Miss Carter's War Read Online Free PDF

autograph albums and every new word you discover or like, write it down. Elsie’s “gobbledegook” is a good one and there are several in the sonnet. Then you can find ways of using them in your compositions, perhaps in unusual ways, like Shakespeare’s “sullen earth”. Shall we try it with our robin? Chose some adjectives to describe him.’
    First up was “lovely”. Mindful of Miss Farringdon’s briefing, from which she had strayed, Marguerite now toed the party line.
    ‘But, Heather, “lovely” could refer to anything. The sun is lovely, so, to my mind, is this sonnet. You are lovely—’
    A blush and a snort at this.
    ‘We need a word that is specific to our robin.’
    ‘Cheeky’, ‘Christmassy’, ‘wounded’, ‘brave’, ‘chirrupy’, ‘pushy’, ‘lovable’ (whispered by Irene), ‘obese’ (from Wendy), ‘bleeding’ (this grunted by Elsie), the adjectives flowed out of them. Going with the tide, Marguerite decided the girls were sufficiently at ease with one another to return to the subject of ‘sweet love’, a subject potentially uncomfortable for pubescent girls. It was a dangerous area to explore. Sex was a totally forbidden subject in lessons except for a rudimentary look at the basics in Hygiene. Aware of the ticking time bomb of Elsie, Marguerite steered the subject firmly into the area of gentle loving. They came up with touching examples.
    ‘My granny when I cry.’
    ‘My mum when she plaits my hair.’
    ‘When my dad holds my hand as we cross the road.’
    ‘Yes, I like it when I go trainspotting with my dad. He doesn’t shout.’
    ‘My brother’s nice when we go bird-nesting.’
    Pets featured heavily in the list led by Brenda’s budgerigar.
    Anxious to include her, Marguerite crouched by Irene’s desk.
    ‘What about you, Irene? Is there someone you value more than anything in the world?’
    Her reply was barely audible but definite.
    ‘My baby brother.’
    The ideas were flowing now, and the class were visibly enjoying themselves, their relationship with their teacher relaxed and cordial. So much so that Rosemary Lewis, wide-eyed and brainy, dared to ask, ‘What about you, miss?’
    ‘Well, let me see,’ replied Marguerite. ‘I remember being cuddled by my mother.’
     
    Her arms holding very tight, the soft perfume, her cheek wet against hers. ‘Don’t worry, ma petite, Maman and Papa will see you again soon.’
     
    Marguerite could sense they found the thought of this kind of physical parental love slightly embarrassing. Only one girl, Helen Hayes, with ringlets that spoke of time spent with curling tongs, offered the observation, ‘It’s nice when my mum kisses me goodnight, before putting out the light,’ and then, judging by the flush creeping up her neck, wished she hadn’t.
    Marguerite checked that she had neglected no one, so that they were all involved with the discussion. Even Irene was attentive and as engaged as was possible at this stage. The only remaining renegade was Elsie.
    Marguerite decided to go for broke.
    ‘And you, Elsie, what “sweet love” do you remember?’
    It was a mistake. A grave mistake. There was no clever-Dick rejoinder from Elsie. That Marguerite could have dealt with. There was a look of bewilderment. The girl was struggling to find an effective riposte but there was just a stricken silence.
    Marguerite’s growing confidence had overreached itself and led her into deep water; she was aware of invading the girl’s complex privacy. She, of all people, should have known better. She could think of nothing to say, except a muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Elsie.’ The girl looked up and examined Marguerite’s face curiously, then shrugged and turned away.
    Marguerite moved on swiftly.
    ‘Now we have about five minutes before the bell. Brenda, would you be kind enough to read the sonnet again, bearing in mind the things we have discussed?’
    It was a risk, but it worked. The girl gave a clear, sincere reading and when she