Living On Three Continents: 'Urray, 'Urray
The girls and staff at Greenmount School have more than one thing to cheer about in this story by Susan Siddeley. And cheer they do, though a few aitches are dropped amid all the enthusiasm.
“ ’urray, ’urray ...” The words streamed from five hundred throats and ricocheted round the fluted columns of the Town Hall like nuclear fall out. They flew up past the gallery to the giddy heights of the gilded ceiling. There, they thundered around the dangling glass of the chandeliers, before descending on the black-gowned teachers sitting in the velvet seats of the balcony.
“Good Lord.” Miss Denning pulled her ermine trim closer. “What a racket. Who’d have thought after those glorious Hallelujahs that Greenmount girls could sound so vulgar?”
Down on the stage, it appeared that the headmistress, mortarboard square on, staring out at the assembled parents from behind the civic lectern, thought the same. As the ’urrays died on the cold tiles of the main floor she swiveled to glare at the serried ranks behind. Five hundred faces froze. A thousand eyes were lowered. Clearing her throat, the headmistress bent to put a word in the ear of a stout man wearing a big chain waiting beside her, quite forgetting about the microphone.
“Silly girls. You must excuse them Mr. Mayor. I can’t think why they get so excited about an extra half-day holiday.”
“Oops – Sorry everyone.” The figure straightened. “Girls, you may sit.”
“Typical,” thought Miss Denning leaning forward for a better look. “What a farce.” She shivered. “It’s as frigid inside this place as out, and the girls – so raucous. I must be mad. Why on earth did I leave the comforts of Kent to teach up North?''
With muted shuffles five hundred bottoms resettled on the tiered benches behind the stage as the headmistress prepared her last announcement.
“It is with great pleasure that I can tell you that Anthea Watson has been awarded an open scholarship to read English at St Hilda’s College, Oxford.'' The headmistress took off her glasses, peered at the audience and attempted a smile.
Miss Denning sat still, coldness forgotten. Anthea was her best student, but Anthea hadn’t been in school since the exams. Miss Denning had heard there were problems at home. She’d suspected as much for a while, since Anthea never had the right books and often begged for extra homework time. Miss Denning had surprised herself by agreeing, recognizing, that despite the lame excuses, the girl possessed an unusual ability with words and excellent critical insight. A saving grace.
As Anthea, blue blouse pressed, hair shining in the spotlight, moved across the stage, Miss Denning found herself rising to her feet, holding her programme aloft and waving with the rest. “’urray, Anthea, ’urray, ’urray. I mean hurray,” she shouted.
