In the last Spring term, we had the May queen concert- again. No silly little herald’s job for me, this time. I was Queen’s consort, the Queen being Carol Arden, a lovely, flaxen haired creature. In our class was another girl- Gloria Barret, an unfortunate child from a large, poor family. Gloria had younger siblings at school, and was obliged to mother them. For poor Gloria, the world hadn’t progressed much, since Julia was obliged to ‘mind’ Betty. I half remember a quotation on the lines of ‘..not among the most comely of maidens’. The other kids used to make fun of her, and bully her.
On the morning of the concert day, Gloria came to school, having tied up her long, fairish hair in rag strips, straight after washing it, to make ringlets. Our class teacher was a battle axe, called Nancy A.G. Willis- Miss. When Owd Lass Willis came in (all our teachers were Owd Lass this, or Owd Man that, often shortened to ‘Lass willis, or ‘Man Barrett) when ‘Lass Willis came in, she began to call the register, Gloria being in the first 2 or 3. ‘Carol Arden?’- ‘Yes Miss’. ‘Margerie Askell?’- ‘Yes Miss’. ‘Gloria Barret?’- As Gloria opened her mouth to answer, somebody barked a laugh. Nancy Willis looked up, saw Gloria and bawled her out-
“Take those silly rags out of your hair! You’re not attending school looking like a clown!”, and on and on. The poor girl did as she was bidden, while the other kids all had a good laugh at her, and that was it, except that I was inwardly screaming Leave her alone! She’s only trying to make herself look nice for the concert! She can’t do much, but she has tried! Why do you have to spoil it? Why do you have to hurt her in front of everybody? But it was all on the inside. On the outside, I was silent. Not that I was afraid of Miss Willis. No, I was afraid of being ragged by the other kids for championing such a wretch as Gloria Barret. They would have probably called me her boyfriend, and pushed us together, in the playground. That’s why I stayed quiet. That’s why I was ashamed, and still am. The fact that I still carry this rage against a bullying old woman doesn’t lessen that shame, or mitigate it in any way.
I did have a sort of revenge on Nancy Willis- a kick in the slats, as it were. She didn’t know what it was for, but she felt the kick, and she couldn’t do a thing about it.
 |
| Nancy and Gloria |
Not long after the May Day incident, we were having an art lesson. Nancy told us to paint a crossroads, with a car going by. I did this. Then I painted the pavement, and a bus stop. Then I painted a figure standing at the bus stop. It was Nancy A.G.Willis, to the life. Red nose; mousy hair in a bun. Flower pot hat. Big saggy bosom; big saggy bum. Rusty tweed suit; wrinkled stockings (Nancy was light years ahead of Nora Batty). Clumpy shoes. I even managed to suggest the hairy wart on her chin. When Owd Lass Willis saw it, she went beresque! Her mouth was like a pan of mussels boiling over, but all she could manage to say, eventually, was ‘I didn’t tell you to paint any people!’ But she knew who it was, and we both knew that I had kicked her, good and hard. I just wish I’d had the guts to tell her why.