Ten of the Best (5 page)

As I said at the beginning of all this: I am not proud of what I did (or rather
didn’t
) do at school. I was pretty stupid in many ways, and as my teachers kept telling me, the only person getting hurt was myself. I guess that overall I must have spent about eleven years of my life battling with teachers. At the time I hated most of them.

So what did I do when I finally grew up and needed a job?
I became a teacher
! You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?

Of course, the story can’t end like that, and it doesn’t. All the time I was teaching I was also writing, writing, writing. Some stories got published, and then some more. Eventually I left teaching and now I just write.

I found one other comment on a report. This was during The Dark Years, and it was next to my exam result for English.

‘The high mark was largely due to a successful poem. I doubt whether he could “pull it off” like that every time.
’

JENNY NIMMO has been an actor, researcher, floor-manager and script editor for children’s television. Her first book
The Bronze Trumpeter
was published in 1975.
The Snow spider
– the first title in a fantasy trilogy – won the Tir na n’Og award and the smarties Grand Prix. Her other novels include
The Witch’s Tears, The Owl Tree
, winner of the Smarties gold medal for younger children,
Griffin’s Castle
, and for older readers
Milo’s Wolves
, and
The Rinaldi Ring
, which also won the Smarties Grand Prix.

I
t all began with a white elephant; not the sort that weighs a ton and has a trunk and two big ears. The white elephant I’m talking about is something that is of no use to its owner, but extremely desirable to somebody else.

Every summer the Girl Guides held a fête at the boarding school where I spent most of the year. I wasn’t a guide myself, because when they had their meetings I was always doing something else. Like reading.

One hot day in May, when I was ten, the guides set out their stalls on the lawn in front of the school. My friend, Barbara, and I began to stroll around, having a go at the games and buying sweets and cakes. Or rather Barbara bought the sweets while I clung to the two shillings in my pocket.

Barbara, like me, was not a guide because she, too, was always doing something else when the guides held their meetings. Only in Barbara’s case it was usually tennis, or hockey or netball. She was a tall girl with brown pigtails and very long legs, and she was brilliant at sports.

I came to a halt beside a long table. A sign at the back of the table read: White Elephants. Piles of old books were stacked behind chipped cups, china animals with lost ears and tails, broken necklaces and all sorts of ancient and battered toys. In the middle of the toys lay a pink plastic violin. It was only sixpence. Today it would be two and a half pence. So you can understand what a bargain it was.

For a few seconds I hesitated and then out came my money. First I bought a book and then the violin.

Barbara watched me in amazement. ‘What d’you want that for?’ she said, tapping the violin. ‘You could have bought loads of food for sixpence.’

I didn’t have a reply. We were always hungry because we had to take violent exercise at least four times a day, and snacks weren’t allowed. So food would have been more sensible. Except that Matron always confiscated any food she found in the dormitory, and then doled it out after tea, a tiny bit a day, so that most things like cakes, were stale by the time you got to the last slice.

‘I should get your money back,’ Barbara advised. ‘Look, that thing has only got two strings.’

This was true, but I held on to the violin. ‘It might come in useful,’ I said weakly. I had no idea, at that moment, how extremely useful my new white elephant would be. How it would provide hours of entertainment but set me on a collision course with the grim school matron, and to the very brink of being expelled.

You wouldn’t think a small pink violin could be responsible for all that, would you? Well believe me, it could. And it was.

As soon as I’d bought my book and my violin, I wanted to take them up to the dormitory. It was forbidden to visit the dormitories until after tea, but I couldn’t carry my new possessions round the fête while I spent my last few pennies trying to win something in one of the tricky games the guides had devised.

Barbara agreed to come upstairs with me. She wanted to hide the piles of food she’d bought in her tuck box. We left the garden and nipped into the school by a side door. The back stairs led to the sanatorium and the linen room. This was where Matron and her assistants hung out, so we decided to use the main staircase that led up from the hall. It was a very grand affair with twirling newel posts and delicate gleaming bannisters. It mounted to a wide landing where portraits of the Principal’s ancient forbears hung, and then it curled round and ended right in front of the staff-room.

On that particular day even the staff were enjoying themselves out in the sunny garden, so, sliding across the highly polished floor, we raced to the passage that led to our dormitory; Cherry Dormy, as we called it.

We had almost reached the door when our luck ran out. A chilling voice called, And what are you two doing?’

We swung round. There was Matron, standing only a few metres behind us. She was dressed all in white, except for her thick legs, which were encased in pinky-brown stockings. Her face was white too, and her eyes stared straight through you; the irises were so pale they were no colour at all, just a black circle with a dot in the centre. I called her ‘Polar Eyes’ because that’s just what she did. She polarised you.

Barbara spoke first. She said, ‘We bought some things at the fête and wanted to put them in our lockers.’

‘Why?’ Matron came towards us.

‘Because our things are heavy and we wanted to play some of the games.’ I held up the pink violin, hoping to divert Matron’s attention from Barbara’s bags of sweets.

It worked. ‘And what do you propose to do with that?’ Matron glared at the violin.

‘Play it,’ I said.

‘Not in the dormitory.’

‘Oh, no. I just want to keep it in my locker.’

‘Very well. I’ll give you two minutes, and then I want to see you outside.’ She was a fresh air fiend and hated seeing anyone indoors unless they were asleep, washing or working.

Meekly, we answered, ‘Yes, Matron.’

It took me only a second to get my possessions into my locker. But Barbara had to hide her sweets under the false bottom of her tuck box. The tuck boxes were kept beneath our beds, and although they were originally intended to hold food, (tuck) our boxes only contained toys and books. However, Barbara had a large and understanding father. Knowing how much his daughter loved food, he had cunningly inserted a false bottom in her tuck box so that illicit food could be hidden there safely.

That night, I lay in bed listening to my friend chewing her forbidden sweets and I began to wonder why I’d bought a pink violin instead of food. We went to bed very early, long before the sky was dark, and long before we were tired enough to go to sleep. After lights out we weren’t allowed to talk or read, and there was nothing to do but lie in bed and think. The suppers we had never filled me up, and I thought of all the cakes and iced buns I’d seen on the Girl Guides’ stalls.

Ten girls slept in Cherry Dormy. There were four beds on each side of the room and two at one end. At the other end, long windows reached from floor to ceiling, making the rooms freezing in winter and baking when it was sunny. We had cherry-coloured blankets, and the long thick curtains were also cherry-coloured. There were no carpets and the old floorboards creaked horribly whenever we got out of bed. This was also forbidden, except to go to the lavatory.

Beside each bed there was a small cupboard, or locker. Some of us kept torches in our lockers, because, if you were brave enough to take the chance, you could read under the bedcovers.

I didn’t feel like reading, and yet I wanted entertainment of some sort. I opened my locker and took out the pink violin. I plucked the two strings. Plunk! Plunk! I turned the tuning pegs and made a higher note: Plink! Plink!

‘What’s that?’ someone said.

I didn’t answer. Instead I tapped the side of the violin: Tap! Tap! Tap!

‘Sounds like a mouse,’ whispered Amanda Samuels, two beds away from me.

I blew into one of the sound holes behind the fingerboard. This made a brilliant sound, like the wind howling down a chimney.

‘Ooooh! Whatever is it?’ squeaked Mary Harvey. She was a small, timid girl and easily frightened.

I was beginning to enjoy myself. This was much more fun than lying in bed thinking about food. I turned the tuning peg tighter and this made a lovely creaking sound, like an old door opening very slowly.

Mary Harvey shrieked and put her head under the covers. The school was very old and ghosts were not unheard of.

Unfortunately, Barbara could see me in the light that filtered through the thick red curtains. ‘Jenny, it’s you, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I confessed. ‘It’s my white elephant.’

Barbara giggled. And then everyone began to giggle. Everyone except Amanda Samuels who whispered, ‘Shut up, everyone, or we’ll be caught.’

‘No, we won’t,’ said Barbara. ‘Go on, do some more, Jenny.’

So I did some more. I made hoofbeats, squeaking doors, footsteps, howling wind, ghostly whispers, a rocking-chair and an eerie elfin tune. These sounds were just crying out for a story and I found myself providing one. It began with an old woman, all alone in a little old cottage in the middle of a wide, dark moor. A storm raged outside, but through the claps of thunder, the little old woman could make out the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats. A horse neighed. Footsteps approached the cottage. A knocking could be heard. Knock! Knock! Knock!

‘The little old woman was too afraid to move,’ I said. By this time I had forgotten to whisper. ‘A latch was lifted – click – and the door swung open – Creak! Creak!’ I turned the tuning peg.

And guess who…’ I stopped as the dormitory door was suddenly flung open.

Quickly, I dropped the violin behind my locker, but it was too late to lie down.

The light snapped on and Matron stood on the threshold. ‘Who was talking?’

It was obvious. I was still sitting up in bed. Matron glared at me, her eyes even icier than usual. ‘Jenny Nimmo, you know the rules. Don’t let me catch you again.’ She swept out.

For a moment there was absolute silence, and then Mary whispered, ‘Finish the story, Jenny, please!’

‘Please! Please! Please!’ whispered nine voices.

How could I disappoint such an appreciative audience? I retrieved the violin and then waited a few moments.

It was very unfair of Matron to wear rubber-soled shoes. You could never tell when she was closing in on you. However, she did carry a large bunch of keys, clipped to her belt, and if you were lucky you could sometimes detect a slight jangling sound when she was about.

When I was quite sure that no jangling was going on outside the door, I began again. Matron must have been hanging on to her keys to keep them quiet because, without any warning, the door flew open again.

I just managed to drop the violin behind my locker before Matron reached the light switch. But, once again, I was caught sitting up in bed.

‘Nimmo, bring your mattress!’ Matron barked.

We all knew what that meant. If you were caught breaking the rules more than once in a single night, you had to sleep in a classroom away from everyone else. You were allowed a mattress and one blanket. Nothing else.

As I dragged my bundle out of the room I could see nine heads lying, as still as stones, on nine pillows.

Sleeping in an empty classroom was no fun. It was freezing cold, for one thing. There were no curtains and moonlight made a shadowy forest of the desks and chair legs. Sleep was out of the question, so I told myself stories until I was so tired I had to close my eyes.

Next morning, Matron wouldn’t let me go to breakfast until everyone else was downstairs. I was late, of course, and had to eat the last kipper. It was cold, dry and bony, and it put me off kippers for life.

My friends kept asking how I managed to keep my spirits up in the dark and empty classroom. I told them that I had entertained myself and, that night, they wanted to hear my new stories.

‘Tell us a nory,’ said Mary, ‘you know, a story with noises.’

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I’m not going to talk after lights out.’

My resolve lasted a week. In the end I found that I was just as keen to tell a nory, as the others were to hear one. So out came the pink violin and I began.

This time Matron was so quick she had turned on the light before I had time to hide the violin.

‘Give me that,’ she said in a chilling voice.

I handed over my violin.

‘Now get your mattress and follow me.’

I wasn’t going to be given a second chance. Off I went to the cold classroom, to spend another night shivering and scaring myself with terrible stories. Before I fell asleep I vowed never again to talk after lights out.

This wasn’t an easy vow to keep. Not when I was surrounded by pleading whispers, and when my head was full of stories that were just aching to be let out. So, eventually, I gave in.

My pink violin had been confiscated, so I had to make do with other effects. I used hairbrushes, slippers, pencil boxes, rubber bands, combs with sweet papers wrapped round them, anything, in fact, that made an interesting sound. I suppose I must have been a very silly child, or just reckless. I should have been aware that all these things made more noise than the violin. But it was such a challenge. I couldn’t resist it.

It was inevitable that Matron would hear me. In she came. On went the light, and there I was, sitting up with my sound-making instruments spread over my cherry blanket.

An angry flush spread across Matron’s white face. She turned dark pink. In a choking sort of voice, she said, ‘Put on your dressing-gown and slippers!’

This was new!

I put on my dressing-gown and slippers.

‘Now, go and stand outside the Principal’s office.’

This was unheard of. Awful. The end. I was about to be expelled.

Quaking with fear, I shuffled out of the dormitory and down the main staircase. From the landing above, Matron watched my every step.

I waited in the draughty hall for about half an hour before the Principal’s door opened. She was a small woman with white hair and spectacles, but I was scared stiff of her. Her face was sad and solemn, and she always gave the impression that she was deeply offended by any bad behaviour. As she listened to my stuttered confession, I felt she had the power of life and death over me.