CHAPTER 8
Acceptance
Robert had borrowed a bicycle from a friend of his and had called in to the Turner residence hoping that Hans would be able to ride with him along some of the country lanes. He was warmly dressed. His plus-fours had been tucked into thick knee-length woollen stockings which disappeared into a pair of sturdy leather boots.
Robert was unwinding his neck scarf when the door opened and he saw it was Jan and she looked at him in the suspicious way and spoke to him exactly how Hans had said she would.
“Yes?” She pushed her glasses back hard up against her face. “What do you want, Mister Brinkwater?”
The meeting was so vivid in his mind, he could recall every little detail and when he and Hans were finally alone, Robert described Jan so well that Hans burst out laughing.
“And you asked for me?” Hans shook his head.
“Yes, I did and Jan looked at me in a haughty way and said: where else did you expect him to be? I tell you, I was lost for words. And then she said: I’ll see if he’s around and without another word I was left on the doorstep looking straight at the front door. I didn’t know what to do: go or stay. ”
“I’m glad you did.”
“What?”
“Stay.”
Robert told Hans that while he was waiting, he remembered whistling one of the new catchy tunes he had heard on the wireless. He had helped his father erect the high aerial pole before Christmas and since then he’d been able to sit close up to the small wireless amplifier and listen to a popular music programme every Saturday night. He said he had been thinking about inviting Hans over for an evening, when the door re-opened, this time by Ellen.
“She took my scarf and cap and put them down on the hall table and I was led into that room you said had the war photo in it. Ellen left so I took the liberty to sit down. That’s when I noticed Jan in the corner but she pretended not to have seen me.”
“Ah, that’s Jan,” commented Hans without offering any other explanation. He was sure it had been Jan watching him and Heidi that evening when they were walking in the moonlight and now he was enjoying Robert’s experiences for he found it pleasing to realise he was not alone in his feelings towards the pesky girl.
“Then, Miss Turner came in and wanted to know why I was here. All I could think of was how much she reminded me of a heron waiting to snap up a fish. And I was the bait!”
Hans laughed.
“I’m beginning to get used to it but never the less glad I’m pleased to hear I’m not the only one who feels that way. So, what did you tell her?”
“Well, I said we were going bicycling together.”
“But I don’t have one!” Hans exclaimed. “Miss Turner knows that. Or are you suggesting I ride on your cross-bar?”
“No. I told her I’d brought another along one in the hope you could go.” Robert led Hans round the corner of the building to the place where he had rested the two cycles against the stone wall. “Then she wanted to know where we’d be riding.” Hans ran his hand over the small metal bicycle bell. “Try it, if you like,” Robert suggested as he began tying his bag on the back of his bike. Hans rang the bell. It was loud.
“Where do you suggest we go?”
“I suggest we bicycle along some of the lanes . . the one leading to the pond, through the village and back past ‘The Cook’s Arms’.”
“Sounds fine by me,” Hans folded the bottoms of his trousers and secured them with two cycle clips and then tried out each pedal to make sure they rotated. As he did, he thought back to the conversation they had had inside the house only a half hour ago. When Robert mentioned they might take a rest at the village pub, he remembered the mocking voice of Jan as she reminded him of his last escapade with the boys.
You’re not going to get drunk again are you, Hans Resmel?
She had not been pleased when he reminded her that it had nothing to do with her what he and Robert decided to do. Jan had pouted her lips followed by an adjustment of her glasses. His eyes had tried to read Jan’s thoughts but she had flicked her hair and turned her head away from them as she had stormed out of the room.
When the two had been alone, just himself and Robert, Robert had stood up, pretending to adjust his non-existent spectacles and had put on a high voice that made him sound vaguely like the school mistress.
“I won’t hear of you two boys popping into the tavern. I’ve heard tales about what young men like you get up to. It makes me shudder to think what the young are coming to these days!”
They had both bent over in laughter but it had been cut short when Miss Turner appeared. Hans had not been as relieved as Robert when Miss Turner had sat down in her favourite armchair as if she had not noticed their laughter nor had heard a single word they had been saying. But Hans noticed how Robert had fallen down on the edge of the sofa in subdued silence with a look of guilt and shock clearly showing on his face. Hans had managed to find a chair as far away from either Robert or Miss Turner as he possibly could and he had tried to think of anything other than Robert’s incredibly funny impersonation.
“Will you be playing cricket for the college again this year, Mr Brinkwater?” the school mistress had asked.
Robert had not been able to answer until he had cleared his throat with a mighty cough and splutter. When he did, his voice was broken and hoarse and sounded more like a young rooster trying to crow for the first time than the voice of a young man.
“Yes, Miss Turner,” he had finally said.
“We’ve got some very keen younger boys wanting to give it a go this season,” Miss Turner had remarked.
Hans thought she had appeared pleased to see that one of his friends had made plucked up the courage and made the effort to come up to the house. Hans had been even more surprised when Miss Turner had given her permission for him to go out. She had even offered to get Ellen to make up a picnic basket for them.
“Well, off you go, lad,” she had said. There was even a hint of rush and excitement in her voice, something Hans had never before been witness to. “Don’t just sit there,” she had told him. “Go and get changed!” She had sent Mary to find him some bicycle clips so that his trousers wouldn’t get caught in the chain.
When Hans had returned, only Robert and Jan were in the room with Robert sitting once more in uncomfortable silence. The very minute Hans had opened the door, Jan had pounced like the feline she could be.
“So you and Robert are going bicycling, I see.” She adjusted her glasses and looked around. It was clear she was upset. “It’s all right when you’re not a girl around here!”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Jan had shrugged her shoulders and had fiddled with the lace cloth on the sideboard; another indication that she was not pleased. Her next comment confirmed his suspicions.
“You know Aunt won’t let me go bicycling. She still thinks it’s only a fit pastime for men.”
The boys had not known what to say. Hans had told Robert once before that Miss Turner had kept her niece under lock and key very much like parents used to before the war. But now things were different and young women had new expectations and were beginning to stride out on their own and take charge of their own lives.
Poor Jan. Hans had to admit to himself that he did feel sorry for her, sometimes.
The rest of the day was enjoyable and by the time they returned, Hans felt as if his legs were made from jelly. His thigh muscles were not used to that kind of exercise and he knew that for a few days after they would feel stretched and stiff.
It was as if Jan had been spying on them, for the minute they rode up the drive, she was there, standing in the exact same spot where Robert had first parked the bicycles. Jan walked towards them.
“I’ve just heard Osbert Webster’s now got an auto-mobile. That’s much better than a silly bike.”
“Yes, I know,” Robert replied. He began untying his bag. “His father bought it for his birthday. Quite the rage, you know. To be able to get be
hind a wheel. He’s promised me a go sometime. Says he can get it up to forty-five miles an hour.”
“That’s too fast!” she exclaimed. “What if it should throw a wheel?”
“It’s not a horse, silly! Auto-mobiles do not throw wheels. They have bolts to hold them on. As for speed, did you know that a good racehorse will almost reach the speed of Osbert’s auto-mobile? But, one has more control of an auto-mobile.”
Jan ignored that last comment and changed the subject. Hans had picked up Robert’s bag and had begun walking round to the back of the house and now it seemed to Robert that Jan had her own agenda.
“Are you really the best of friends with Hans Resmel?” She pushed her glasses right back hard against her nose and looked at Robert most seriously and intently.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You don’t care that he’s not English?” She concentrated on Robert’s reaction. “You do realise they were our enemy not that long ago?”
Robert stiffened and crunched his teeth so that the muscles in his jaw became taught.
“Were they?” he asked nonchalantly. He shrugged his shoulders and looked her right in the face. “Sorry, I seem to have forgotten.”
The wind was blown out of Jan’s statement. Robert’s answer was not what she had expected.
“You don’t think of him as . . . ,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “As a Fritzy then, like William Showbry says?”
“No, I don’t! And I’m going to tell him what you’ve just said.” Robert was beginning to show the inner anger he was feeling. “Never mind what Showbry says. We can’t keep raking up the past. Isn’t time we accepted each other and started enjoying ourselves?” he asked sarcastically.
Jan backed away.
“Please, don’t tell anyone. I didn’t mean it, really I didn’t.”
“Then stop listening to gossip!” Robert let it be known that her comments had annoyed him. “We owe everything to all those who died and I do not think they would want us to continue the pain. They’ve given us the opportunity to be young. Something neither side was able to experience. So, come on, Jan, have fun while you’re young enough to enjoy it. I am sure those young men would wish you did.”
“I wish I could.” There was disappointment and resignation in her voice.
“Are you two coming?” called Hans from around the corner. “Mary’s made us a drink. She’s bringing it into the front room.”
As Robert and Jan joined him, Hans was puzzled by Jan’s mood and wanted to know the reason.
“Everything!” Jan shouted in his face. “Everything! This house . . . it exists in the past. All the furniture is old. Aunt is old. She won’t let me wear anything modern. She wouldn’t even let me go see Polylanna and Mary Pickford is so pretty. It’s awful. I have to live in last century.” She flung her arms widely about as if trying to wipe everything away. “Look around this room. There are photos but they’re all old ones. And stacks of old postcards and old letters. They’re all there in that drawer.” She pointed to the sideboard where she had put the offending photograph. “My aunt won’t throw out anything. She’s still living in a time before the war. I live in a time capsule!”
“Sorry.” That was all Robert could think to say. He was feeling unsettled again and was hoping that Hans would hurry up and make some excuse to leave.
“Nobody understands me!” Jan cried. “Why can’t I be more like Anne. She’s so twentyish. So modern!”
With that outburst, she snatched up one of the small biscuits and stormed out of the room without having taken a sip of her drink.
During the warm early summer evenings, many of the boys met up in the town centre where street entertainers performed. For the boys this was a draw-card for watching groups of pretty young girls who were also spectators. If they were lucky, there could arise an opportunity for some conversation with one of those girls, for Hans and his friends had come to the age where chatting with girls was far more enjoyable than sitting over piles of dull text or exercise books.
One evening, Miss Turner surprised them when she invited all the senior prefects up to the house. As each prefect arrived, Mary took their coats and laid them over furniture in the front room. Then, she directed each student into the back room where the French doors had been opened into the garden.
Robert Brinkwater and Bertie Williams and Hans were sitting on some spare chairs that had been brought outside.
“This is a bit of a surprise,” Robert folded his arms behind his head and stretched out his legs to show how relaxed he could appear.
“I expect Miss Turner is really quite sad that we’ll all be leaving as soon as the exams are finished,” commented Bertie. “After the exams, of course,” he added after a quiet pause of fifteen seconds.
“Is Loppy coming?” Robert leaned upright and scanned the outskirts of the garden as far as the gate that separated the house from the stone school buildings.
“Yes, I think so,” said Bertie. “He told me earlier he thought he would be able to spare the time. He’s been a study freak all year. Serious and never with his nose out of a book. Mind you, with an old man like he’s got, one would have to pull themselves up and do well in the finals.”
“I think he’s afraid his allowance would be cut and he’d never get to Cambridge.” Robert turned away from Bertie as Hans joined them. “Hello, old chap. I was wondering when you’d come down.”
“It would have been sooner but Jan Turner was giving her aunt a hard time. Did you hear anything?”
“No? I thought Jan always did as she was told.” Robert snorted a laugh. “What her aunt said, went,” he announced with conviction.
“Not lately. She’s been a real little rebel. Had you noticed her hair was quite a bit shorter?”
“Not that I saw. Why?”
“The other week she was caught with scissors in one hand a handful of hair in the other. Her aunt was so furious. I think this time it was over what she had on.” Hans laughed a little, a shaky uncertain kind of laugh. “Last week Miss Turner went off her rocker because Jan had coloured her lips.”
“But my sister wears make-up!” exclaimed Bertie. “And she’s the same age.”
“But she’s not Miss Turner’s niece! I heard her say that only tarts . . .”
Miss Turner suddenly appeared on the patio. She clapped her hands loudly high in the air like two shots from a pistol. All the student chatter ceased. Even the birds went very quiet.
“It looks as though we’re in for a fine evening. I hope you enjoy yourselves. Mary, bring over the gramophone. There. Put it on that table.” As soon as the gramophone had been put down, Miss Turner addressed her guests again. “You may play a little of your own music tonight. I shall not mind. Just for this occasion.” A wave of subdued laughter rippled over the walls. They laughed out of politeness and as no sooner had the wave begun than it died into silence again. Miss Turner turned to her right and beckoned Ellen forward. “Ellen, pass the scone stand round. Janine you can look after the tea.”
Jan pulled a disgruntled face but made no comment. Tonight she had promised to obey.
Early evening daylight merged into a quiet lavender sky. The house and conservatory lights were switched on. The courtyard was bathed in a soft, yellow glow of the latest electric light bulbs. Mary remained standing beside Miss Turner’s gramophone ready to wind it up whenever one of the records was played. The music that came out of the trumpet was not loud but able to be heard, as long as the talking was subdued. The record only lasted a few minutes.
Hans was hoping to meet Anne and catch up on her news. Rumours were rife that she and Gerald were seriously going out together but he had not been able to confirm any of it. This time, dress was not formal but the standard was still to be ‘as one would expect’ for any young gentleman or young lady. And then, Hans caught sight of Miss Anne Sutherland as she stepped lightly through the open glass doors and walked on to the red bricked patio.
Her dress was stunni
ng; a soft, lacy pink dress that flowed from her bare shoulders to her hips in a cascade of small, pale-blue petalled flowers until they reached her knee length skirt which was showing at least half of her leg, far shorter than anything else being worn that day. It was positively, outrageously modern. And to compliment the picture of delight, Anne was wearing a hat with the same pale-blue flowers on it as on the dress. Yes, he thought. Anne certainly has style.
Such sophistication. Young men immediately flocked around her, drawn to her like moths to a lantern. But this time Hans Resmel was not one of them. He would wait until the moths had danced their dance and fallen exhausted on the floor away from the glowing light. Gerald had not arrived so there would be no competition from him.
“Where’s Mister Resmel, Ellen?” Miss Turner stopped her in her tracks as she was taking a large plate of enticing nibbles over to one of the low tables.
“I have not seen him these past ten minutes, Ma’am. Last time I think he was talking with those boys.”
Ellen pointed out Robert who had returned to his chair and was sipping out of a tall glass.
“He’s not there now. Did he go back into the house?”
“I think he did.”
Miss Turner let out a stifled grunt.
“And Miss Janine? Where has that girl got to?” Miss Turner helped herself to a small coconut truffle from the plate. “I told her to pour the tea. I do not think it is good for people to just drink the cold drinks. Tea is a much more suitable beverage. Are you certain you have not seen Janine?”
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
The plate began to wobble. Ellen could not be expected to have stood holding it for much longer yet Miss Turner was certain she had seen Hans ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Now he did not seem to be anywhere in the vicinity. Even though he was almost nineteen, she still felt he was her responsibility. Hans Resmel and her niece, Janine Turner. And they were both missing at the same time. Most unusual.
Miss Turner was still wondering whether Hans would join them when she caught sight of someone in the distance, coming round the side of the house and heading across the courtyard towards the conservatory where most of the other students had now gathered. It was her niece. As Jan got closer, Miss Turner managed to catch her by her flapping sleeve.
“Where have you been, Janine?”
“Nowhere. I was just helping Mary with something.”
“I see,” Miss Turner replied. “And have you seen R . . .?” But she never completed her question, for there was a figure in the distance who was taking her interest. “Who is that over there?” She leaned her head forward as though that would help her identify the unusual figure.
“It’s Resmel, aunt.” Jan’s voice was flat, monotone and disinterested.
As the figure got closer, Miss Turner noticed that it was, indeed, Hans Resmel and that he was not dressed in his normal clothing. He had a bright green waistcoat on and a white shirt with puffed out sleeves. He was also wearing what looked like black heavy breeches and thick white stockings that covered his knees. Perched on the top of his head was a small grey felt hat with a small side feather stuck into into its narrow band.
Well, no matter, was what she thought at this moment. He could be a strange boy when he wanted.
She had already noted his complete incomprehensible standing on cricket, even though he had proved he could bowl a fast hand. Then, she had also witnessed puzzlement on his face when the other boys stood in the school grounds telling their boyish jokes and bending over in raucous laughter as they blurted out the final punchlines. And, although Hans Resmel had become friends with many of the boys, she had noticed that he did not always join in with all of their high-jinks. She had watched him on several occasions quietly moving away from a group when the boys became rough as they jostled and pushed each other around. He was not shy. Neither was he a loner. Jan had told her aunt he did that because he did not feel all of the boys had come to accept him on equal terms.
Miss Turner realised she could not force him to conform to their ways. She had to let him be different, if that was what he wanted. She remembered his first few days: a stubborn, immature youngster, thrown into a hostile community, pulled between love and hate and unable to cope with all the pressures that had been put on him. But since he had joined one of the cricket teams and had also been prepared to kick a soccer ball around the college field, this young man now eighteen years and nine months, had shown that he could be mature and grown up. That was, until she saw him appear in this new outfit. He obviously wanted to show he could still be independent and individualistic.
The school matron moved her eyes away from Hans Resmel and began to pay more attention to her other young guests. What did the future hold for all the young adults she had come to call her students? Were they really growing up in a better, more responsible world? Had these youngsters really learnt to bury the suspicions of the past that had thrown the countries of Europe into a vicious conflict? Did they now really live in a forgiving world or was the carefree behaviour of the young merely a front for not being capable of facing the reality of a world still messed up by inequality, new suspicions and different hates? Seven years was not long for such feelings to be put to bed. She wished the future would give them the hope and answers to build a better world than their parents had made.
Miss Turner saw Anne approach Hans and the two began to converse. His appearance did not faze that girl and even though Anne came from one of the more privileged families in the district, never-the-less she was the one who was always prepared to make that first advance and speak to anyone, no matter how strange they might be. Anne considered herself equal to any of her male companions was also most willing to let them know it. Maybe that was because she had an understanding father and a fortunate mother who had been one of Mrs Pankhurst’s women. Votes for Women was still their cry and until every adult woman could have equal voting rights alongside men, they were prepared to show that they could be a fighting force to be reckoned with. Their heroines were the likes of Emily Davidson who had been prepared to sacrifice herself under the hooves of the king’s racehorse to further the cause. And Anne was determined to prove that sacrifice should not be in vain.
“Hans, why are you dressed up like that?” Anne whispered in his ear. She drew his attention to a small group of onlookers. “Haven’t you noticed the strange looks they have been giving you?” Anne held up the flat of her hand to him, like a policeman on traffic duty.
“Miss Turner’s watching me very closely. I do not think she approves.”
“I’m not talking about her,” Anne snapped. “It’s the boys I’m talking about now. Have you noticed the looks they have been giving you? I realise you want to make a point but is this the time and place to do it?”
“I don’t think that should worry you, especially when I hear of you campaigning with your mother. I saw you the other day when the women marched down the main street. And I noticed how others tried to block your way. They did not approve of what you were doing!”
Anne laughed scoffingly. She sat herself down with determination on the edge of the bench seat.
“That is politics! I’m talking about social convention and how you dress where Miss Turner can see.”
“I wear these because today because it is my convention to wear something different. Besides, how I choose to dress should not interest Miss Turner.” He plonked himself down heavily on the bench beside her.
“Well, I wish you’d be more conventional, then. Like them. Over there,” Anne whispered to him in a lower voice. “Don’t you think they look perfect in their polos and trousers?” Hans nodded but he did not see what that really had to do with him. Anne continued, “So, why couldn’t you have worn those?”
Suddenly, Hans jumped up as if he had been stung.
“I’m not like them!” He sounded very sure of himself. Then, he added with a cheeky grin, “They arrived in a parcel. And not from Uncle Karl this time. I think it was Heidi’s idea to remi
nd me I grew up in Austria.”
“Whatever or whoever you think you are doesn’t interest me at the moment.” Anne was restless. Her body language indicated she was ready to leave. Hans laughed awkwardly. He held out his hand so that Anne could easily stand up. “I can manage perfectly, Hans. We women can, you know.”
“I know you can, Anne,” he replied dryly. “Let’s not argue the point.”
“It does not bother me. I was only going to say . . .”
Hans had been suddenly amused by the way Jan Turner had almost tripped over as she turned her head around like a duck about to roost, watching him intently and at the same time as she was trying to negotiate the patio steps. She had been giving him puzzling looks as if she had never seen him before. He could not work it out. He inclined his head in Jan’s direction and made winding gestures each side of his head.
“Something is bothering her.”
“You’re wicked, Hans Resmel. You shouldn’t do things to annoy Jan.”
“Miss Turner keeps telling me how I should be more like a brother to her and isn’t that what brothers do, annoy you?”
“That’s not right. Have you had another letter from your brother?” she asked remembering what Hans had told her about Renard.
“Yes,” he answered firmly pressing his lips together and clenching his teeth. “Renard has annoyed me again but that’s not unusual. And now with Heidi having gone, I don’t know where I want to be: here or there!”
“No-one here to keep you?” She laughed at him in a wicked way and tossed her head like a filly in heat.
“I’d have a fight on my hands if I were to stay here and say it was because of you. Oh, you’re so attractive, Anne. We all think you are: Dicky, Robert, Loppy, Bertie, Gerald. We’re all madly in love with you.”
“Are you?” Anne was beginning to enjoy this attention, even if it had come from a person who was dressed in a most unusual garb.
“Yes, all of us. We’re all crazy about you. You’re so modern. Fun. You look ahead, never back. You’ve not pre-judged me. Just taken me as I am, well, most of the time. I think you’re fantastic!”
Anne was taken aback. She had never heard Hans talk like that before.
“I’m not so sure about that. I’m not the only one in the world.”
“You are one of a kind!”
“Thanks, awfully but now I’ll have to warn Gerald that he’s got competition.” She laughed and patted his cheek lightly with her hand. “But why are you being so extra nice? What is it you want? You boys are always so nice when you want something.”
“I want nothing. Just to tell you how fantastic you look.”
Anne laughed again and stroked her auburn hair. She arched her back, cat-like and smiled at him with her green-blue eyes.
“You do look flushed, Hans. I think you boys have had an alcohol tickle again. I wasn’t sure at first, but Gerald, then Bertie and now you. You’ve all been the same. Don’t let Miss Turner notice.”
“It isn’t that noticeable, is it?” he asked dropping the volume of his voice somewhat. He glanced around to see if Jan was still watching him but she had moved away and that was a relief in itself. If Jan even suspected . . . his life would never be the same.
“No,” Anne answered peering closely as if inspecting his soul. “How are the others?”
“We only had half a glass each. Well, maybe almost a glass. Gerald’s stash wasn’t enough for any more.”
“Do be careful, Hans,” she warned quietly forcing the words between her teeth in case Jan was able to lip-read, for the girl had moved in far closer than either of them had at first noticed. “You’re not men yet, you know and especially as you’re boarding at Miss Turner’s.”
“I needed it for . . . for some Danish courage,” he mumbled.
“Dutch courage.” The idea amused her.
“To stand up against Jan.”
“Be careful, Hans.” Anne nudged him with her elbow as Jan passed a few feet away. He shrugged her warning off and grinned at her like a little boy. Anne laughed. “You know what you need, my lad?” she lightly asked.
“No?”
“A good English girlfriend.”
Hans could not help looking across at Jan who was pouring out tea for two of the boys standing on the edge of the steps six feet away.
“That’s one girlfriend I’ll never have!” Hans inclined his head towards Jan.
Anne shook her head as some women were apt to do when there was a tut, tut or when they did not really believe what had been said. She turned her head away from him and at the same time she caught sight of Gerald. With a flick of the hand Anne had waved her goodbye and left Hans to watch them together while they talked in hushed tones and by the sudden laugh that Gerald let out, Hans guessed that Anne had let him know that she knew all about the secret sherry tasting.
Outside, coloured lanterns had been hung around on the branches of the garden trees. They shed a soft, warm glow over the lawn and spring flowers just staring to flower. Someone had brought along some extra records and after a short while, his ears began to pick up the strains of a floating waltz. Anne danced the Charleston several times, first with Gerald, then with Loppy and Robert and then with Gerald again. When that was over, she went and sat with Hans. She leaned forward and whispered to Hans that she was so exhausted, she was definitely sitting the next dance out.
“Look, don’t let me stop you,” she whispered to him. “I think Loppy mentioned that it’s a Strauss waltz this time. Isn’t that your favourite?”
She had no sooner said that when the first few bars of The Blue Danube waltz sounded out of the gramophone trumpet.
Hans leapt to his feet and Anne knew he was up to something by the wide grin that had covered his face.
“I have an idea.” A strange smirk curled his top lip. “See you later, Anne.”
Her eyes followed him as scrambled across the courtyard, pushing his way between the joining couples to head towards Jan Turner and her aunt who were in conversation with a small group of students. He clicked his heels and then gave a stiff bow with his right hand held behind him.
“Excuse me, but may I have the pleasure?”
He stood upright and held out his hand, not to Miss Jan Turner, but to the Matron, herself. He could see she had been taken aback but she graciously accepted his invitation to dance.
Hans was surprised, and honoured. With the grace of a knight, he led his lady out on to the lawn. He bowed slightly, straightened again and brought his heels together with a faint click. He held out his arm for her to take.
“Miss Turner.”
Swinging, swaying waltz music filled the air. The young man led his older partner with charm and panache until the last bars of the wonderful music faded away.
“Mr Resmel, I don’t think your attire is exactly appropriate for such dancing but you proved yourself to be a most charming partner. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“Thank you, Miss Turner.” He clicked his heels once more, bowed slightly and quickly took his leave.
He’s up to something, Miss Turner thought as she saw Hans do the disappearing act in through the French doors. But she could not think what he had in mind. She walked over to the nearby table, still well-covered with tasty morsels of food.
“Where’s that niece of mine?” she asked Bertie Williams. “I thought she was keeping an eye on the teapot.”
As Hans was often seen walking with Bertie and Robert around the school grounds and Miss Turner thought Hans may have said something to him.
“If you mean Miss Janine, Miss Turner, she returned to the house a minute or so ago. Sorry, Miss Turner, but I promised not to spill the beans. Gentleman’s agreement.”
Jan suddenly appeared through the open French doors. She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a dark navy wide-skirted dress partly covered by a lighter blue smock together with soft, white puffed out sleeves that were pulled into a frill just above her elbows. A colourful breast patteren, criss
-crossed with red ribbon added interest to the darker dress bodice.
The pair walked over the patio and on to the centre of the lawn. Everyone moved to the edge of the lawn to give them space. Hans took off his small hat with its feather and began speaking, almost shouting, so that the students at the back could hear what he had to say.
“Before Miss Friedl left, she had wanted to share with you a folk dance from our home town in Austria. Unfortunately, before she could do this, she had to return home but you will still have the pleasure of seeing one short folk dance. You say practise makes it perfect. I think it will be so. I introduce now none other than Miss Janine Turner. She has agreed to take Miss Friedl’s place.” He replaced his hat and bowed to his audience. “And now . . . a folk dance straight from my home in Austria. I hope you enjoy watching.”
A gasp of surprise escaped from everyone’s lips. Hans Resmel and Janine Turner? Whoever would have thought it possible!
“So, that’s why he is dressed like that!” exclaimed one of the female students in a loud, surprised exclamation which caused Anne Sutherland to turned round and speak.
“Even I hadn’t guessed. Isn’t that topper!”
Bertie Williams laughed slightly at her comment but no one seemed to notice. Someone began winding up the gramophone again and instead of playing one of the modern 20’s popular songs or any of the previous century’s swinging waltzes, a different kind of music poured out from the grammophone trumpet and filled the air with a vivacious folk tune from the Austrian alps.
Hans and Jan stood face to face. Soft white lights from the lanterns hung like dewdrops in the trees. The music played a few bars and paused. Jan dropped a deep curtsey and her multi-layered petticoated skirt spread around her like the petals of a flower.
Hans doffed his feathered hat and bowed. He held out his hand for his partner and they waited, like two porcellain figures, for the resuming bars of the music to spill into the evening air.
Anne pulled Gerald close to her so she could speak directly into his ear.,
“They do look great, don’t they Gerald?”
“Never thought I would see Hans Resmel and Jan Turner doing anything together,” he replied shaking his head in disbelief. “Dancing together? And not having Miss Turner make them do it!”
“Have no idea,”Anne replied. “Hans must have found out something to get Jan's co-operation.” She pulled Gerald by the arm, for the rest of the spectators to had begun to step back to form a large semi-circle around the dancing pair.
The crowd was hushed, the music loud. The dance was animated and lively and it was wonderful how well Jan was able to keep in step as she twisted and skipped around her partner. They made a handsome pair. Hans bowed. Jan dropped down on one knee and the music stopped. The silence was one of hushed surprise.
Someone clapped, a single clap which immediately grew until the clapping waved and surged around the circle almost drowning out the calls and whistles which were being let loose. Finally the applause grew weaker and then it ceased. The audience was left with admiration and disbelief. Miss Turner had the look of a stunned boxer and for one of the few occasions in her teaching life, she was lost for words. She had no idea that the two had even been doing something together . . . especially rehersing for this under her own roof.
After several deep breaths, all she managed to say was a thank you. Nothing more.
Students clapped politely. No one moved. That was until Ellen turned the handle on the gramophone again which broke the spell. Students paired up and made their way down on to the lawn for the Charleston - knees swinging, heads bobbing and youthful bodies jiving in time to the beat of the music.
“Not to my liking.” Miss Turner passed comment to one of the masters who had been kind enough to forgo a quiet evening with his family and support the matron. “I can’t see what these young ones see in such music It’s hardly what one would even call music.”
“I wonder if they will be saying the same when they have children of their own,” was the reply.
“Possibly. By then everything will have sunk into degradation if the young continue to undermine values with shocking living standards we have been seeing lately.” Miss Turner stretched her neck to see if she could pick out her niece again but Jan was lost in among the waving sea of arms and legs. “I would like to find out how Resmel ever got Janine to participate.”
But this time no-one was listening to her. As for Jan, it was one of the rare times she was enjoying the wildness and freedom the music was offering her. Her aunt watched the young ones for a minute or two and then withdrew into the relative peace of the house.
Finally, the evening drew to a close. The soft evening light had given way to shadows and darkness. Slowly people began to disperse until. In half an hour, the garden was quiet and empty. Hans wandered over towards Ellen and Mary. They were gathering up the remaining food and putting it back into boxes. Nothing was thrown away. The food could be used up over the next few days, for supper or put out for high tea. And after that, anything else could be delivered to the local workhouse for the underprivileged and poor.
“That was very nice, that dance you did.” Ellen carefully folded down the lid on the sandwich box. “I’m still puzzled as to how you talked Miss Janine into doing that dance or when you found the time to practice?”
Hans laughed.
“It was not that difficult, Ellen because someone gave Jan one of those new cigarettes to try and said they would be good for her health.”
“I don’t know about tha’.” Ellen stacked the empty plates within reach.
“I heard this coughing coming from the cupboard under the stairs and there she was. Almost as ashen as the ash itself.”
“Oh dear, Mister Hans.” Ellen’s hand holding the last plate started to shake and she quickly put it down before she dropped it. “I never thought Miss Janine would ever do something like that. What did you do about it?” she asked.
Hans shrugged and replied,
“I told her I’d split on her if she didn’t co-operate. The rest was easy.”
Ellen’s face turned white and her jaw dropped.
“I ’ope you didn’t encourage her in any way, sir. Me mam claims they be the Devil’s doing but it don’t stop me dad. All that coughin’ an’ coughin’. It can’t be good for you.”
“You won’t tell Miss Turner, will you Ellen?”
Ellen shook her head. That was the last thing she would divulge. The news of it would lift the house right off from its foundations.
Hans picked up the sandwich boxes and stacked several together but before he could put them back on the table, Ellen took them from him.
“I can manage, thank you but do you think you could ’elp Mary by putting those recordings back in their packets, sir?”
“Certainly, Ellen.”
He walked over to the now-silent machine and closed the lid. As he began picking up the records and sliding them into their paper pockets, he found himself whistling one of the tunes. He smiled to himself and looked into the darkness that had now embraced the lawn. The last of the lanterns had been extinguished and as they packed away the items, the pale silver light of the rising moon flickered between the leaves of the surrounding trees.
“Good night, Mary. Good night, Ellen.”
“Good Night, Mister Resmel.”
The rest of the words dissolved like water bubbles into the darkness of the night.