A Vicarage Family: A Biography of Myself

  Her father’s face was stern.

  ‘And what was it you did to “get back on Miss Dean” as you call it, which was such an offence that you have to leave the school?’

  She had to tell it all. There was no way out of it. Victoria lifted her chin defiantly and glared at her father, daring him to side with Miss Dean.

  ‘I founded a society called the Little Grey Bow Society.’

  ‘Mummy and I have noticed you wore a grey bow. What did it mean?’

  ‘Well, first it was me and a few other girls, then everybody in my form wanted to join. Each of us started this term with a hundred marks; we lost a mark every time we were polite to a mistress. An idiotic girl called Maisie got scared and told.’

  Her father looked in amazement at Victoria. From childhood he had been dedicated to serving God. At his preparatory school and later at Marlborough each day was spent attempting to do rather more, both in work and games, than was expected of him. He had seven brothers and he believed some of them had been beaten once or twice but, as far as he knew, they too had worked hard and played hard and endeavoured in every way to please God and to turn out a credit to their parents. He did not know about his two sisters for they were at home with a governess, but from the air of peace and contentment which had hung like a rainbow over his home he supposed they too tried and succeeded in giving satisfaction. Never had there been a Victoria stating defiantly that what had been done was a just return for an injustice rendered. It was clear now why Miss Dean wished to get rid of Victoria – the chaos she must have caused in her form with every girl deliberately being rude to the mistresses.

  ‘I don’t know quite where to start, Vicky. That I am shocked and horrified you know without my telling you. But first let us tackle the question of “getting back”, as you call it, on Miss Dean. You are a child and as such it is your duty to obey and not to question. I have no idea what Miss Dean had against the magazine but, whatever her reasons, no doubt they were good …’ He saw Victoria was bursting to argue so he hurried on, ‘and in any case she is your headmistress so you must accept her ruling. Instead, to dare to form a society whose sole object was to give offence was a shocking thing to do. I find it almost impossible to believe a child of mine could have done such a thing.’

  Victoria felt anxious; surely Daddy was not going to cry. He could, because he had when he had read them The Story of a Short Life. Worse, was he going to pray with her? Twice he had done that: once when she had told a whopping lie and once when she had stolen a greengage off a friend’s wall. To distract him temporarily from her sin she introduced a new angle to the talk.

  ‘It’s all very well, Daddy, to say I’m a child and so I must obey and not ask questions. But on the Sunday after my last birthday you said I was stopping being a child and so I must have a sense of responsibility and all that. And Mummy said now Isobel and I were growing up we wouldn’t sleep in the night nursery any more but have our own room, which was to be called The Girls’ Room – and we have it and it is. Why was I supposed to be growing up then and be a child today?’

  That was quite a question. Telling Victoria she must start to grow up, and giving her the little honour of a room shared with Isobel had been one of the many schemes tried to make her a better behaved child. It had not been a success. Victoria had remained as nonconforming as ever, a real thorn in the flesh, as her mother frequently said. But this was not the moment to admit failure and reduce Victoria to the easier rôle of irresponsible child. Instead there was the question of punishment.

  ‘No punishment is sufficient for what you have done, Vicky. It is not only that it was wrong of you to think up so dreadful a society, but think of all the other girls in your form who, because of you, became ill-mannered and offensive. For the rest of the term, as soon as you have finished your homework, you will go to your room, where some work will be waiting for you – some of the hassocks in the church want repairing.’ He put his arm round Victoria and rested his face against her cheek so that she could feel the thickness of his eyebrow. ‘But, Vicky darling, punishments are no good without repentance. You must pray, Vicky, for help to forgive Miss Dean for what you so wrongfully imagine was an injustice done to you. We all need the help of prayer, Vicky, but you more than most for you have a difficult nature. When you are ready to ask for forgiveness come and tell me and we will talk to God about it together.’

  Officially what had happened in the study was a secret but apart from the fact of the punishment, which had to be explained, Victoria was not one to keep a good story to herself, so before another day had passed the whole school was whispering, ‘Victoria Strangeway has been expelled’. ‘Imagine, Miss Dean has expelled Victoria Strangeway,’ which delighted Victoria, making her, if not a heroine, at least the centrepiece of a drama. Almost the thrill of being so noticed and talked about compensated for the cold evenings sitting alone in The Girls’ Room stitching braid on to hassocks, but not quite, for Victoria was not one to enjoy her own companionship. She especially did not enjoy it when before the fire in the drawing room the others were playing Spillikins or ‘Who Knows?’, and after Miss Herbert had taken Louise up to bed their mother would read a chapter of David Copperfield to Isobel.

  Now, standing beside her garden leaning on the rake, Victoria realized with rather hurtful surprise that Isobel was right. For two or three days after the interview in the study schools were discussed, and papers were sent for about the schools for the daughters of poor clergy. But now – surprising though it was to face the fact that there could be anything more interesting than herself and where she went to school for her parents to talk about – she had to accept that there had not been a school mentioned for at least three weeks. Victoria looked at Isobel.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve decided I can do lessons with Miss Herbert.’

  Isobel moved to the other end of her garden to see how her pasque flower was getting on.

  ‘If that was all, there’d be nothing to whisper about, and certainly nothing to go away for. Imagine their going away yesterday and not telling us where!’

  Louise had prepared a place for radishes and was marking it off with sticks.

  ‘Whatever else is happening you aren’t doing lessons with Miss Herbert. Mummy asked her and she said: “I would do anything for you and the dear vicar, you know that, but some things are more than flesh and blood can stand”.’

  Louise mimicked Miss Herbert’s voice well; both Isobel and Victoria giggled. Then Isobel looked up and saw Miss Herbert coming on the lawn.

  ‘Shut up. Here she comes.’

  In the days before the First World War people of a certain standing, however little money they had, kept servants, and where there were children a Nanny or a governess. So, though the children’s father was a poor man, for vicars did not earn much money and he had no private means until his father died, there was a cook and a house parlourmaid and a woman who came in daily for the heavy work, and Miss Herbert.

  Miss Herbert was qualified to teach, but she suffered from poor health so had decided on a place where she only supervised. Not that her days were easy by present standards. She had to see the three girls got up and had their breakfast before she walked with them to Elmhurst, which was over a mile away. Back in the house she helped with any clerical jobs the children’s father might have until it was time to fetch the children home to schoolroom lunch. For Isobel, when she was well enough and always for Victoria, there was afternoon school and games until four o’clock, during which time Miss Herbert took Louise for a walk. Then came schoolroom tea followed for the elder two by preparation. Meanwhile Miss Herbert changed Louise into a smarter frock and took her to the drawing room. After homework Isobel and Victoria (when she was not being punished) also changed and went down to their mother.

  By seven Louise was put to bed and then Miss Herbert supervised while the other two ate their supper of cocoa and biscuits. At 7.30 Victoria went to bed and at 8.00 Isobel. The rest of the evening was Miss Herbert’s own, except
for any mending the children’s mother had asked her to do. Every other week she had a free half day and she was supposed to be free part of each Sunday, but this seldom materialized. Still, as she said to her friends: ‘A vicarage is a pleasant background,’ and with care she was able to save much of her salary of £15 a year towards her old age. She was a small, sandy dyspeptic woman, always neatly dressed in a high-necked blouse and full navy skirt except on Sundays when she wore a frogged coat and skirt with, during the winter, a fur tippet. Now, as she came across the lawn, the sun glinting on her glasses, it was clear from the purposeful look of her that she was the bearer of news. Besides, she was carrying a piece of paper.

  ‘I have had a telegram, dears. Your father and mother will be back this afternoon and they wish you to have tea with them in the drawing room.’

  The girls stared at Miss Herbert. They never had tea in the drawing room. On their birthdays and on Christmas Day there was family tea in the dining room, but that was different.

  ‘You sure?’ asked Victoria.

  Miss Herbert gave a little annoyed wriggle.

  ‘My dear child, I can read.’ She held up the telegram. ‘“Back 4.15 tea drawing room whole family. Strangeway.”’

  Isobel looked searchingly at Miss Herbert.

  ‘It looks as if at last we are going to be told what is happening, doesn’t it?’

  Miss Herbert was in a quandary. She did not want to admit anything but still less did she wish to suggest there was anything going on which was a secret from her.

  ‘Now we mustn’t be impatient, must we, Isobel? But this I will say – as perhaps this is rather a special occasion – you girls may wear your velvets for tea.’

  2

  The News

  ‘Your velvets’ was a grand-sounding phrase for the frocks concerned and the girls knew it, for all were conscious they were badly dressed. Isobel’s clothes were the best for she inherited hers from Ursula, a cousin who was one year older and far larger and taller than she was. Ursula’s father was Uncle Paul, who came next in age to Father in the Strangeway family; her mother, Aunt Helen, was American.

  On the few occasions when they had met Aunt Helen, usually at family weddings, the children had found her alarming for she was a great believer in organization. At two weddings at which the girls had been bridesmaids and Dick a page, this had led to disaster for Aunt Helen had insisted on such careful rehearsing before the wedding that the children became exhausted and confused. The result was that at one ceremony Dick sat on the bride’s train and was carried up the aisle on it, and at another Victoria fell flat on her face scattering the flowers from her basket on the chancel steps. But though Aunt Helen might be alarming to meet, her taste in clothes for her daughter was just the opposite, for everything bought for Ursula was soft and the colouring in gentle pastels.

  Miss Herbert called Ursula’s dresses sweetly pretty; the children thought them terrible. Because their mother was lazy about clothes, taking no interest in them either for herself or her children, whatever came from Ursula was copied cheaply for the other two. Thus the velvets. Isobel’s velvet was of a pale green with a very full skirt which hung straight from a big plain yoke. Because the material was the best that could be bought, though Isobel liked neither the shape nor the colour, she had to admit it hung gracefully. Victoria and Louise’s velvets were made of the cheapest material; Victoria’s was brown and Louise’s dark blue. Cheap velvet was stiff and unyielding, and though the inexpensive dressmaker who came in by the hour had done her best, nothing could make the material hang properly from a plain yoke. Since even their mother could see that Victoria and Louise’s dresses did not become them, in the house they wore over them pinafores of lawn and lace also inherited, though at an earlier date, from Ursula.

  ‘If there is one thing I hate worse than wearing my velvet it’s wearing this pinafore,’ Victoria grumbled as she and Isobel were changing in the girls’ room. ‘Thank goodness it will soon be summer and I should think I’ll have outgrown mine by next winter.’

  Isobel turned her back on Victoria to have her frock fastened.

  ‘I wish it was tea time. I’ve begun to feel as if I was going to the dentist.’

  Victoria’s face behind Isobel’s back became serious. This was bad; when things hung over Isobel it often meant she would start an attack of asthma.

  ‘You don’t feel wheezyish, do you?’

  All too well Isobel knew what prompted that question.

  ‘No, but sort of tightish as though I soon might.’

  There was medicine Isobel could have taken and a type of blotting paper soaked in crystals that she could have burned, but it never crossed her mind or Victoria’s that she might stave off an attack; grown-ups dealt with illness – never children. Besides, in most cases you had to be ill before there was treatment. The saying ‘prevention is better than cure’ was used but in relation to other things, such as mothballs before the moth season or strengthening the elbows of frocks before there was a hole. But Victoria, brought up under the permanent shade of Isobel’s asthma, had watched and learnt. Sometimes an attack could be avoided by attracting her attention to other things.

  ‘It’s a pity we’re too old for this should be a Hallelujah day.’

  When the children were small the return of their father and mother, even after one night away, became a Hallelujah day. This meant covering the bars of the window in the day nursery – now the schoolroom – with whatever was to hand which would pass as decorations. Often in those days it was dolls’ clothes, bedding from the dolls’ perambulators plus any ribbons saved from birthday or Christmas chocolate boxes.

  Isobel, her frock fastened, turned round to button Victoria.

  ‘We may be too old but Louise isn’t, and we’ve dressed much too early so it would be something to do.’

  ‘I dressed early on purpose,’ said Victoria. ‘I think being dressed for something makes it come faster.’

  ‘Don’t wriggle. This velvet’s awful enough to button, even when you’re standing still. It would have to be a different Hallelujah, of course, because we have only Jackie’s clothes as Louise doesn’t like dolls.’

  Jackie was a golli which Louise was supposed to adore. Her sisters knew that she had been devoted to the toy when she was younger, but they had a theory that for the last two years her devotion was largely simulated to please the grown-ups, especially their mother who preferred small children to older ones. Jackie, with his new clothes for Christmas and birthday and the fables collected round him, such as that Louise could not sleep unless he was in her arms, certainly appeared to chain her to childhood.

  ‘We’ll make Louise do the actual putting up, then we won’t be blamed for being childish,’ said Victoria. ‘We could use handkerchiefs and ribbons and our party beads.’

  So when about an hour later the station fly drove up to the gate of the vicarage, much tapping on the schoolroom window made both the vicar and his wife look up. Mrs Strangeway smiled.

  ‘Oh look, Jim, it’s a Hallelujah. They haven’t done that for years.’

  Having paid the cabman the children’s father stood in the road to get a better view.

  ‘Bless them. But Isobel and Victoria are getting too old for such nonsense.’

  The children’s mother opened the gate and walked up the path. ‘Too old!’ Jim was always harping on that subject. The girls were too old for short skirts, too old for bare legs in the summer. If only he knew how the thought of growing-up daughters frightened her. Anyway Isobel would never be grown-up in the way Jim meant, for every time she was ill she became a little girl again clinging to Mummy.

  Although it was a special occasion as tea was in the drawing room there was nothing exciting to eat because it was Lent. The three-tiered cakestand held no cake, only white and brown bread and butter. Fasting in Lent, though supposedly left to the free will of all, was actually imposed. It was taken for granted by the children’s father that during Lent no one, except on Sundays, would wish
to eat sweets, cake or jam. A visitor to the vicarage one Shrove Tuesday when Louise was six had found her sobbing in the garden. Asked what the trouble was she had said: ‘I can’t bear to think there’s forty days of farce in front of me.’ The tea table was laid with the silver kettle over the methylated flame, and the silver teapot, milk jug and sugar basin all with the Strangeway crest on them. There were eggshell thin cups with blue borders and in each saucer a teaspoon again engraved with the family crest. Even with only bread and butter to eat the occasion had style as soon as everybody’s tea was poured out and the cups passed round, for in the schoolroom tea was slightly coloured milk. The children’s father smiled round at his girls.

  ‘Mummy and I have some exciting news for you. I have been offered a new living. It’s the parish church, Eastbourne.’

  ‘It’s a great compliment to Daddy,’ their mother put in, ‘for it’s a big and important parish and whoever is vicar there is also Rural Dean and often finishes up as a Bishop.’

  The girls were so surprised at this news that for a moment even Victoria was silenced. Whatever else they had expected it was not this. St Peter’s was their home.

  ‘The Bishop wrote to me with the offer two or three weeks ago,’ their father explained, ‘but I could not say yes then because the vicarage wants such a lot done to it and I did not see where the money was coming from, but I heard this week that Queen Anne’s Bounty will help, and we went over yesterday and spent the night with the present vicar and his wife, and before I left I wrote to the Bishop and accepted. We are going to move after Easter.’

  After Easter! But Easter was only a few weeks away. That unloosed the girls’ tongues. Questions poured out. What was the new vicarage like? What school would they go to? What was Eastbourne like? How many rooms would there be in the new house? Would Miss Herbert go with them? Would the maids go with them? Was there a proper garden?