Miss Purdy's Class (9 page)

Mrs Fernandez moved with a stately gait across the room to the scullery. She was dark haired, though not swarthy like Daniel. Her hair was taken back softly in a bun and she wore a deep blue dress and black crocheted shawl. She seemed friendly and down to earth, more welcoming than her son, and Gwen warmed to her immediately. Perched on a chair by the fire, Gwen felt more at ease now she was not in conversation with Daniel alone and able to take in more of the room. The walls were painted a rich blue, which made the place dark and cosy in the firelight. Looking up at the mantelpiece, which was draped with a deep rust-coloured strip of material, she noticed a photograph of a dark-haired man, though it was faded and she could not make out much except that he looked too old to be Daniel. Was he Daniel’s absent father? Beside it, flanked by brass candlesticks, stood a small, blue-robed statue of the Virgin Mary. She heard Mrs Fernandez lighting the gas and the kettle hissing and realized she was being watched closely by all the children.

‘So I don’t suppose you’re living round here are you?’ Mrs Fernandez asked. Steam curled into the air as she poured water into a huge brown teapot.

Gwen turned to her. ‘No – I come in from Hands-worth. Soho Road.’

‘Oh yes.’ The lid clinked into the teapot. ‘Vincent
bach
– fetch me the milk. And Paul – go and get the chair from upstairs.’

Both the boys, a good deal older than Lucy, jumped to do as they were bidden. The younger one disappeared into the scullery and came back with a bottle of sterilized milk. Their instant response made Gwen realize that Mrs Fernandez was more steely than her soft appearance indicated. Gwen watched her, trying to guess her age, and thought she must be in her mid-forties. Mrs Fernandez brought the pot and willow-pattern cups and saucers to the table, then poured the strong, orange tea. Gwen moved her chair over to sit nearer. Vincent, who told Gwen he was fourteen and would soon start work, sat across from her. Paul sat on the chair he had brought down and another boy and Rosa sat by the hearth. Gwen could feel Daniel observing her from his perch on the arm of Lucy’s chair.

‘You don’t sound local either,’ Gwen said shyly. She couldn’t work this family out at all – Welsh accents, Birmingham accents, Spanish name. ‘Are you Welsh?’

‘Me?’ Mrs Fernandez sat down and handed Gwen a cup of tea. She stirred three spoonfuls of sugar into her own cup. ‘Not originally, no. I’m Irish, I am – from County Wexford. My mother and father brought us over the water for a better life when I was seven years of age. Met my husband Arturo there – course they’d all come over from Spain to the steel works down in Dowlais – that was before he left to go down the pit.’ She stopped and sipped her tea. She seemed quite happy to keep talking. What she was describing though was an unknown world to Gwen, who nodded, hoping her ignorance was not too obvious.

‘Arturo died eight years ago, God rest him – after the strikes and that. We didn’t want to leave the valleys, but there was no work, see, not down there. My sister Annie’s in Birmingham, and her husband Pat, and they wrote and said there’s jobs to be had here . . . Well, none of us wanted to go, and Daniel here wouldn’t come, not straight away. His home was the valley, was all he wanted. He stayed on with my brother in Aberglyn . . .’

‘Ma, d’you think Miss Purdy wants to hear all our family history? I expect she’d find it very dull, an educated young lady like her.’ Again, the tone was ironic, a challenge.

‘But I do,’ Gwen said sharply, wondering why Daniel Fernandez seemed determined to despise her on sight. She resented this – after all, she’d brought his sister home, hadn’t she? ‘It’s very interesting.’ She could barely imagine what Mrs Fernandez’s experiences could have been. In fact she realized she knew nothing about anything. The inside of this house was very different from and much poorer than any other she had ever been in. She’d barely ever met a Roman Catholic before. Her mother talked about them as if they were sinister. Even drinking tea with sterilized milk was new to her. She was having to get used to the taste of it. She sensed that this family had come through enormous hardship, while her own life had been so sheltered, so comfortable! It made her feel almost ashamed. She sat forward, elbows on the table.

‘I’m so sorry about your husband. What a terrible thing. And you were left with so many children.’

‘Eight to bring up. Oh yes. Lucy was born after he died.’ She shook her head, took another sip of tea in the silence. ‘Course, Daniel stayed in the valley, and our Ann was the only one out at work. But at least there was work to be had over here . . .’ She gave a long sigh. ‘Oh yes, hard times.’ Suddenly Mrs Fernandez seemed to brush the memories aside. ‘Would you like a hot drop in there before you go?’

‘Yes please.’ Gwen held out her cup. ‘It’s thawing me out nicely!’ She was feeling wet and uncomfortable but she was too interested in the family to want to rush away. She turned to Daniel.

‘Birmingham isn’t your home then?’

His mother replied before he could. ‘Our Daniel’s a valley boy. Down the pit at Aberglyn when he was fourteen. Now he’s up to his eyes in politics and books – a proper red, he is, just like his da – there’s no talking to him sometimes.’

There was a bitter note in her voice. Daniel made no reply but she saw that the twinkling, teasing light had gone from his eyes and his face was moving as if he was clamping his jaw in the effort not to retort. Gwen saw there was tension between mother and son that she had no understanding of. She had never taken any interest in politics, never heard much about it except when Edwin talked about pacifism and the League of Nations. Her family were quietly conservative. Politics had always seemed a dull, provincial affair. Its importance had never touched her, and she certainly knew nothing about Wales. She could tell the other children had heard all this before and weren’t interested, two of the boys poking each other and giggling. Only Lucy was really listening.

Mrs Fernandez changed the subject. ‘You being a schoolteacher – marvellous, that is. I’d like to have done that if I’d had a better education.’

‘Yes,’ Gwen said. ‘It is quite nice.’

‘It’s the seedbed of revolution, that’s what it is.’ Daniel’s voice cut through from behind her. Though he was talking quietly, his voice carried round the room. ‘Give people an education and you give them power to change their lives.’

‘Yes.’ Gwen turned to him. Once again, something about Daniel Fernandez seemed overwhelming; she had that odd sensation of electricity sweeping over her, though she spoke coolly. ‘I suppose you’re right. I’ve never thought about it before.’

He looked steadily back. ‘Perhaps it’s time you did.’

There was a knocking at the front and a voice called cheerfully, ‘Theresa? It’s only me!’

‘That’s my sister. Come in, Annie!’ she called. ‘There’s tea in the pot!’

‘I must go.’ Gwen got up as the woman came in, a thinner Theresa Fernandez, older and a little more faded, but with the same candid blue eyes. ‘I’ve disturbed you long enough.’

‘You’re no disturbance. Annie, this is Miss Purdy, Lucy’s class teacher. Lucy had a turn today and she brought her home. Wasn’t that kind now?’

The woman smiled warily. ‘You’re from St Patrick’s?’

‘No – I told you, we’ve put her in the Protestant school to have her nearer by. It’s just along the way.’

Daniel stood up as Gwen thanked Mrs Fernandez for the tea. ‘I’d offer to walk you home, but I think I’d hold you up.’

For the first time there was a touch of warmth in his tone.

‘There’s no need. The tram stop’s just at the end of the road.’ She glanced down at his leg. ‘What have you done?’

Daniel’s mouth went up at one side. ‘Let’s just say I had a little disagreement with a policeman.’

‘Oh.’ Gwen smiled. ‘I see. Well, I don’t, but I hope it gets better quickly. Bye-bye, Lucy. I’ll see you in the morning.’

A delighted smile met her from the chair.

‘Bye-bye, Miss Purdy.’

Seven

The nit nurse was in school.

About once a month she turned up to check the children’s heads and this time she arrived the week before the half-term holiday. They lined up in the hall, class by class. Form Four waited for Form Three to finish.

Alice Wilson was sick with nerves.

‘Line up now!’ Miss Purdy called to them. ‘Ron, put those away. I don’t want to see those out in school again. Why is it that you always seem to
rattle
, one way or another?’

Ron Parks sheepishly pushed a handful of marbles back into his pocket.

Alice followed the others as they lined up. Squinting anxiously, she managed to get behind Lucy Fernandez.

‘I hope I haven’t got nits!’ she whispered to Lucy.

Lucy turned and peered at her, puzzled by the desperation in her voice. ‘You won’t have. Your hair’s lovely and clean.’

‘I know, but my head’s itching something terrible.’ Alice started scratching at the very thought. Several of the others were doing the same and giggling nervously.

‘Ooh – nits’re horrible!’ Lucy said, quivering, but trying to make a joke of it. But there was no answering smile on Alice’s face.

‘My Mom’ll go mad if I’ve got nits.’

They filed into the hall and stood on the scuffed floor, which had lost its beginning-of-term sheen. Form Three were going back into their classroom with Miss Dawson. Alice could see their blurry shapes moving through the bright oblong of the classroom door, but she couldn’t make out who any of them were without screwing up her eyes so tightly that her face ached. She already had toothache, a nagging pain at the top left of her mouth. She hadn’t told her mother. Mummy kept saying she couldn’t stand any more bad news and toothache seemed like bad news to Alice. What was she going to do if she had nits? She knew what it would be like.

‘Those dirty, dirty children!’ Her mother would be shouting, crying. ‘How can we go on in this place? I can’t stand it, can’t stand living any more . . .’ It was frightening when she talked like that.

Up near the stage Alice could make out the stout figure of the nurse. She was wearing a white overall and the tops of her arms seemed squeezed into it because they were so plump. She started to move along the back of the line from child to child. It was the same nurse who always came and she was brisk but kind. Miss Purdy walked along in front of them all, in her soft green dress and neat shoes.

Alice felt a pressure inside her as the ordeal moved closer. She needed the lavatory, urgently.
I should’ve asked to go before.
Panic was rising in her.
It’s too late now. Miss Purdy’ll be cross with me if I ask now.
She liked Miss Purdy, with her sweet, pretty face and the the way her hair hung in little waves round her cheeks. And she spoke softly and had lovely curly handwriting. She was the nicest teacher Alice had ever had, but she could still be quite strict and Alice was frightened of being told off by anyone. Everything was frightening, the way it seemed to be for her mother since her daddy had disappeared and they’d become poor. Mummy didn’t like being poor. She sat in the house and cried and wouldn’t go out because everyone was rough and she was afraid. She hadn’t wanted to send Alice to school, but she knew she had to, she said it was the law.

From Miss Dawson’s classroom came the sound of voices reciting the three times table. ‘Three nines are twenty-seven,’ they droned.

The nurse worked her way along. Jack Ellis had nits.

‘There’s one here,’ the nurse told Miss Purdy, who wrote down his name. When you had nits the teachers sent a note home to your parents.

Alice felt a surge of pressure in her bladder and she crossed her legs, looking down at her scuffed brown shoes. Daddy used to make her polish her shoes every evening but now they didn’t even have money for polish. She couldn’t keep still because she needed to wee so badly. Only nasty, dirty people had nits, that was what Mummy said.

The nurse reached Lucy. She brought with her a smell of disinfectant. Alice thought her heart was going to break out of her chest. Her palms were wet with sweat and she fought a desperate need to scratch her head. If she didn’t move, maybe they wouldn’t notice!

Miss Purdy moved in front of her and she could sense the nurse behind her.

‘Nice head of hair, you’ve got, dear,’ Alice heard the nurse say. She felt the nurse’s fingers on her scalp, separating the hairs. The nurse lifted her plaits and Alice could feel her staring, first at one side, then the other. Her cheeks burned and she held her breath. She looked up at Miss Purdy, who did not see the desperation crying out from her eyes. A second later the worst thing of all happened. She couldn’t hold her urine any more and she felt it start to trickle down her legs, then come in a rush. She let out a whimper of distress. Miss Purdy’s eyes met those of the nurse for a second.

‘It’s all right, Alice.’ She spoke gently. ‘Let’s take you out to the toilet, shall we?’

But the damage was already done. There was a puddle on the hall floor. Weeping with humiliation and fright, Alice followed Miss Purdy out and across the playground to the toilets. The wind blew freezing cold on her wet skin and she could feel the soaked elastic chafing her legs.

‘You go and take your knickers off,’ Miss Purdy said kindly. ‘I’ll be back to you in a moment.’

Alice sat sobbing in the toilet cubicle. She had to blow her nose on a sheet of the hard toilet paper. She felt so ashamed, but how she loved her teacher for being so kind! A few minutes later Miss Purdy came back.

‘Alice, I’ve got something you can put on for the time being.’ An old pair of knickers was passed under the door. They were going to holes, but anything was better than the humiliation of staying in wet ones all day.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

Miss Purdy was waiting for her by the roller towel when she came out, feeling a little more comfortable.

‘I’ve rinsed your others through and I’ll put them on the radiator in the staffroom. Don’t you worry – they’ll be dry by home time.’ Miss Purdy leaned closer to her and Alice could smell the sweet scent of rosewater. ‘Now look, Alice. I could see you were very worried about something in there. Was it about having nits?’