Barbara Todd - Miss Ranskill Comes Home

The bedroom, except that it was larger, looked very much like Marjorie’s cubicle at St Catherine’s. A row of books on a shelf by the window spoke volumes, almost literally.

Miss Ranskill recognised a toffee-stain on the back of a volume of The Road Mender , now wedged between St John Handbook and Hygiene in the Home . P C Wren and Ian Hay were well represented, so were Beatrix Potter and the Baroness Orczy. Puck of Pook’s Hill was there, and the selected poems of Rudyard Kipling stood cover to cover beside two books by Robert Service. A book on anti-gas protection, another on rationed meals, and a third entitled Communal Cookery were strangers to Miss Ranskill.

She turned to look at the walls which were ornamented with slogans. Jump to it startled from the head of the bed. The injunction CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES stood in a frame by the telephone. don’t give a light to hitler was pokerworked into a panel by the window. be a sport and spare the soap glaring in red paint on white oilcloth above the wash-basin was rather baffling, for Marjorie had been a particularly clean schoolgirl.

Other maxims were more familiar. Miss Ranskill knew all about deaf, blind and dumb monkeys, and about the expectations of lame dogs, though surely these would prefer to go under stiles and take their own time about it.

Marjorie was talking into the telephone. Her gold-rimmed glasses added seriousness to her face. Her mouth was still a little rabbity, though in quite an attractive way, and her chin was still obstinate.

‘Well, this time I’m going to report it. I’ve warned them three times now. They’ll jolly well have to get new curtains. I’m not going to have the whole country endangered every time Miss Jackson has a bath. If you ask me, she has far too many baths: it’s not playing the game. I’ve a jolly good mind to report her to the fuel people too. There’s no need for all these baths in the summer. I only have three inches of water once a week.’

Miss Ranskill glanced again at the slogan above the washstand, and felt more shocked than puzzled.

‘Goodbye.’ Marjorie plumped the receiver into its cradle.

‘Now then, Nona, tell me all about yourself. Goodness! you are Spartan not to wear shoes even. I never wear stockings till November except when in uniform, of course, but I do wear shoes . Crumbs! I forgot to ring the butcher. Half a sec, Nona.’

She picked up the receiver again and dialled.

‘That you, Mr White? This is Mrs Mallison speaking…. Yes, from Hillrise. I say, have you got any offal to spare because I’ll be having a visitor, and I simply must keep the joint for the end of the week. Absolutely anything would do – faggots or a bullock’s heart, or – Right, I’ll hang on–’

Relief that she was expected to stay was slightly marred for Miss Ranskill by the assumption that anything ‘would do’. It wasn’t as though Marjorie’s bedroom looked poor, even though the old familiar things were cherished.

‘Yes, sausage meat would do splendidly, thanks most awfully…. What?… Well, I’ll try to dig out a few newspapers for you, but you know we are trying to hit the target with our salvage drive…. Why don’t you try to make all your customers use old sponge-bags or beach bags like I do?… Yes, I know they are. Well, I wish you were allowed to sell horse-flesh. It’s quite time we did eat it…. Yes, but I expect it’s jolly good. After all, they’re nice clean feeders. Goodbye, Mr White.’

Down went the receiver again, and Marjorie began to pull off a tunic that had the letters C D embroidered on it in yellow.

‘I know it’s rotten to grumble and one ought to be jolly thankful to have anything to eat, but I do hate all the waste of time. Don’t you find housekeeping jolly difficult?’

‘Well–’

Marjorie tugged off her trousers. She was wearing navy blue knickers underneath. Of course she was, she had always worn navy blue knickers at school.

‘If only one could get more fish.’

‘I’ve had enough fish to last me all my life.’

‘Lucky thing!’

Marjorie began to trace the smooth outline of her head with a whalebone brush. There was no grey in the short golden-streaked crop. Standing there, in knickers and white cotton vest, she looked scarcely older than the sixth form prefect.

‘Well now, tell me all about yourself, old thing. Where are you staying?’

‘Here,’ replied Miss Ranskill’s mind. ‘Here, surely, or why did you order offal for a visitor?’

There was no need of actual answer for Marjorie ran on:

‘What job are you in? Gosh, if I weren’t married I’d have faked my age and been in one of the Forces ages ago. Still, I do what I can, and I’ve given a son and daughter to the country–’

The last remark was made as casually as though she had said, ‘I’m not sending many cards this Christmas, but I’ve given the twins to Aunt Hilda.’

‘Harry is worked to death, poor darling: he has the hospital now as well as his ordinary practice, and that’s nearly doubled. Well, tell me all about yourself. You look as though you were in a pretty strenuous job. How long have you been here and why didn’t you look us up before, you silly old chump?’

‘Because I only arrived today. I came in the convoy that reached here this morning.’

Nona Ranskill had hoped the statement would make some impression, but she hardly expected it to be quite so effective.

Marjorie stopped scratching her scalp with whalebone.

‘I say, old thing, that’s most frightfully dangerous, even to me .’

‘Not so very – we weren’t torpedoed or anything – it wasn’t nearly so dangerous as all the time before.’

‘Even to me! ’ repeated Marjorie, making her friend wonder what worse adventures than a four-years’ marooning, a death, burial, and a voyage in a home-built boat could have left that forehead so unlined and those cheeks so smooth and pink. Was Marjorie also in the habit of finding the severed heads of acquaintances lying about in gutters?

‘I expect,’ she remarked flatly, ‘I expect you’ve done much worse things than that.’

‘Never! Never when men’s lives depend on it. I’m an absolute oyster. You ought to know that , Nona. I never blabbed at school, did I?’

‘But I only said–’

‘Shut up! I’m sorry, old thing, but really you must know that we never mention convoys .’ The last word came almost as a whisper. ‘Of course, this time it doesn’t matter.’ ( But it will be an order mark next time! ) ‘And nothing you say to me will go any further.’ ( You can imitate Miss Baynes or the Head to me, but not before the kids: that’s awfully bad form, Nona .) ‘Gosh, if I passed on everything I know, I don’t know where we’d be. The way people talk . Personally, I just won’t listen to it.’

‘No you won’t!’ whispered a little demon in Miss Ranskill’s brain.

‘As a matter of fact I did happen to know about this morning’s convoy.’

‘I simply don’t know what you’re talking about,’ interrupted Miss Ranskill despairingly. ‘I’m sorry, but–’

‘Just like you to shut the stable door after the cat’s out of the bag. Don’t you remember at school – Gosh! I mustn’t stand here gossiping or they’ll all be screaming for me downstairs.’

Marjorie went to a wardrobe, snatched a grey skirt from its hanger, pulled open a drawer and dragged at a white sweater.

‘I’m sorry to be snappy, my dear, but I’ve got into the habit now of squashing careless talk. It makes people so jittery. I do think the main danger’s over, but if we should have any little bother in the way of an invasion scare, it will be my job to stop panic.’