If Mrs Matthews had instructed me to untangle the pile of unfinished sewing projects laying in my drawer before packing them neatly, I may have required more than two hours to pack. Fortunately, propping them into a paper bag was completely acceptable. In fact, neither Mrs Matthews or Mrs Platt were there to give instruction. Elenor was however present and as promised, helped me.
I found the whole experience rather odd. Elenor asked me what she could do to help and after some difficulty answering her question, she suggested I might ask her to fold my clothing. Elenor made no attempt to give instruction. Somehow I felt like I should take the lead.
Each room at Waywood House was foreseen with a small wardrobe, a work desk and a bed. There wasn’t much room for personal belongings. We each had the bare minimum needed to function. A school dress, outdoor work dress, evening attire, overcoat and two night gowns. Plus three pairs of shoes to match the dresses accordingly. Each night we would wash our clothing by hand and hang it to dry before wearing it again the following day. We were also provided with hand sewing supplies, a book and pencil for drawing in our spare time and for the younger girls, one small toy of choice.
As you can imagine, packing this took less than 20 minutes. Two hours was an over exaggerated estimate of time.
With everything in the paper bags that Mrs Matthews had kindly provided, I was ready to leave my room for the last time.
‘Jane,’ Elenor said as we were about to exit the room. ‘We almost forgot something’.
‘How so’? I asked.
Elenor handed me the small brown box that Alan gave to me earlier that morning.
‘Open it’.
I carefully lifted the lid of the box to reveal what was inside. I was rather shocked to discover a silver necklace with a blue pendant hanging from it. In the center a small golden dragon stood holding the British flag in his front claw.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful! I’ve never owned a piece of jewelry before. But who… and why…?’
‘I’m so pleased you like it’ Elenor smiled. ‘Everything will become clear when we arrive home. Would you like me to help you put it on’?
I turned so Elenor could fasten the small clasp. It felt a little heavier around my neck than it had in my hand. I looked down and smiled as a warm feeling filled me from within.
Elenor and I picked up my bags and walked down the long, dimly lit hallway to the giant oak doors that lead out of Waywood House.
As we stepped out into the chilly afternoon breeze, we were met by Alan who took my bags and loaded them into the back of a very fancy little car. As I turned to look back at the house one last time, I saw Carol, Jenny and Mrs Matthews standing at the doors. Jenny rushed towards me and embraced me tightly.
‘Jane, I shall very much miss you’.
‘As will I miss you’. While holding back the tears, I embraced Jenny tightly. ‘I will try my best to keep in touch. Though I do admit I don’t yet know how. Oooh.. I am just a tiny bit scared’. My voice began to break.
‘I would be more than scared, though also very excited’ Jenny replied, almost whispering. ‘You are a strong adventurer Jane, you can conquer this’.
After a last tight squeeze, Jenny let go and returned to Mrs Matthews and Carol by the door. Elenor wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked to the car. Alan opened the doors at the back on either side, so that we could both step in. After doing so, he closed the doors behind us. He got into the driver’s seat and started the old, rickety engine.
‘Are ya ready Miss’? He asked in his strange accent. ‘Better sit tight. This will be a long ride’.
‘I’m a strong adventurer’. I felt a small grin creep across my face and I thought of Jenny. ‘I can conquer anything’.
‘Right y’are! Off we pop’.
As the car slowly crawled forwards I turned to the window where I saw the girls snd Mrs Matthews waving. Both girls were smiling through their tears. I think I even saw a tear fall from Mrs Matthews eye.
We approached the cast iron gates that lead us away from Waywood House. When I happened to look up at the balcony that towered over the courtyard, there stood Mrs Platt. With her iconic black shawl around her shoulders, looking down with a grim and somber face as we passed.
Typical Mrs Old Batt.. ahem… Platt. Of course there were no goodbyes from her.
CRS Life 