you may need it,’ Miss Wentworth said. ‘It is the basis of language, for one thing, and you need it to get into many universities.’
‘You think I’ll go to university?’ Janet asked incredulously.
‘Janet, you’re not eleven years old yet. Who knows what you’ll achieve, or where you’ll end up? We must cover all the options. And when you go to grammar school, I want you to go on equal terms, not as a scholarship girl to be pitied.’
Years later, Janet would realise how wise Claire Wentworth had been. Now, she was just thankful that her visits to her teacher’s small terraced house in Erdington weren’t coming to an abrupt halt.
The second part of the eleven-plus had to be taken at Whytecliff School, because that was Janet’s first choice. As the school was in Sutton Coldfield, outside Birmingham’s boundaries, Janet and Betty had to go on the Midland Red bus, not on one of Birmingham’s yellow and blue ones. Janet had never been on one before, nor had she ever been into the small town of Sutton Coldfield itself. The bus took them along Eachelhurst Road and down the side of Pype Hayes Park, lined with prefabs, a legacy from the war. It was just past the park’s perimeter and over the Birmingham border. This was the furthest Janet had ever been from her home. She looked out at the large detached houses, set well back from the road, with long front gardens and drives that disappeared behind privet hedges. ‘Think of the cost of all the coal you’d need to heat one of those places,’ Betty whispered, seeing Janet’s concentrated gaze.
‘I think if you were that rich you wouldn’t have to worry about the price of coal,’ Janet whispered back. She wondered if any girls from the houses they were passing would be sitting the second part of the exam with her that day, but there were no girls of Janet’s age at the bus stops; in fact, more often than not, nobody was at the bus stops and the bus just sailed past.
Janet began to feel nervous as they went further and further into unfamiliar territory. ‘How will we know our stop, Mam?’ she asked as the bus trundled along.
‘The conductor will tell us,’ Betty assured her. ‘Don’t worry.’
They passed farmland, with fields stretching out on either side, and then a few big houses scattered here and there, even larger than the first ones they’d seen. Then suddenly the conductor alerted them, and they alighted from the bus and stood looking about them. ‘Whytecliff High School for Girls’ was written in gold lettering above two wrought-iron gates which stood wide open. The school was in a road with other houses of similar size dotted along it, but in the distance Janet could see farmland. Suddenly she was unaccountably nervous. She moved forward cautiously and saw a sweeping gravel path which led to a large, imposing building set well back.
Now Janet saw the other girls. It appeared that no one else had come by bus. Most were getting out of private cars or taxis, and some drove past Janet and Betty as they crunched their way forward. Janet felt conspicuous and ill at ease.
As she approached the school she saw tennis courts positioned on either side of it, and a thrill ran through her as she realised that one day she might be there, playing tennis with other girls like herself. She looked up and saw the ornamental bushes decorating the front of the school and the wide stone steps that led up between them from the path. There were two newel posts at the bottom, decorated with stone balls, and a rail ran up either side and a balustrade along the top.
As Janet joined the girls going in, she almost ran back down the steps and told her mother she wanted to go home. But Betty knew her daughter and pressed her forward. ‘Go on,’ she hissed. ‘You have as much right to be here as anyone else,’ and Janet held her head high and mounted the last few steps to the front entrance hall.
Betty, however, was overawed by the whole place and only waited until Janet was taken into the hall before she wandered outside. She scarcely saw the tree-lined avenues she walked along, for her thoughts and prayers were for her daughter bent over the vital examination papers.
In actual fact, despite Janet’s unease at being inside Whytecliff School, she felt quietly confident that she had done well as she laid down her pen at the end of the third paper, although she recognised that the second part of the exam was much harder than the first had been.
She talked it over with Miss Wentworth that same evening. ‘I finished,’ she said, ‘but only just.’
‘Even the English paper?’
‘Even that since I’ve done so much work on timed essays.’
‘And you feel confident?’
‘In the exam room I did, but now I’m not so sure.’
‘Oh, Janet, believe in yourself!’ Claire cried in exasperation. ‘You have a good brain. Don’t use it to demean yourself.’
‘I don’t,’ Janet protested. ‘It’s just that I don’t know. I suppose I’m worried I’ll let them all down.’
‘You need to be taken out of yourself more,’ Claire said. ‘Come over tomorrow and we’ll go out for the day.’
‘If I can I will,’ Janet promised, ‘but it might be difficult.’
Claire’s eyes met Janet’s, but though they were puzzled, she didn’t ask questions, and Janet didn’t offer an explanation.
The following afternoon, Janet fought her way through the cold and blustery winter’s day with sleeting rain stinging her cheeks. Claire opened the door. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘You must be freezing.’
Janet hung her sopping coat in the hall and followed Claire down the passage to the back room she tended to live in, rubbing her raw, freezing hands together.
‘It’s bitterly cold out there,’ she was saying, and then she stopped. There was a strange woman sitting in the chair by the fire that Miss Wentworth usually occupied. One of her legs was encased in plaster and raised on a cushion.
She turned and smiled, and Janet saw she was an older version of Miss Wentworth. ‘Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘You must be Janet. My daughter has told me so much about you. I slipped on the ice, I’m afraid, and have broken my leg. Such a nuisance, I know, but there it is. Claire has said I must stay here until I’m fully recovered.’
Janet felt a momentary flash of jealousy. She didn’t want to share their special times together. It was different at school, where Miss Wentworth was so scrupulously fair and was just as hard on Janet as on the others – harder if anything, never picking Janet for any particular job or privilege – but that was school; this was their special time. Here Miss Wentworth was totally hers.
She stared at the older woman, quite prepared to dislike her heartily. Then Mrs Wentworth disarmed her totally with a charming smile. ‘I’m sorry that you’ll have to put up with an old duffer like me, Janet. I hope I won’t spoil things too much.’
Janet was prevented from answering by the arrival of Claire with a tray of tea and sponge cake. ‘Good job we’d made no plans,’ Claire said, ‘and anyway, it’s a filthy day. As it turned out, after you left yesterday, Janet, Mom’s neighbour, who fortunately has a car, came to fetch me and take me to the casualty department of the General Hospital. They’d called an ambulance for Mom after they found her in the garden, unable to move, with her leg broken.’ She turned to her mother and said, ‘Honestly, Mom, what were you doing out in the pitch black?’
‘I
