Barbara Todd - Miss Ranskill Comes Home

The last note quivered, the last chord was thumped but no rain of arrows descended on little Miss King, who would, doubtless, have used them as hatpins if they had. Miss Staples showed no sign of minding that her shout for a fiery chariot had not been answered, and Miss Moffat turned to whisper the latest Jewish iniquity to her neighbour.

Miss Hoskins, the President, rose and addressed the Meeting, but Miss Ranskill did not hear a word she said because she was busy making little parodies of her own forthcoming speech:

‘It makes me feel very proud to see that so many of my busy co-workers have found time to spare to listen to the few dress-hints that our President thinks I may be able to give you.’ (Pause for applause.) ‘I am sure every one of you knows much more about this difficult problem of clothing in war-time than I do.’ (Pause for denial.) ‘The only excuse I have for being here is that for four years and more I have had to make do with a very insufficient wardrobe, only one suit, one pair of stockings, one pair of shoes, and one set of underclothes. There are no gentlemen present, are there?’ (Pause for laughter.) ‘You can guess, when I tell you that my one needle was made from a pierced fish-bone, my darning thread was hair, filched from my own head, and my patches were cut from the skins of wild birds, that I had to use considerable ingenuity at my little private make-and-mend classes.’ (Pause for incredulity.)

‘Yes, somehow or other, I contrived to ring the changes in my wardrobe, although I am afraid I never achieved smartness. I know you will all agree with me that variety of clothing is not a luxury but a necessity, if we women are to keep up our morale in these terrible war days. I admit, and I am ashamed to admit, that while I was on my island I did not realise there was a war.’ (Pause for sensation.) ‘So this dress problem is even more important to you than it was to me. Still we are all women together, aren’t we? My problems then are our problems now , so that is why I am going to tell you how I managed. Well, I seldom wore more than two garments at once. It is marvellous how you can ring the changes with two garments. On Sunday the suit, on Monday the jacket and knickers, on Tuesday the skirt and vest, on Wednesday (if it happened to be warm and sunny) the brassière and knickers, on Thursday (another sunny day) the slip, on Friday (cooler, perhaps) the jacket and slip. On Saturday (becoming just a little more formal) the jumper and skirt. Really, that little dress scheme worked admirably. If any of you feel doubtful, I beg you to give it a trial. I see no reason why we should not all start together on the same day. I did not happen to have a hat, but there is no reason why we should not all wear our prettiest hats with the new war-time ensembles I have suggested to you.’

Miss Penrose had nearly finished reading the Minutes by now, and Miss Ranskill was giving another imaginary talk on Desert Island Recipes:

‘When you have caught your fish (personally I had no net, but I contrived an excellent substitute for one out of my vest. By the way, if any of you ladies wish to go fishing in your vests, I must remind you that it really is important to stitch up the neck and the armholes before beginning, unless, of course, you are only fishing for sport ) when, as I say, you have caught your fish, the next thing is – Oh! no, no, no, not to cook it – to clean it. Take a jack-knife or piece of sharp shell–’

Miss Ranskill, interrupted by the sound of her own name, glanced at the President, who was smiling down at her.

‘And now I will call upon the lady, who knows more about Desert Islands than anyone in this village, to give us the promised account of her experiences. Miss Ranskill!’

The President sat down and the travelled speaker stood up. There followed the usual shuffling, throat-clearing, chair-scraping and coughing. Somebody said ‘Hush!’ But there was no need.

Miss Ranskill stared at the faces before her, at Edith’s, plaintive and tense, at Mrs Phillips’, hostile and disapproving, at Miss Moffat’s, like a sea-gull, at Miss Bridge’s like another sea-gull, at Miss Lindsay (surely she was more like a sea-gull than either of the others!) Miss King was more like a seagull than any bird could be.

‘It – it was quite a small island.’

Miss Ranskill’s voice sounded so loud in her own ears that it startled her. It should have been loud enough to scare any sea-gulls.

‘It was really quite small. It was not much bigger than – well, smaller, of course, than the Isle of Wight, but not so big as – as–’

As what? She didn’t know. She only knew that she couldn’t tell them anything, wouldn’t tell them anything, couldn’t remember –

Still they sat on in their long straight rows. They were sorry for her, but she mistook their sympathy for inquisitiveness, their tenseness for malevolence. Why couldn’t they have the decency to go away?

‘It was, it was–’ (a phrase from her first geography book shot into her numbed mind) ‘it was a piece of land entirely surrounded by water.’

They shouldn’t hear anything about the Carpenter, or anything about feelings at all. She was here to talk about the island. Very well, then, she would talk about the island. Where had she got to?

‘It was a piece of land entirely surrounded by water.’

Miss King gave a little titter, the titter of one determined to appreciate jokes, even if she didn’t quite understand them.

‘There was a beach all round it. There – there was a stream of fresh water – We – I drank from it. It was nice clear water.’

The picture of the island was clearing in her brain. She saw the pretty stream, the shelf where the Carpenter had set the drinking shell as a surprise, the gleam of the sun on rock, the glint of water, and the perpetual gulls, watching sardonically, waiting for the slip that could turn man or woman into carrion.

She was being watched again now. She was also watching herself.

We’ll have to watch ourselves when we get home, Miss Ranskill. We’ll have to watch our table-manners and watch out what we say or they’ll not believe half of it.

She continued:

‘We lived mostly on fish and there was a sort of seaweed that was quite good to eat. We – I–’

Once more Miss King giggled encouragingly, and Miss Ranskill looked down at the rows of faces. She couldn’t distinguish one from another. They were all exactly the same: they were all gull-like and watching.

‘The island was – the island was – I can’t go on.’ Her voice rose. ‘There are too many of you. There isn’t anything to say .’

Someone began to clap politely. Others followed the example. The clapping was subdued because they were sorry and embarrassed. To Miss Ranskill it sounded like the mocking of wings. The birds would rise soon, scatter and come wheeling round her head. She put up her hands to guard her face. There was something else she must say, but what was it?

‘Nothing but a pack of cards!’ she remarked quite loudly and clearly.

Now she was sitting in her chair again and the President was holding a glass of water to her lips. Voices were whirling round her. ‘It’s the heat of the room.’… ‘It’s the reaction.’… ‘Perfectly natural after all those dreadful experiences.’… ‘I always think just two aspirin and then a glass of very hot milk.’… ‘When my sister had her nervous breakdown.’… ‘Of course, it is very hot in this room.’