cotton frock and a cardigan. ‘Too hot for a suit,’ she said.
They took the bus home. ‘You don’t have to come with me, Mum,’ Sara said. ‘I can get the bus on my own.’
‘Just for a few days,’ Nora said. ‘Then we’ll see. How did you get on?’
‘Fine. The teachers are nice and I met a nice girl called Kathy. And we did Latin.’ At home she changed out of her uniform into an ordinary dress.
Over tea Jim said, ‘So what’s it like, Sara?’
‘It’s lovely, Dad,’ she said. ‘We did Latin.’
‘I don’t know what good that is,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do with Latin?’
‘My teacher says that a lot of English words come from Latin, from when the Romans were here.’ She paused. ‘And doctors use it.’
He gave a grunt. ‘Still going on about that?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got homework tonight.’
‘It’s a bit soon, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Your first day.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I like it.’
‘Latin,’ he said. ‘The way things are going you’d be better off learning German.’
‘Jim,’ Nora said sharply, ‘that’s enough of that.’ She began to clear the table. ‘You go out and have a walk around for a bit,’ she said. ‘Let your tea go down before you start your homework.’
Sara slipped out of the front door into the street. A group of girls were skipping down the road to her right. She turned left. She wouldn’t be accepted now. A line had been drawn between them. Going to the grammar school had separated her out. They would stare at her now and make remarks about her being la-di-da.
The streets were quiet, almost empty, and she was alone. Sometimes, back home in Trafford Park in Manchester, she would stand out in the street outside their house when the light was fading. Sometimes, then, the light would change to a soft and mysterious shining violet that would colour the long row of dull houses and the long straight, barren road, and turn them into something magic. Sometimes she would beovercome by a strange feeling, a strange yearning. She wanted something, but didn’t know what it was; she had lost something that she must get back. It wasn’t the same as wanting to be a doctor. It was something different; she didn’t quite know what – something to do with the endless sky and all the things there were to know. She felt it briefly now, but her books were waiting, her new school, her new life. She turned back to home.
She took her satchel up to her room. It felt wonderful, important. She sat at her little table and began. Dad didn’t mean it about speaking German. She opened her Latin book at page one. ‘ Ubi est Britannia? Ubi est Germania ?’
Amy drove the twins to Liverpool Street Station to see them off. She bought a penny platform ticket so that she could go with them to the train. They were early, but the platform was already crowded. Groups of young people, mostly young men, came through the barriers, carrying bags and suitcases, tennis rackets and hockey sticks, cramming bicycles into the overflowing guard’s van, college scarves dangling around their necks. Amy smiled. There wasn’t much doubt about where this train was going; they hardly needed to put up ‘Cambridge’ on the notice board.
The young men stood about in groups, laughing and gesticulating or jumping into the train to stow their bags and jumping out again. The platform seemed to be humming with strength and energy.
Tessa and Charlie found seats and came out again to say goodbye. They both looked excited and happy.
‘Don’t hang about, Mum,’ Tessa said, ‘we’ll be all right now and we’ll see you at Christmas.’
‘Write to me,’ Amy said, ‘and telephone now and again if you get the chance, and look after each other.’
Tessa hugged her. ‘We will. Give our love to Dad.’ They got into the train.
For a few moments Amy watched the young people around her. They are so beautiful, she thought, surprising herself with the word, but it
They took the bus home. ‘You don’t have to come with me, Mum,’ Sara said. ‘I can get the bus on my own.’
‘Just for a few days,’ Nora said. ‘Then we’ll see. How did you get on?’
‘Fine. The teachers are nice and I met a nice girl called Kathy. And we did Latin.’ At home she changed out of her uniform into an ordinary dress.
Over tea Jim said, ‘So what’s it like, Sara?’
‘It’s lovely, Dad,’ she said. ‘We did Latin.’
‘I don’t know what good that is,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do with Latin?’
‘My teacher says that a lot of English words come from Latin, from when the Romans were here.’ She paused. ‘And doctors use it.’
He gave a grunt. ‘Still going on about that?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got homework tonight.’
‘It’s a bit soon, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Your first day.’
‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I like it.’
‘Latin,’ he said. ‘The way things are going you’d be better off learning German.’
‘Jim,’ Nora said sharply, ‘that’s enough of that.’ She began to clear the table. ‘You go out and have a walk around for a bit,’ she said. ‘Let your tea go down before you start your homework.’
Sara slipped out of the front door into the street. A group of girls were skipping down the road to her right. She turned left. She wouldn’t be accepted now. A line had been drawn between them. Going to the grammar school had separated her out. They would stare at her now and make remarks about her being la-di-da.
The streets were quiet, almost empty, and she was alone. Sometimes, back home in Trafford Park in Manchester, she would stand out in the street outside their house when the light was fading. Sometimes, then, the light would change to a soft and mysterious shining violet that would colour the long row of dull houses and the long straight, barren road, and turn them into something magic. Sometimes she would beovercome by a strange feeling, a strange yearning. She wanted something, but didn’t know what it was; she had lost something that she must get back. It wasn’t the same as wanting to be a doctor. It was something different; she didn’t quite know what – something to do with the endless sky and all the things there were to know. She felt it briefly now, but her books were waiting, her new school, her new life. She turned back to home.
She took her satchel up to her room. It felt wonderful, important. She sat at her little table and began. Dad didn’t mean it about speaking German. She opened her Latin book at page one. ‘ Ubi est Britannia? Ubi est Germania ?’
Amy drove the twins to Liverpool Street Station to see them off. She bought a penny platform ticket so that she could go with them to the train. They were early, but the platform was already crowded. Groups of young people, mostly young men, came through the barriers, carrying bags and suitcases, tennis rackets and hockey sticks, cramming bicycles into the overflowing guard’s van, college scarves dangling around their necks. Amy smiled. There wasn’t much doubt about where this train was going; they hardly needed to put up ‘Cambridge’ on the notice board.
The young men stood about in groups, laughing and gesticulating or jumping into the train to stow their bags and jumping out again. The platform seemed to be humming with strength and energy.
Tessa and Charlie found seats and came out again to say goodbye. They both looked excited and happy.
‘Don’t hang about, Mum,’ Tessa said, ‘we’ll be all right now and we’ll see you at Christmas.’
‘Write to me,’ Amy said, ‘and telephone now and again if you get the chance, and look after each other.’
Tessa hugged her. ‘We will. Give our love to Dad.’ They got into the train.
For a few moments Amy watched the young people around her. They are so beautiful, she thought, surprising herself with the word, but it
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