"Alice's Ambitions", a topping schoolgirl tale
by Anne Marie Hawkins
Angela Brazil meets Irving Welsh in this entertaining take on recent events in the Aldridge household, contributed to the Fantasy Archers topic of
The story so far: Pretty tousle-haired Alice Aldridge is captain of the Upper Fifth at Mary Pound Academy for Daughters of Gentleman Farmers in the sleepy old town of Borchester. Matriculation examinations loom, but Alice has other clouds on her horizon…
"Bother!" sighed Alice, blowing upwards into her nostrils, a habit Dr Snell, the headmistress, was wont to deplore as most unladylike. "Bother prep!" as she flung herself into her chair in the oak-panelled prep room. "And bother again! Exams are such a bore!" For Alice and all the pupils of the Upper Fifth were soon to sit their Matriculation examinations, the culmination of their five years at Mary Pound Academy. And Alice, student of the new and daring science of Psychology, had set her heart on winning the coveted Melanie Klein Scholarship. "I know Dr Snell hates us to use slang, but bother exams, and bother - bother … bother even Papa too!" And tears brimmed in Alice's eyes as she bit her trembling lip.
Alice's people lived at Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm in the village of Ambridge. Dear Ambridge, with its plashing, sparkling Am, and its quaint old rigid class divisions! Dear, dear Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm, rambling roses nodding gently against its mellow old stones, golden in the late afternoon sun! And darling Mama, so sweet and grave - but with such merry eyes!
And Papa, dearest Papa… These last weeks Alice had seen his normally kindly brow creased and furrowed by the cares of business, and his eyes fixed unseeing on some distant spot. For Alice's father owned shamrock plantations in Ireland, and Shillelagh Beetle threatened to destroy the whole crop, and the family's fortunes with it. Squire Aldridge's faithful leprechauns were working hard to save all they could, but Alice's Papa was constantly away in Dublin attending to this crisis in his affairs. It seemed so long ago that he used to motor over to Borchester to take out Alice and her chums for topping treats of tapas and lashings of Vodka Ice at Borchester wine bar.
"Oh, buck up, old thing!" chimed in the voice of Pippa Archer, who, besides being a pupil at Mary Pound was also Alice's younger cousin. "Soon the beastly exams will all be over, and besides, we've a ripping lacrosse match against St Chardonnay's on Saturday's half-hol - Miss Dyke says you're the best half-back Mary Pound has ever had, so we'll be sure to win!"
"Miss Dyke is a jolly good sport" blushed Alice ruefully, "but it's not just the Pip, prep - I mean, it's not just the prep, Pip, nor the silly old Matric. exams… It's... well, you know all about the Shillelagh Beetle - what will happen if the shamrock harvest DOES fail and Papa can no longer pay my fees here at Mary Pound? I had so set my heart on the Melanie Klein Scholarship! And - and - oh, Pip, I Do so miss Papa! And a tear splashed on to Alice's Freud.
"Now, Alice, don't be an ass!" consoled the sensible Pippa. "That's just your silly old Electra complex at work! And Uncle Brian is a very clever gentleman farmer, and he is sure to rid the crops of Shillelagh Beetle in no time. I've got a ripping idea - if your hurry up with your prep, we'll just have time for a quick spliff before prayers and lights-out - that will be sure to calm you down, you old silly!"
"What a super idea!" replied Alice gratefully.
Later, lying in her narrow cot in the school dorm, Alice sleepily observed the psychedelic circus that was parading across the inside of her closed eyelids. That State School boy had had a strong local accent, but it was jolly powerful skunk Pip had scored from him. How lucky she was to have such a loyal chum in her little cousin! And Papa was sure to be home for good soon, perhaps bringing the new bong and ceramic straighteners he'd promised. As for the dreaded "Matric", she had worked jolly hard - Dr Snell said she was an example to the whole school - what could possibly go wrong?
***
On Saturday Alice awoke to the sun streaming through the old mullioned windows of the dorm. It was a perfect May morning and, after a few hours wrestling with Jungian Archetypes, Alice was eagerly looking forward to giving St Chardonnay's First Eleven a contest they would not quickly forget.
Miss Dyke's predictions were to be fulfilled: Alice scored goal after goal before St Chardonnay's astonished keeper could gather her scattered wits sufficiently to attempt a save. When all was over, in the changing rooms Miss Dyke clasped Alice to her bosom as though she would never release her, before victors and vanquished trouped together into the Hall for a sumptuous tea of bloater paste sandwiches and blancmange.
It had been a perfect day, Alice mused later as she sank deeper into her favourite easy chair in front of the common room fire, except, of course, for poor old Pip, now in a slight coma after a heavy tackle from that big St Chardonnay's forward. But Pip was tucked up in the Sanatorium under Matron's eagle eye, and was sure to be right as rain in a jiffy.
At that moment Hazel Woolley, the most spiteful girl in the school, sidled in, a malicious gleam in her eye.
"There you are, Alice - Dr Snell wishes to see you in her study - immediately!"
"I expect she can't wait to congratulate you on your performance in today's ripping match!" exclaimed one of the Treadgold twins.
"Yes - we couldn't have pulled it off without you, Alice, old thing!" chimed in several others.
"I don't think so" said Hazel, nastily: "Dr Snell didn't look at all pleased!"
Puzzled, Alice set off at once along the dimly-lit old stone corridors leading to Dr Snell's book-lined study, with its silver-mounted rose bowl and its llama-hunting prints. She tapped on the door and entered softly, and was surprised to see a bowed, exhausted-looking man seated to the left of the fire, a dirty, ragged, black-haired child swaddled in a greatcoat on his lap. The woman bending over the pair turned at Alice's entrance, and Alice started - where was Dr Snell?
"Oh! I beg your pardon!" gasped Alice. "You see - I thought …"
"It is of no consequence, Miss", replied the strange woman. "You have merely entered the wrong novel. This is 'Wuthering Heights'. If you will just step outside once again you will find the Archers parody across the passage."
Alice did as she was bid, knocked once again, and the familiar accents of Dr Snell bade her enter. A bowed, exhausted-looking man was seated to the left of the fire, a dirty, ragged, black-haired child swaddled in a greatcoat on his lap. The man raised his head slowly to meet Alice's wondering gaze.
"Papa!" she cried, and started towards him, before halting to stare at the begrimed urchin in his arms.
"But - but - who is this child?"
The forces of truth and mendacity could be seen wrestling beneath Squire Aldridge's ravaged countenance. His troubled eyes met his daughter's clear gaze before he averted them and pronounced:
"Alice, this is your half-brother Rooairy, issue of my shameful liaison with Seeobhann Hathaway..." He faltered and gazed beseechingly at Dr Snell, whose cheeks were pale, her jaw set.
"Alice" she began, in icy tones, "it is my sad duty to inform you that not only has your father's shamrock harvest failed utterly, ruining your family completely, but he has also returned from Ireland with the bastard son of his sinful and furtive acts of fornication with a woman who was neither a member of the Established Church - nor, even, an Englishwoman. Furthermore, being partly of Irish descent, it is possible
that when the hair of this shameful child is cleansed of its grime, it may even … even… be… ginger. I therefore have no alternative but to expel you from Mary Pound Academy, lest your poverty and moral taint communicate itself to others."
"But Dr Snell!" cried Alice hysterically, "The Melanie Klein Scholarship! My heart is set upon it - you know that I have worked so hard and you have told me often that I am a credit to the school and a fine example to others!"
"Yes, Alice," replied Dr Snell steelily, "but gentlemen farmers pay for their daughters' education here in order to segregate them from those who are financially and morally bankrupt, and were I to make an exception for you it would reduce school rolls, and therefore my income, substantially. This is one of the principles upon which private education is founded and should come as no surprise to your erring parent, who is responsible for your inevitable future destination in the gutter."
Alice sobbed uncontrollably, but managed to gasp: "But Dr Snell - what is to become of me? None of this is of my doing - please, please have mercy on me, Dr Snell!"
"Well, Alice" responded the headmistress, in slightly thawed tones, "in view of your former achievements here at Mary Pound Academy, I have made certain enquiries on your behalf, an exertion which I should have undertaken for few other pupils, and I can lay before you not one but three means of earning your bread. Few paupers are granted such an opportunity."
"Oh, thank you, Dr Snell" interjected Alice, but was silenced by a gesture of that lady's hand.
"First," intoned the headmistress, " Miss Dyke is seeking a live-in Lady's Companion". Involuntarily Alice shrank back, a response acknowledged by an arching of Dr Snell's eyebrows: "I thought as much" she said. "Very well. There is the Grundy Institute of Political Incorrectness, which offers scholarships to deserving but impecunious students, and especially to those with as generous an embonpoint such as your
own."
Alice's sobs had subsided somewhat, and she was sufficiently composed to shudder profoundly. Dr Snell sighed. "The third position yielded from my sphere of influence" she began "is that of Crack Whore with responsibility for the Kwik-Save Car Park pitch in Felpersham."
"But Dr Snell" demanded Alice with a furrowed brow " Surely there is no opportunity for advancement in that position?"
"With diligence and commitment" replied her head teacher, "you may eventually rise to work the car park to the rear of Waitrose."
"Oh thank you, dear Dr Snell" sobbed Alice gratefully, "I'll take it."
"Alice, darling, you're a brick" said Squire Aldridge in a choked voice, "you've saved the family's honour".
