so perishin’ white an’ cobble up your skirt wi’ a few pins; don’t let your mam see it’s been tore or she’ll likely do such a good mendin’ job that you’ll be lickle goody two shoes again afore you know it. Ain’t there nobody in your class what’ll stand up for you against them bullies? I’d come in meself an’ give ’em a good clack only I don’t go to school no more.’

Diana thought her friend sounded almost wistful, and without thinking she repeated what her mother had once said. ‘Oh, but Wendy, soap ’n’ water’s free. My mam often says so. You could have a real good wash – a bath, even – and then if you put your hair in a plait and wore the best thing you’ve got, I ’spect it would be all right.’

Wendy’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment she looked so furious that Diana’s heart began to beat overtime. She looked anxiously at her new friend but the annoyance had left Wendy’s face and she was merely looking thoughtful. ‘D’you reckon?’ she said slowly. ‘Only soap ain’t free, queen. Still an’ all, I wouldn’t mind havin’ a go in your sink if you think it would be all right wi’ your mam.’

‘I’ll help wi’ your hair,’ Diana said eagerly. ‘It won’t take but a minute an’ then we can sit outside on the front step while you dry off.’

Wendy was willing, and presently Diana dunked her friend’s head in the bowl of water and began to rub, rather inexpertly, with a large chunk of carbolic soap, which her mother used when she scrubbed the kitchen floor.

An hour later, when Wendy’s hair was not only
clean and shining, but also dry, the two girls returned to the kitchen where Diana brushed it out and then held the small mirror so that her friend could admire the result of so much scrubbing. Wendy’s eyes rounded as she looked at her reflection. ‘I wouldn’t ha’ believed it possible,’ she said in an awed whisper. ‘I never knew me hair was that colour. It’s nice, ain’t it? Cor, wait till me mam sees me!’ She turned to Diana. ‘Thanks, Di. You’ve done me a good turn, I reckon, and I done you one an’ all. Tomorrer, just you tell Luvvy Duvvy what ’appened to your pencil box. She’ll be that scared your mam will come up to school to mek a complaint that she’ll do something about it, an’ so she bleedin’ should. A teacher what can’t keep order ain’t no perishin’ good.’

‘But the pencil case weren’t broken in class,’ Diana pointed out. ‘An’ they don’t ever touch me when there’s teachers about. It’s usually in the breaks or when Miss sends me on an errand to another class because she says I’m trustworthy. They say they’ve got to go to the toilet and – and follow me and start on me before I can escape.’

‘An’ you go back into her classroom wi’ your hair comin’ down out of its ribbon an’ bruises on your shins, an’ she don’t notice?’ Wendy said incredulously. ‘Of course she notices, but Luvvy Duvvy don’t like trouble, an’ two big girls like the ones you telled me about mean trouble, even for a teacher. So tomorrer, you’re goin’ to march into your classroom an’ show her a broken pencil box, ain’t you? You didn’t chuck it away, did you? Is it in your satchel?’

‘No, it’s in my shoe bag, hanging on my peg,’ Diana told her. ‘I meant to bring it back with me to see if Charlie, or Uncle Wally, might be able to mend it. But then I realised they’d ask how it got bust, so I didn’t.’

‘Right you are, then. Tomorrer mornin’, you an’ me’s goin’ into that school an’ you’re goin’ to tell Luvvy Duvvy what ’appened to the pencil box, an’ I’ll back you up,’ Wendy said, a martial light in her eye. ‘Only – only I’ll have to go up to the police station an’ get some clogs, ’cos they won’t let you into school if you’re bleedin’ barefoot. I don’t know why,’ she added in an injured tone, ‘because no one don’t wear shoes in the summer hols, so why must you wear them in school?’

‘The police station?’ Diana said. ‘Why the police station, Wendy?’ A horrid suspicion seized her. ‘You aren’t goin’ to tell ’em about me pencil box? I hate Hilda and Maureen all right, but I don’t think they should go to
prison
.’

Wendy laughed, then shook her head sadly over Diana’s ignorance. ‘Nah, I ain’t goin’ to tale-clat, but the scuffers give kids wi’out shoes wooden clogs so’s they can go to school. I – I never bothered before, but I’ll do it now ’cos you’re me pal.’

‘Oh, thanks, Wendy; I won’t be nearly so scared if you’re with me,’ Diana said. ‘But you’re a lot older’n me. Which class are you in?’

‘Well, I don’t go to school much. Haven’t bin for more than a day or two for years,’ Wendy said vaguely. ‘But I’m nine, or thereabouts, so I’ll probably be awright with Luvvy Duvvy.’

‘Oh,’ Diana said doubtfully. ‘But will they let you be in my class, Wendy? I think girls of nine is usually in Standard III or IV.’

‘Not when they can’t read nor write,’ Wendy said bluntly, and Diana saw a faint pink flush rise to her friend’s cheeks. ‘The thing is, queen, I don’t know as I can stand school for more’n a day or so, but we’ll see how I go on, shall us? Now that I’m real clean
’n’ tidy, I reckon it’s worth me while washin’ out this here dress . . .’ she fingered the hem of the grey and filthy garment she wore, ‘an’ givin’ school a chance.’

‘You mean you might
stay
in our class?’ Diana gasped, happiness flooding her. To have a friend in the same school would have been good; to have one in the same class was downright wonderful. ‘Oh, Wendy, please,
please
stay in school! I’ll help you with your reading and writing . . . well, with everything . . . if only you’ll stay.’

‘I’ll give it a go,’ Wendy said cautiously. ‘To tell you the truth, queen, that there schools inspector, wi’ the big moustache, is gettin’ a deal too close for my likin’. He don’t know where I live yet – not the exact house – but he knows I’m in this area, so mebbe it’s better to go to school of me own accord, rather’n wait till I’m took by the lug’ole and dragged there.’

Diana agreed, joyfully, that this was so. She found that she was actually looking forward to presenting Luvvy Duvvy with the pencil box – she would never think of her as Miss Lovett again – and knew that, if Wendy stuck to her resolution and stayed in school, her days of being a victim were over. As she prepared for bed that night, she decided that she must tell her mother all about Wendy, because if she were to help the older girl with her schoolwork, then Wendy must be allowed to come in and out of No. 2 whenever she was willing to receive instruction. Diana knew very well that her mother would be horrified if her daughter suggested going round to Wendy’s home. Emmy had once remarked, wrinkling her nose with disgust, that she had walked past the Telfords’ door and had got a whiff of what smelt like middens coming through it. No, she must make her mother see that Wendy was now her
classmate and should be allowed to visit No. 2 whenever she wished.

Accordingly, when Emmy came up to her daughter’s room with a cup of hot milk and a biscuit, Diana took a deep breath and told her mother everything that had happened that day. She ignored Emmy’s horrified comments, but went steadily on with her account, finally ending up with, ‘So you see, Mam, if Wendy doesn’t stay in my class, I shall have to pretend I’m not clever, and go to school in dirty clothes, or they’ll beat me up every time they get the chance.’

Rather to Diana’s surprise, her mother raised no objection to having Wendy in the house. ‘I’d a deal rather she came here than you went there,’ she admitted, ‘and if the kid wants to be clean, then clean she will be. Why, miss, what are you laughing at?’

‘Oh, Mammy, you sound just like Mrs Do-As-You-Would-Be-Done-By in
The Water Babies
. She said that to Tom when he was a little chimney sweep, didn’t she?’ Diana said, still giggling. ‘You read it to me when we lived in Lancaster Avenue, remember?’

Emmy laughed too. ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said. ‘Or was it Mrs Be-Done-By-As-You-Did? Not that it matters. If Wendy is going to be your friend, then I suppose I should be grateful.’

To say that Miss Lovett was surprised when Wendy presented herself as a pupil the following day was an understatement, but she hid her astonishment as best she could. It was gratifying that the child insisted upon being in her class, reminding the teacher that, a year or so previously, she had attended over the course of the year as much as a fortnight in her class and thought she might have been beginning to get
the hang of ‘what all them letters and squiggles meant’. Miss Lovett did say, mildly, that she would have to speak to the headmaster, but both she and Wendy knew that this was mere lip-service. If Wendy really meant to come to school, but would only do so if she were in Miss Lovett’s class, then they had best be philosophical about it. And the child was right, Miss Lovett mused as she added the extra name to the register. If she felt at ease here and had been beginning to learn her letters, then this was the best place for her.

Miss Lovett was an ingenuous soul and saw no reason to connect a broken pencil box with the arrival of her new pupil, but she did remember how extremely filthy Wendy had been the last time she had seen her and made the obvious connection. Diana was a pretty, lively little girl, though Miss Lovett had noticed that she had become very quiet of late. The teacher suspected bullying – the pencil box rather confirmed it – but she had no desire to interfere, nor to have trouble in her classroom, so she simply ignored the business as she had ignored it often before, hoping it would sort itself out in time. But a pretty, lively little girl might easily influence the child with whom she played, and since they lived in the same street – Miss Lovett had never entered a court – she supposed that the older girl had been encouraged to clean herself up by the younger one. Or possibly by her mother, Miss Lovett reflected, turning to the blackboard and beginning to write some simple words upon it. But it did not really matter why Wendy had decided to give education a chance. What mattered was that she was here, apparently eager to learn, and it was the attitude the children took up, in Miss
Lovett’s experience, which determined their ability to absorb her teaching.

By the time the Christmas holidays arrived, Wendy was beginning to read most of the words in the infants’ primer, though writing had so far eluded her. She was left-handed, and at first Miss Lovett had felt it her duty to constantly remove the pencil to Wendy’s other hand, but this made the child so frustrated and cross that Miss Lovett had given in and the result was already beginning to be noticeable. Miss Lovett hoped that by summer Wendy would be able to write most of her letters, if not all, and told herself that she was a better teacher than she had dreamed, since Wendy had never remained in anyone’s class for longer than a few days before, though the teacher did suspect that the help Diana gave her friend must be making a contribution too.

As for Diana, she was once more the bright, intelligent little girl she had been at the start of the autumn term. To be sure, she was no longer quite as immaculate, frequently coming to classes with dusty shoes and socks at half-mast, but Miss Lovett was shrewd enough to guess that Diana was trying to make the difference between herself and Wendy less immediately noticeable. The bullying – if there had been bullying – had stopped as soon as Miss Lovett had begun to make enquiries regarding the state of a brand new pencil box. Diana had refused to tell her who had snapped off the lid, simply staring Miss Lovett straight in the eye and saying that she did not know the culprit but suspected it was someone who had left the classroom whilst she, Diana, was running an errand for the teacher. Since Miss Lovett herself had been absent, though she should not have been, she could not immediately name the guilty one, but
after much though she realised that Hilda Bridges and her crony Maureen were in the habit of slipping out of the class, with the weakest of excuses, rather more frequently than her other pupils. She had faced them with the battered pencil box and knew at once that she had guessed right. She hastened to tell them, severely, that no one had ‘told on them’ as they had clearly suspected.