The Postcard (8 page)

If Callie stretched hard, the weather vane was in reach. They’d made a loop to go round it but it was a much longer stretch than they had anticipated. Straining every muscle in her arm,
she reached as high as she dared and on the second attempt she got the banner round. The words inked out on the cloth were ‘VICTORY FOR THE TRAILBLAZERS’, and she then slung her own
blazer, with its distinctive navy-blue material with red and gold piping, round the weather vane for good measure. It had seemed a huge joke at the planning stage but now it didn’t seem so
funny, and even from the bell tower roof it was clear to Callie that no one was laughing down there.

For a second of terror she clung, feeling her feet slipping, but with the sense of real danger came a strange exhilaration too.
You did it!
If she got up here she would make it down,
but retracing her footholds wasn’t easy. She could see the janitor running with his tall ladder, and men with heavy blankets acting like firemen in case she fell. That was when she froze, her
limbs stiff with fear at the thought that Aunt Phee was seeing all this, waiting and worrying. It was supposed to be a day of triumph, not tragedy.
Hell’s bells . . . what do I do
now?
was racing through her mind.
Stay calm, one foot at a time, back down inch by inch and don’t look down. The stones will hold your weight.
She felt the sweat trickling on
her forehead and her palms were slippery. Slowly, she edged back to the balustrade and knew she was safe, but with this came the sinking feeling that her trouble would be only just beginning when
she touched solid ground.

‘I’d like to know what you thought you’d achieved by that demonstration of stupidity, Caroline?’ Miss Corcoran had the two girls standing in front of
her desk with their parents behind. ‘Making an exhibition in public and putting your lives in danger, embarrassing your parents and aunt, Primrose?’

Phoebe watched her daughter bow her head. No one watching had seen anything but danger, and she still could hardly breathe at the thought of what might have been.

‘I thought it was a good idea to remind everyone of your motto, miss.’

‘My what?’ Miss Corcoran bellowed. Phoebe dug her nails into her palms, wishing she was anywhere but here.

‘You asked us to be trailblazers so we took my blazer on a trail.’

‘I see. So this was some joke at the school’s expense?’

‘No, Miss Corcoran. We have our trailblazers club, Callie and me. We wanted to do something daring like the suffragettes.’

‘But you could’ve been killed climbing that tower. It’s centuries old and out of bounds, as you well know. How on earth did you get in there?’

‘We used our initiative, like you always say we should,’ Primrose replied, looking at her parents, who could hardly contain their smiles at this riposte.

Miss Corcoran didn’t see anything amusing at all.

‘That was a foolhardy needless prank that could have ended in tragedy and brought our school into disrepute. We pride ourselves on instilling discipline and common sense here.’

Primrose’s mother stepped forward. ‘We sent Primmy here because we knew you prime girls to think for themselves and take risks. These two did something risky and daring, as they saw
it, where we, as parents, could see only danger. I think they are still a little young to recognize the difference, but I also think they’ve learned their lesson.’ She turned to Phoebe.
‘What do you think, Miss Faye, since it was your niece leading the way?’

‘No, Mummy, Callie made me leave. She looked after me. We both planned it together.’ Primrose was in tears. ‘It’s not all her fault.’

‘I think you have an answer there, Miss Corcoran.’ Phoebe felt bold to reply. ‘Two silly girls trying to do something daring and then finding that danger has its own price, I
suspect. I don’t know what else to say in their favour.’

‘We can’t let this go unpunished. It sets a bad example, however well-meaning and immature. I shall have to think of something suitable as a correction. Thank you, that is all for
now. Girls, you will have the whole vacation to dwell of how this foolishness can be amended . . .’

With that they were all dismissed. Phoebe was just relieved Caroline wasn’t expelled on the spot. ‘What on earth were you thinking of?’ she whispered, wanting to shake the
girl.

Primrose and Caroline, white-faced, stood huddled together looking up at their banner. ‘It’s still up there. We did it. Who’ll take it down?’

‘That’s enough from you two toe-rags,’ Betty McAllister smiled. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes next term.’

‘If there is a next term,’ Phoebe said heavily.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I know Dorothy. She’ll be secretly impressed with their escapade. Here are two of her charges who won’t ever flinch when danger comes calling.
Trailblazers, indeed . . . I bet she doesn’t use that word again in a hurry. Come on, let’s see if there’s any tea left.’

Phoebe watched Primrose’s parents stroll down the path arm in arm. It’s all right for you, she thought. There are two of you to keep a check on your wild child. I have to do it all
alone. Yet the panic she felt at the thought she might have lost her daughter was something she would never forget. As for the blazer, it was just an expensive piece of cloth, easily replaced,
nothing like the loss of her child.

As they walked down towards the tea marquee in silence, she put her arms round Caroline. ‘Don’t you ever scare me like that again, young lady!’

July 1933

August

‘If there’s a war, I’d want to be doing something important, wouldn’t you?’ said Callie, staring down at a picture of her aunt in a uniform.
‘Not prancing around in make-up, pretending to be someone else.’

Callie was so glad she had Primmy’s company that summer. From their very first terrifying day at St Maggie’s she’d found a friend in Primrose, who’d stood in the new
girls’ queue looking as scared as she was. They’d stuck together like limpets, listening and saying little. They were allotted the same dorm.

Primrose was such a funny name for a girl with the brightest orange hair Callie had ever seen. It stuck out in a frizz in the damp sea air, coiling into the tightest curls and impossible to
plait, so she was given permission to have it bobbed short into a halo round her head. She had the greenest eyes and freckles, was hopeless at games but a wizard in maths and all the sciences, with
an effortless ability to remember stuff. She soaked up knowledge like a sponge, whereas Callie had to listen and take notes and swot up, and still came near the bottom in everything but French and
German.

Now Primmy wasn’t listening, engrossed in Aunt Phee’s special scrapbook, a big red leather album with pages full of theatre programmes, stage photos and postcards going right back to
her Gaiety Girl days. ‘Wasn’t she pretty?’ Primmy smiled. ‘I mean, she’s not old or anything, but she looks like a film star in these postcards, and those picture hats
. . .’

‘I think they’re hideous, especially the cartwheel ones. Can you imagine walking down the street in one of those now? They’re so fussy.’ Callie loved the sleek straight
skirts and cloche hats she saw on the London streets, but she still preferred her kilt and jumper to any of her other clothes.

‘I like the ones of her in uniform too.’ Primmy turned the page to point to one photo taken in a hospital ward. ‘She served in France.’

‘Only in some concert party, not like your mother in field hospital,’ Callie replied. Betty McAllister had been much braver, going across the Greek mountains to help the Serbian
army.

‘Mummy says cheering people up is as important as making them better,’ Primmy answered back, always wanting to put a good slant on things. She carried on turning the pages in her own
time. She was determined in that way, not letting Callie bully her into saying things she didn’t mean. At the back of the album there was a pile of loose bits that spilled out onto the table:
postcards and letters. Primmy lifted one up. ‘Who’s Mr Harry Boardman? She never sent this postcard; it’s still got a clean stamp on it . . .’

‘I think that’s her father . . . my grandfather,’ Callie replied. She peered at it more closely, having not bothered with the scrapbook for ages.

‘I didn’t know he lived in Leeds. Does he still live there?’

‘He died, like my mother and father. I never knew him.’ The Boardmans never featured in her life: no Christmas cards or presents or letters. She’d forgotten that he was
Phee’s own father. ‘Do you know Leeds?’ She was curious now.

‘A little bit. Hunslet is south, I think. We pass it on the train. Do you have other relatives there?’

‘I think there’s an uncle there.’

‘We could go and find him. It’s not that far from Harrogate.’

‘I’m not sure. I think my aunt fell out with her family. She’s never talked about him,’ Callie said.

‘But if he’s your real uncle there might be cousins there.’

Callie glanced at the address. ‘I suppose it would do no harm to see.’

Primmy pulled out the postcard from the rest. ‘This could be an adventure, finding your long-lost relatives. Then you can surprise your aunt with our findings like in the
Anne of Green
Gables
stories.’ Prim really liked those stories because of Anne Shirley suffering for her red hair.

‘I’ll see,’ Callie replied cautiously, but she did pocket some of Aunt Phee’s old postcards just so she could look at them in private.

Two days later they took a train north together, their rucksacks and suitcases in tow. Callie loved staying with the McAllisters. There was always a bustle of brothers and dogs, and telephones
ringing in the hall. Prim’s brother Hamish was a keen Boy Scout but he was going to college to be a doctor, almost grown up but still fun. Dr Betty ran some welfare clinic for mothers and
babies, and Dr Jim had consulting rooms at the side of their house. The girls were left to amuse themselves but everyone met up for evening supper in the dining room where Callie found the chatter
deafening and raucous after the quiet of Phee’s apartments.

It was Prim’s big idea that they could go on the train to Leeds in search of the uncle, who Callie recalled was named Ted.

‘You did bring the card with the address on?’ Prim began.

‘No.’ Callie saw Prim’s look of dismay. ‘But it was Peel Street.’

‘What number?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Honestly, you’ll never make a detective.’ Prim was reading Dorothy L. Sayers’ detective story
Strong Poison,
and she raved about Harriet Vane.

It didn’t take long to get into the city and take a bus down the Hunslet Road. It was an area full of dark sooty cobbled streets. The houses were back to back with no gardens. This must be
where Aunt Phee was brought up, and it came as a shock to Callie. Primmy wasn’t bothered by the poor streets. She seemed to understand that not every family lived like they did. Callie knew
only about Kensington, St Maggie’s and Dalradnor. She felt uneasy. ‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ she asked Prim, who was marching ahead, staring at the street
names.

‘This is where people live, close to the mills and mines and jobs. We’re lucky to have green spaces around us. Surely you’ve seen the tenements in Glasgow, or do you sleep on
your way into town?’

‘I don’t think we should go any further. I’ve seen enough.’

‘Don’t be such a snob. If your parents lived round here, you should know where. We could find their graveyard.’

‘No!’ Callie replied, not wanting to think about that. She’d imagined them buried in some country churchyard, not this grimy city.

‘I never took you for a coward. Let’s knock on a door,’ Primmy challenged. She rapped on the first door at the end of Peel Street and when it opened she smiled.

‘Excuse me, we’re looking for a Mr Boardman, Ted Boardman.’

‘Oh, aye, why’s that then?’ The woman, who had a shawl on her head, looked at them with suspicion. ‘The Boardmans flitted years ago but I think one of them lives near
Gladstone Street, the little one, dunno his name.’ She shut the door firmly in their faces.

‘See, we have a lead now. Gladstone Street; can’t be far.’ Primmy was pleased.

Callie hesitated. ‘No, let’s go back now into Leeds. He’ll be at work.’

‘He may do shift work. Isn’t this a ripping wheeze?’ The trouble with Prim was she had no fear. She marched straight to the nearest corner shop, bought a quarter of midget gems
to share and came out smiling. ‘Gladstone Street is just round the corner.’

Callie felt uncomfortable and conspicuous in her kilt when men standing smoking on the corner were clearly eyeing them up as strangers.

The streets were all identical: rows of black houses, two windows up and one down, with a basement sunk into the ground. The doorsteps were chalky white and the net valances on the windows
twitched as they passed.

‘You can do it this time,’ Prim ordered as she rapped the knocker of the first house to ask where Mr Boardman lived.

An old lady pointed up the street with a toothless smile. There was no going back now. Callie dragged her feet to the appointed house, hoping no one was inside, but as soon as she knocked it
opened straight into a living room where a woman in a faded apron with wisps of dark hair stared at them both with surprise.

‘I don’t buy from the doorstep.’

‘No, is this Mr Boardman’s . . . Ted Boardman’s house?’

‘Who’s asking?’ The woman eyed them both cautiously.

‘I’m Caroline, Joe’s daughter,’ Callie announced.

‘You’d better come inside . . . Ted, you’ve got a visitor,’ she shouted.