A Different World by Mary Nichols Read Free Book Online Page B

could not be dug out of the iron-hard ground. Cottlesham was under feet of snow which drifted across the lanes and blocked them. The London children had never seen anything like it – snow to them was slushy pavements, not this powdery white stuff, and they revelled in it. When the new term started they plodded off to school in wellington boots, wrapped in coats, scarves and mittens, often found for them by their foster parents. The fireguard round the pot-bellied stove in the classroom steamed with wet coats, socks and gloves.
    Stan dug out some skis and towed Tommy and Beattie to school on the sledge he had made, while Louise battled beside him on an old pair of snowshoes that looked remarkably like tennis rackets. ‘I remember going to school on those when I was a nipper,’ he told her.
    For the most part the villagers had accepted the evacuees and the arrangements for the children’s education were working satisfactorily, but everyone was wondering if it had been necessary after all. No bombs had been dropped by either side, except in Poland and, in most people’s opinions, that was too far away to worry about.
    ‘I told you there was no need for all that panic,’ Louise’s father told her one day when she went home for a visit. It was the firstweekend of the thaw in March and the difficulties of travel had eased enough for her to go. Apart from the sandbags round the doorways of public buildings, the unused air raid shelters, the anti-aircraft guns in the parks and the blackout, London was as it always had been. Shops, cafes, theatres and cinemas carried on as usual: people still went to football matches, still danced until the early hours – not that Louise knew anything about dancing to the early hours. ‘You can come home and go back to Stag Lane. I believe many of the children have already returned.’
    She didn’t want to do that. For the first time in her life she felt free of oppression, which was strange considering it was wartime. In spite of the identity cards, ration books and the call-up, it didn’t feel like war. And living at the Pheasant was fun. In the evenings it was always noisy and full of laughter; there was, so far, nothing to be miserable about. Tony had invited her to go to the pictures in Swaffham with him and, greatly daring, she had said yes. That was another first. The cinema was nearly as bad as a public house for wickedness, as far as her father was concerned, so she hadn’t told him. He knew where she was living because, one Saturday shortly after her arrival in Cottlesham, he had come down to inspect the so-called hotel where she was staying. It had not been a happy visit.
    He had laid down the law in his quiet, determined way, expecting her meekly to give up and go home, but the presence of Mr and Mrs Gosport – and Tony – gave her the courage to stand up for herself and for the pub. ‘There is nothing wrong with staying here,’ she told her father. ‘It is a decent, law-abiding place and these are decent, law-abiding people. My job is here with the children, especially since the rest of the school has landed up in Yorkshire somewhere and I am the only one here to teach them. If you like, I’ll introduce you to Mr Langford, the headmaster ofthe village school, and the Reverend Capstick. They will vouch for what I say.’
    Reluctantly he had agreed to meet the two men. He approved of John Langford, he had been a hero, but the parson was not to his liking at all. ‘Too modern, too slack,’ was his opinion. ‘And to go about in check trousers and a baggy jumper is hardly fitting for a man of the cloth.’
    In the end, he had declined Jenny’s offer of staying for a meal and had gone home muttering imprecations about Louise coming to a sticky end. But for her mother, she would not have gone home at all, and every time she did she was subjected to the same bullying tactics, and every time she left she felt guilty that she had escaped and her mother had to put up with it