Then, a few weeks after Alice’s tenth birthday, when her father’s ship had just docked, they received terrible news.
Before his feet had even touched the ground, Alice’s father, drunk as a lord, had fallen overboard, crushing his arm badly against the side of the vessel. He was rushed to hospital but died a week later from an infection.
That had been seven weeks ago, and one day, Helena said –
‘Why not come and settle here with us, Ada? It would be more convenient for you than renting your home… Professor Carmichael and I have discussed it and we would love to have you living-in. The children adore you – and they adore Alice – so it would be good for all of us, wouldn’t it?’ She paused. ‘And with the housing shortage still so dreadful after the War, it would mean your place would be available for others.’
That point clinched it for Ada as she thought about it. Although it was true that it was just the girls – Rose and Margaret, to take care of during term time – since David and John had joined Sam at his boarding school – Ada was always happy to do general housework if required, and would sometimes help Betty do the vegetables – especially if the Carmichaels were entertaining. And if she and Alice did come to live here permanently, then they would be on hand at night time when the professor and his wife had to go out. There often seemed to be dinner engagements and various social occasions for them to attend. And for her own part, it would be a relief to Ada that she and her daughter were to be well-housed and well-fed, and that she no longer had the responsibility of finding the money for rent and household bills.
So Ada gave notice to the landlord of their furnished accommodation, and at the end of the month she and Alice packed their belongings into two large suitcases and a couple of bags. And watched by groups of curious neighbours, they shut the front door behind them and got into the car which had arrived to take them away from that part of their lives for ever.
Now, having in no uncertain terms told Lizzie to buzz off, Alice remained on the edge of the bed for a while, thinking. Then she lay right down, resting her head on one of the soft pillows. The wide mattress felt firm and comfortable under her back, and it didn’t have any creaky springs. Alice had thought that all beds creaked and groaned when you moved.
Their accommodation was on the second floor of the house, and it comprised this large room, a small sitting room next door, and at the very end of the long landing was their bathroom. Imagine – a lavatory that wasn’t outside in the back yard! And with a long bath you could lie back in instead of a hip bath that forced you to hug your knees!
Alice smiled to herself, and wriggled down further on the bed, wishing that it was night time so that she could get right under the pristine sheets and thick, white cotton counterpane, and dream some wonderful dreams. Except she didn’t need to dream now, because reality was wonderful enough.
Dear Samuel
Isn’t it funny that I always put “Dear Samuel” when I start my letters, instead of “Dear Sam” – which is what I’ve always called you.
Well, we have been here for four weeks and my mother and I have settled in very well. I must say it is lovely not to be living in Hotwells, though of course I still go to school there. But I don’t mind. I wish I was at your school. Do you think I could disguise myself as a boy?
We have gone back to see our neighbours twice since we left because my mother is worried that the children don’t have enough to eat, and the youngest baby is poorly again. So on our way down the town we bought bread and buns and oranges for them. They were all very pleased to see us.
Rose and Margaret had a fight the other afternoon you will be sorry to learn. It took my mother ages to get the plasticine out of their hair. It hurt them and made them cry and she said it was their own fault and they shouldn’t be so silly next time. My mother can be a hard woman!
I think I told you the other day that Lizzie hates me. Do you know why that could be? She’s always looking at me in a funny way and stares me out. Rather uncomfortable!
I’m sorry you only have bread and butter and marmalade for tea. Shall I ask Cook to send you a food parcel for a midnight feast? Ha Ha.
Have you seen the twins yet? Do they like it at your school?
I must tell you something. Your parents were going out somewhere special last week and I hid upstairs on the landing and spied them just as they were leaving. Your mother was wearing a long red gown and she had a diamond clip – or perhaps it was a tiara – in her hair. It sparkled like anything and she looked like a queen, or a princess. And Professor Carmichael was in full evening dress. They looked like two film stars. And then – help, help!!! They suddenly looked up and saw me watching them and they smiled and gave me a little wave. I was so embarrassed1!!!
The summer holidays will soon be here again, thank goodness, and I can’t wait for you all to come home again.
I hope you are well. My mother and I are both well.
Best wishes, Alice.
Dear Alice
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry I haven’t replied sooner but we’ve been having end of term exams and I’ve been doing a lot of revising. I think I have done OK – here’s hoping!
I was not surprised to hear about the girls scrapping. They’ve always done it. But the thought of them sticking themselves up with plasticine made me laugh.
I have spotted John and David in the far distance but we don’t mix at all. Anyway, I shall see enough of them in the holidays, thank you very much!
Our main production this year was Midsummer Night’s Dream. I elected to help with scenery and lighting. It was very good. Have you ever seen it?
It will soon be Speech Day and the end of term service for the whole school. There’s always a bishop or some other big fish present, but I haven’t heard who the lucky person is this time.
Then there is the LAST SUPPER. Note the capital letters! It’s always on the last Saturday before we come home. The kitchen staff make an unusual effort on this occasion, and the menu will be put up on the notice board soon. It’s usually something like roast lamb or chicken and there are always lovely puddings. Nearly as good as Cook’s – but not quite!
By the way I’m sorry about Lizzie staring you out. Very uncomfortable, I agree. But did you know she’s an orphan, living in Muller’s Orphanage? Have you heard of George Muller? I will tell you about him when I come home. I believe the orphanage is a very nice place, but it can’t be as good as being at home with a family, can it?
I must close now because it will soon be lights-out.
Give my best wishes to your mother.
Kind regards, Sam.
PS. I nearly forgot to mention…our House won the cricket tournament outright! I was lifted up on some shoulders, and the team did a victory parade around the ground. (I didn’t forget – just wanted to keep that bit of news until last. S)
Alice read and re-read every line of the letter. Then she folded it carefully so that it would fit inside the prettily painted box – a gift from her father – kept specially for all her treasures.
But before tucking it away, she lifted the letter to her lips and kissed it softly.
December
As she remained quietly kneeling on the floor by her side of the bed. Alice wondered what on earth her mother found to say to God each night. Alice’s own prayers took hardly any time at all – in fact she often repeated them all again in case her mother thought she wasn’t taking the matter seriously enough.
The procedure followed an identical pattern. First, Alice recited the Lord’s Prayer, followed by an urgent request that all her sins would be forgiven. After that, she asked for a blessing on her mother, and that her father was happy in heaven – well he must surely be settled up there by now – though probably not enjoying the devil’s medicine. Next, with a rush of compassion, the names of all the children in Hotwells would be mouthed silently, and, through gritted teeth, a quick prayer for Lizzie’s health, and a much warmer thought for Betty, the best cook ever, thank you God. And then Alice would ask that Professor Carmichael and his wife and children would all have long life and happiness.
But at the very end would be Samuel, whose name she would repeat several times in case God wasn’t listening properly. That He would look after Sam, and that Sam would always be her friend. Her very best friend.
Presently, at last, Ada rose from her knees and Alice immediately followed suit. Together, they turned back the counterpane and got into bed, Ada sighing briefly. The girls had been difficult today, and she was tired.
It was the beginning of December, and Ada and Alice had been truly part of the Carmichael’s house for more than six months. To Alice, it seemed that she’d never lived anywhere else, that this really was home.
‘I hope you won’t catch the girls’ colds,’ Ada said. ‘They’ve been so crotchety today – quarrelling non-stop.’
Alice stared up at the white ceiling for a few moments, her eyes tracing the ornate mouldings and cornices. ‘This is a huge room, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘Are all the other bedrooms in the house as big as ours?’
‘They’re even bigger on the first floor where the family sleeps,’ Ada replied. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to clean them.’
There was silence for a while as Alice thought about that. Then – ‘Mama – can I ask you something very private?’
‘Of course,’ Ada said.
‘What do you find to say to God? I mean, your prayers take you such a long time,’ Alice said slowly.
Her mother smiled in the darkness. ‘Oh well, I have so much to thank Him for, don’t I? I give thanks for kind employers, and a very nice home to live in. And I ask that everyone in the country will soon be able to find work, and that the government will take good care of all the injured men from the War. And that my daughter will be a good girl!’ She reached across to the bedside table. ‘Now then, it’s your turn to read tonight, isn’t it,’ she said, handing Alice their copy of Persuasion.
Alice opened it eagerly, removing the bookmark. From the very beginning of the novel she’d thought of herself as Anne Elliot, and because she already knew the story Alice longed for the end when all difficulties would be resolved and she and the handsome Captain Wentworth would finally be together.
Before beginning to read, she said -‘I wonder why, in books, it always takes such a long time to reach the happy ending? There are always so many problems to sort out before everyone gets what they want,’ she went on. ‘It seems such hard work for them all to be truly happy.’
‘I suppose because that’s what real life is all about,’ Ada said.
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Did you and Papa have a lot of problems,’ she enquired, ‘before you eventually got married? And then…did you really know that he was the one you wanted?’
Ada didn’t answer straightaway as she thought of her own life. Of her parents, both dead before reaching middle age, of her two brothers killed at the Front, then of meeting Stanley Watts. Older than herself, and so good-looking in his naval uniform, so roguish and full of fun. She was a part-time cleaner at a public house near the Docks where the regulars frequently gathered when in port, and he’d picked her out straightaway. Stanley was a charmer, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he’d lost no time in making himself known to Ada. And she’d been flattered and thrilled. Had so readily fallen in love. Within three months they were married quietly, and although he was so often absent Ada had thought herself lucky. Her husband was generous and kind and treated her well, never once raising a hand to her. Her worst nightmare had been the War, the dread of hearing that his ship had gone down. But defying all the odds, Stanley had come back safely each time.
And then, and then…he had thrown away all his good fortune. The devil had had the last laugh. What a waste. What a dreadful waste.
‘The difference,’ she said now to Alice, ‘is that in books you usually do get a happy ending – even if it takes a long time to happen – because that is what readers want. What they expect. But…it’s different in real life. You can never count on anything. You have to take what comes your way. And survive it.’
Alice pursed her lips. ‘One day, I am going to write a book, Mama, a proper book,’ she said. ‘Not just my short stories, but a long book, with all sorts of things happening to everyone…and I will give it a really happy ending! I’ll give them all exactly what they want and it’ll end with a great big party!’ She turned her head to look at her mother. ‘Do you think I could do it, Mama…would it take a very long time to write?’
‘It probably would take a long time,’ Ada said, ‘but I’m sure you’d be more than capable, Alice. One day, when you’re older. Because you’ve always loved writing, and all your short stories are like little novels in themselves, aren’t they…and they’re very good. They all have a beginning and a middle and an ending – and I always love reading them – and not just because you’re my daughter.’
Alice hugged her arms around her knees, already imagining her first best-seller in the shops. ‘I would like my book to be bound in red,’ she said, ‘with the title and my name in gold lettering.’
‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ Ada said.
‘Yes, but how am I going to get started?’ Alice said, beginning to get worried now that her plan looked possible. She hadn’t even thought of a plot for this tome yet!
Ada smiled briefly. Her little daughter had never suffered from the childhood malaise of boredom because there’d always been her exercise books and pencils to keep her occupied. Almost as soon as she’d been able to write, Alice had made up poems and stories. Had so easily seemed to occupy the lives of the characters she invented in a way which had sometimes surprised her mother.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what we could do,’ Ada said. ‘Why don’t you choose one of the short stories you’ve already written – or make up another one – and we’ll send it off to a publisher. How does that sound?’
Alice’s eyes widened. ‘What – you mean a real publisher? Someone who would print it and put it in the shops? Oh Mama!’
‘Now, don’t get carried away, Alice,’ Ada said, smiling. ‘I’ve noticed that there is a small publishing house near the centre of town, and all we would ask them to do is to read your story, and give you their opinion. Tell you where you might have gone wrong. It’s not very likely that they would publish it straightaway,’ she added gently, ‘ because it takes time to learn how to be successful. But they would be professional people who understand what people want to read, and they would tell you where you might have gone wrong. See? And that would be a start, wouldn’t it? But ambition is the main thing you need, Alice, and you’ve got that, haven’t you? You’ve always wanted to be the second Jane Austen!’
Alice’s heart quickened as she imagined a glittering future for herself in the book world. ‘I’ve already got a new idea for a story,’ she declared, ‘I’ve just thought of it! And I’m going to start writing it as soon as I get home from school!’ She turned to her mother. ‘But will you read it first, before we send it off to the publishers, Mama…to make sure I haven’t made any mistakes?’
Ada took Alice’s hand and squeezed it. ‘No, I won’t read it first,’ she said, ‘because it would have to be all your own work – nothing of mine. If you make a mistake it won’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. All you need is determination to succeed and persistence, and you’ve got all that, Alice. I know you have.’ And after a moment, Ada added,‘Never give up on your dreams, Alice. Always tell yourself that one day they could come true.’
Thoroughly wide awake, her imagination darting all over the place with heroes and heroines and blighted love lives, Alice went back to her original question about her parents.
‘You know…you know you and Papa?’ she said. ‘Did you and Papa really love each other, at once, straightaway I mean? Did you know that you were meant for each other?’
Ada turned her head and looked at Alice. ‘Yes, Alice, we really did.’ She paused. ‘I know we did,’ she added quietly.
Alice was in an enquiring mood. ‘Do you think that the professor loves Mrs. Carmichael as much as you loved Papa?’ she asked. ‘He’s so often away at the Infirmary, Mrs. Carmichael must be awfully lonely sometimes, mustn’t she?’
‘Loneliness is something everyone has to put up with at times,’ Ada said. ‘It’s not the worst thing in the world.’ She paused. ‘Now then – where had we got to with Jane Austen?’
At once, Alice began reading, stumbling only very occasionally with a difficult word, and Ada, only half-listening, thought of Stanley, and what might have been. There might even have been a brother or sister for Alice. If God had intended it.
Presently, aware that Alice was getting tired, she said gently, ‘I think that we’ll let that be the last chapter tonight, Alice. Well done – you read beautifully.’ She turned to switch off the small bedside lamp. ‘Good night, Alice, God bless you.’
‘God bless you, Mama,’ Alice replied, snuggling down contentedly. Then, yawning, ‘Which bedroom do they sleep in – is it the one underneath ours…the professor and Mrs. Carmichael, I mean?’
‘Oh I really don’t know. Go to sleep, Alice,’ Ada said.
But Ada did know. The professor and Helena occupied the main bedroom, the one with its own dressing room, immediately beneath this one. And Ada imagined them, perhaps even now, lying there together…such a handsome couple, he tall and strong, so utterly, completely masculine…and Helena – slim, perfect, beautiful. Beautiful for him.
The Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing,
St. James’s Square, Bristol. – 13th December 1930
Dear Sir,
My name is Alice Watts and I am ten years old – well, nearly eleven, actually – and I have great pleasure in sending you a short story which I have written, in the hope that you may agree to publish it. It is about five hundred words long.
I have been writing short stories all my life, and one day I hope to attempt something much larger, perhaps like Jane Austen, or one of the Brontë sisters. I know it will take a long time, but I am prepared to work hard and not to give up on my dream.
I wish everyone at your publishing house a very happy Christmas.
I hope you are well.
Yours faithfully,
Alice Watts (Miss)
Alice put the letter in the envelope, hoping that she had said the right thing. “There’s no need for me to advise you on letter-writing,” Ada had said earlier, “because you have had plenty of practice already.” All Ada had done was to give Alice the address of the publishing house, and to explain that to find an approximate word count for her story she should multiply the number across the top by the number down the side.
As Alice stuck the postage stamp on the envelope, she wondered briefly whether she should have put “yours truly” or “yours sincerely” – but, after all, this was a business letter, and she knew that “yours faithfully” was how it was done in business.
Dear Miss Alice Watts
Thank you so very much for sending us a copy of your short story, which my colleagues and I thoroughly enjoyed reading.
I hope it will not depress you too much that we cannot agree to publish it on this occasion, simply because we feel that a little more work needs to be done on it. We would suggest that you employ far more dialogue in the story, showing us, rather than telling us, what you wish to convey. You write in a very impressive, grown- up way, Miss Watts, and all your characters are charming. Let them speak for themselves!
We urge you not to give up on your dream, and hope to hear from you again in the future.
We are returning your story, with many thanks, and hope that you, too, have a very happy Christmas.
Yours faithfully
John Elliott – Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing.
Chapter Five
1941
It was nearly the end of September, and already the three girls felt as if they had never known any other life. It was proving to be far more hectic than any of them had imagined it might be, the days long and hard and tiring, but strangely – muckily – satisfying, and certainly never boring. Alice had to admit that on many a day at the office she would look at her watch, longing for home time. But here on the farm she was aware that they were part of a never-ending cycle of events, of growing and yielding, of cultivating and harvesting, everything full of its own purpose and importance. And being part of it was making her feel important – as if her hours and days were being used to their full and vital value.
Part of the reason that they all felt so relaxed was that Farmer Foulkes could sometimes be a more affable character than they’d imagined at first. He seemed quite pleased with how they’d buckled down to do whatever was asked of them – which included feeding the livestock, mucking out the pigs, helping Mabel clean up the huge chicken run and spread fresh straw, scrubbing down the yards, and Fay, who was certainly the strongest of the three girls, had even been taught how to hold the plough and follow the huge horse as it tugged her along the furrows to make the land ready for the next round of sowing. Thankfully, digging the dratted potatoes had eventually come to an end, and although it had taken a long time the girls had made a good job of it, quickly learning how to avoid damaging the vegetables. Alice, at last, had helped Mabel collect the eggs – though, that, too, had been a long and back-breaking task…there were a lot of birds, and by the time they’d finished her hands were red and prickling from rummaging around in the spiky straw. After which she would help to put each precious egg into the crates, which were then stacked, ready to be collected by one of the lorries that arrived each day at the farm entrance to transport all the produce on to wherever it was needed in the area – near and far.
The meal together as they sat with the family each evening had quickly become something they all looked forward to. Well, they always seemed to be hungry! Roger was always good company and was clearly enjoying having females around him. Alice noticed that he always made sure he was sitting next to Fay at the long table, and that they occasionally shared a quick, private joke.
It also amazed Alice how much she, herself, was able to eat – because her appetite had never been particularly large. But somehow she, and Fay and Eve, managed to clear their plates each time. And the atmosphere was usually congenial – with, happily, no more digestive emissions from Farmer Foulkes to embarrass Eve. He even seemed to like teasing the girls now and then, if he was in a specially good mood.
‘Now, you girls – you look out for they geese as you d’go by,’ he said one evening, wiping his mouth vigorously with his napkin. ‘They can be nasty critters, and one flap of a wing can break yer arm if you’re not careful!’
Mabel shushed him quickly. ‘Don’t be daft, Walt,’ she said. She smiled at the girls. ‘Don’t listen to ’im. They birds are as good’s gold… startin’ to fatten up nicely in time for our Christmas dinner!’
Eve tried not to shudder at that…she had seen the geese in their pen beyond the chicken run and thought what beautiful creatures they were. Killing them seemed utterly heartless to her. But Alice had no such qualms…a goose – more than one – had always been on the table at Christmas with the Carmichaels. Everyone sitting around together, the professor wielding the carving knife with all the precision and dexterity he must use in his daily work.
After a second, Eve said tentatively –
‘Do you think I could take Tess out for a walk, Mrs. Foulkes?’ It would be lovely for it to be just her and the dog roaming the fields together. ‘You know – perhaps when we’re not too busy?’
