Forgive and Forget (41 page)

‘And did they know of anything?’

Polly gazed up at Miss Broughton for a long moment before she said hesitantly, ‘Not – exactly, I didn’t ask them, because – because I heard three of them talking. One of them was saying that her husband had just joined up and – and that he was a teacher – ’ Now the words were tumbling over themselves in her eagerness. ‘And with him and others going, the schools are crying out for teachers and you know that’s what I always wanted to do.’

Miss Broughton stared at her for a moment and then clasping her hands together she leant towards her. ‘Polly, dear, you can’t just become a teacher like that . . .’

‘I know. I know that, but I wondered if there was any way I could come and work at the school. Perhaps I could help the little ones with their reading or – or their sums or just read them stories whilst the teacher is busy with another group. You know, like you used to get me to read to the younger ones when you were busy with something else.’

Miss Broughton smiled and murmured, ‘I remember.’ She had always taught a class of mixed age groups and teaching different levels of ability had been taxing. She had often relied upon the help of the older, brighter children like Polly.

‘We are very short of staff now, it’s true. Mr Ellis – he’s the headmaster now—’

‘What happened to Mr Hopkins?’

‘He retired two years ago and Mr Ellis took his place. He’s young and go-ahead. We’re all a bit worried that he might volunteer too, but we keep telling him that he’s needed here . . . Look, I’ll have a word with him, Polly, but I can’t promise anything.’

Polly beamed. She had the utmost faith in Miss Broughton.

For the next few days Polly waited on tenterhooks, unwilling to look for work elsewhere in case it spoilt her chances of being employed at the school. Since the idea had first come to her outside the school gates, the desire to become a teacher had blossomed once more until it became an obsession. But the days grew into a week and then two and there was still no news from Miss Broughton.

Towards the end of the third week, when Polly had almost given up hope, a note addressed to her in Miss Broughton’s neat sloping handwriting arrived at her home, delivered by one of the schoolchildren who lived nearby. Polly tore it open, dreading to read the words that would destroy all her hopes. But instead, to her joy, Miss Broughton had written:

Celia. Polly had never known her teacher’s name, but seeing it at the bottom of the page, written personally to her, made her feel special, as if the teacher was treating her as an equal. Whatever the outcome of their meeting would be, it gave Polly a warm glow.

Leaving Jacob with Selina, she was waiting outside the school gate the very next afternoon, long before the bell was due to ring. Again she eavesdropped unashamedly on the same three women whom she’d overheard talking previously.

‘Have you heard?’

‘What?’

‘He’s gone?’

‘Who’s gone?’

‘The head, Mr Ellis. He’s only gone and volunteered.’

The other two women – including the one whose teacher husband had already enlisted – groaned.

‘Silly man. What on earth are they going to do now?’

‘Bring back some old feller out of retirement, I wouldn’t wonder.’

Polly’s heart plummeted. This would be what Miss Broughton wanted to tell her. Mr Hopkins would be coming back to take the younger man’s place. And he was an old stick-in-the-mud. He wouldn’t entertain the idea of a young woman with no training and no education beyond the leaving certificate level being anything more at the school than a cleaner! Well, Polly thought, her chin jutting out resolutely, there was no shame in that. She’d be proud to be a cleaner at the school if it meant she could be close to the children, could help to look after them and maybe one day . . .

The bell interrupted her thoughts and, once again, she waited until all the children and their mothers had left. This time Miriam skipped towards her, hand in hand with Dottie Fowler.

‘Hello, Poll. Me an’ Dottie are going to the park.’

Polly nodded. ‘Be careful then. Mind you stay together.’

She waved the two girls off as she pushed open the squeaking door and made her way with dragging feet to Miss Broughton’s classroom.

Polly knocked and opened the door and then stopped in surprise. A young, fair-haired woman was seated at Miss Broughton’s desk. She looked up and smiled, her cheeks dimpling prettily. ‘You must be Polly. Miss Broughton’s expecting you.’ She slid off the high chair and came towards Polly, who was still hovering in the doorway. ‘Come, I’ll show you to her office.’

‘Office?’ Polly repeated stupidly, now completely bewildered as she followed her along the corridor. The young teacher chuckled. ‘Oh yes, Miss Broughton has her own office now. Here we are . . .’

‘But – but this is the headmaster’s – ’ Polly began, but was cut short by the teacher knocking on the door and being bidden to enter.

The young woman opened the door and ushered Polly inside, but did not enter herself. As she pulled the door shut again, she whispered, ‘Good luck.’

Polly stood on the carpet in front of the huge desk that in her mind had always belonged to Mr Hopkins. On the very few occasions she’d been summoned to his forbidding presence, she’d stood on this very spot, nervously casting about her mind for whatever misdemeanour she might have committed. And the same feeling overwhelmed her now. But there was no need for her to feel like a schoolgirl in trouble any more. She was a grown woman – a married woman – with a child of her own. And yet she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling until Celia Broughton looked up from the papers on her desk, smiled a welcome and gestured towards a chair set in front of the desk.

‘Polly, how are you?’

‘I – I’m fine, thank you.’

Polly perched on the edge of the chair and waited.

‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Celia said and Polly’s heart sank. That was what people always said when they had bad news to impart. ‘As I said in my letter, there have been some changes here and things have happened very quickly. Mr Ellis has enlisted and he’s gone already.’ She sighed. ‘We all tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen.’ Her face fell into lines of sadness and Polly knew she was fearful for her colleague. It was the same dread that Polly carried with her every minute of every day.

Celia was speaking again. ‘I’ve been put in charge temporarily, though I have applied to be allowed to continue as headmistress for the duration of the war. Whether my application will be successful, I don’t know as yet. In the meantime, I have discussed the problem of staffing at this school with someone in authority. The situation was bad enough before Mr Ellis went, but now – ’ she spread her hands helplessly – ‘it’s deplorable. Anyway,’ she continued more briskly, ‘I mentioned you to him and I’ve now received written permission from him that I may take you on as a pupil teacher for a trial period.’

Polly gasped, her mouth dropped open and her eyes were shining, but before she could speak Miss Broughton went on. ‘You do realize that this is only happening because of the war, Polly. In ordinary circumstances, it might not have been possible, particularly as you’re a married woman with a child, but in the situation we’re facing, we must utilize young women like yourself who have promise.’ She smiled. ‘I gave him such a glowing report – I hope you’re not going to let me down.’

‘Oh, Miss Broughton, I won’t. I promise I won’t. I’ll work so hard . . .’

‘I know you will, Polly. And this could be the start you need and – deserve. You will need to do some studying in your own time, but I can guide you with that. There’s just one thing I must ask you: what would happen if your child were ill? Would you feel willing to leave him in Mrs Thorpe’s care? And, perhaps more to the point, would she mind?’

‘I’ll have to ask her, but I don’t think so. Little Michael – Violet’s boy – had chickenpox a while back and Violet never stayed off work. Not once.’

‘Mm.’ Celia eyed her uncertainly. ‘But Violet’s Violet.’ How well Miss Broughton remembered all her pupils, Polly thought with a flash of amusement. ‘It might be different for you.’

Polly took a deep breath. ‘I have to be honest with you, Miss Broughton. If he was seriously ill – which I hope he won’t be – but if he was, then I would want to take time off. I can’t deny that. I wouldn’t trust anyone else, not even Selina, to look after him if he needed his mother.’

Celia regarded her solemnly for a moment and Polly held her breath. Were her dreams to be snatched away once more? But then the acting headmistress smiled. ‘That’s the sort of answer I’d hoped you’d give. I wouldn’t want any teacher of mine to be uncaring towards her own sick child. Now, Polly, when could you start? You’d be with Miss Miller, who brought you to my office. She’s not much older than you and is just out of training, so I think you would get on very well together. She’s taken over my class temporarily, but when we get everything sorted out, she’ll be teaching the infants and I think that’s where you could be most useful. Miss Miller is young, bright and enthusiastic with plenty of new ideas. Learn from her, Polly, and you won’t go far wrong.’

Polly felt as if she was walking on air as she made her way to collect Jacob.

Almost in a daze, she told Selina, ‘I’m to start as a trainee pupil teacher at the school on Monday.’

‘Aw, lass, that’s wonderful.’ Selina clapped her hands and smiled delightedly, though Polly wasn’t quite sure whether Selina’s pleasure was for her or for herself that she would have another little one to care for. Polly smiled; whatever the reason, the result was the same: this could be the start of her being able to achieve her ambition. But Polly was grounded enough to realize that she still might never become a real teacher. In the meantime the war had given her an opportunity she’d never dared to hope for, that she could never have foreseen happening.

It was the only thing she had to be thankful to the war for.

But the war had not only given Polly an opportunity, it also gave William a second chance.

When she arrived at the Longdens’ home that same evening, it was to find William in a state of excited agitation. Stevie was grinning and Miriam was dancing round the table. Polly was about say, ‘So, you’ve heard then,’ when she realized that her own news would not generate such obvious joy.

‘The union man came round this morning and told me if I went and saw the boss, there might be a possibility he’d take me back.’

‘There’s so many joining up, Polly,’ Stevie explained, but it was said without censure, he was just stating the obvious fact. ‘They’re getting short-staffed.’

But even the implication behind his son’s words could not dampen William’s pleasure.

‘And?’ Polly looked at her father enquiringly.

He took a deep breath. ‘So I went and saw Mr Christian. Christian by name and Christian by nature, that man is.’

Polly pursed her lips before they should say what was in her mind: That’s not what you used to say about him. You used to call him all the names you could lay your tongue to in the old days. But she kept silent.

‘We had a long talk and he said if I gave him my word that there’d be no more troublemaking, then he’d take me back. In my old job in the goods department an’ all, Poll. And I can start tomorrow.’

Polly beamed. ‘Dad, that’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you. Perhaps we can really start to put the past behind us.’

They sat down to an evening meal that Miriam and Stevie had prepared between them, but Polly did not impart her news tonight. This was William’s moment and she did not want to take anything away from him.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell her family of her own good fortune.

Nancy Miller proved to be as sweet-natured as her looks implied. The children in her charge adored her and Polly, too, quickly became fond of her. Theirs was a working relationship that soon developed beyond the classroom into a firm friendship, though in school they were both careful to stick to the proprieties demanded of them.

‘You’re a natural teacher,’ Nancy told her as they sat together in the empty classroom eating their sandwiches during the dinner break. ‘You should apply for proper training.’

Polly pulled a face. ‘I don’t think they’d take me, would they? I’m a married woman with a child. I’ve only been able to do this because of the war and because I have such good care for my little boy. In normal times . . .’ She said no more, but Nancy nodded sympathetically. ‘I know, but perhaps the war will change all that. Maybe, even after it’s over, there might be a way. You could go to the Lincoln Training College. That’s where I went. You wouldn’t be far from home then.’

‘I doubt it. When the men come back, the women who’ve taken on all their jobs while they’re away will have to go back to the kitchen.’

Nancy’s face was solemn. ‘Yes, but how many men are going to come back, Polly?’