The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

days shortened and autumn became winter. The people of Great Chalkham went about their business as usual but there was no denying that many were feeling the pinch of financial instability. It was common knowledge that farms, the lifeblood of the village, were impoverished. It was clear to see in the rusted equipment and dilapidated buildings, hedges and ditches. Most families relied on the farm wages of thirty shillings a week and prayed that their employment would continue. The farmers themselves, George Dunn among them, were grey-faced and morose, except when they were drowning their sorrows at The Plough (they had run out of credit at the Fox and Hare.) Without exception, they had all borrowed money from the bank and then borrowed more money to keep up with the interest payments on their loans. Three farmers had already been forced to sell but with land going for as little as £5 per acre, the rest were grimly hanging on.

At Willow Farm, Norah was forced to listen to constant complaints from her stepmother and sister about the lack of decent society in Great Chalkham. Chalkham Hall had recently been sold and Adele was disappointed that its new owners, Cyril and Edith Brooke, did not appear to entertain a great deal. She and Hope had visited shortly after their arrival in the village and found Mrs Brooke to be ‘rather plain and dull.’ Apparently, according to the village grapevine, Mr Brooke was ‘something in trade’ but Adele had yet to meet him. She had suggested to George that they have a small dinner party to which they could invite the Brookes and other worthy guests but George had dismissed the notion out of hand.

‘He has become so ill-tempered recently,’ she berated Norah, as if it were her fault.

‘I think he’s just got a lot on his mind,’ Norah replied evenly. ‘You’ll just have to be patient. He’s not normally so down.’

Truthfully, she was becoming increasingly concerned about her father. When at home, he spent most of his time in his study where, Norah suspected although she could not be sure, he kept a bottle of whisky. At mealtimes, he was typically taciturn and would answer in monosyllables. Occasionally, Norah thought, his speech was slightly slurred and then he would react angrily to his wife’s admonishments.

Norah no longer attended the village school and instead she and Hope were instructed in needlecraft, music and household management by a retired teacher called Mrs Beecham. She was a sour, humourless woman and Norah frequently found herself feeling like a prisoner in her own home. She would gaze longingly out of the window until she was inevitably scolded for her inattention. After every session, Mrs Beecham would please Adele by flattering her with the magnitude of Hope’s accomplishments whilst criticising all of Norah’s efforts. Norah, in turn, had begged her father to be excused from these ‘lessons’ but, on this matter, George had sided with Adele.

‘I’m sorry, Nolly,’ he smiled wanly at her, ‘but you can’t spend all day out on your horse and these are things you may well find useful in the future.’

Norah endured the sessions with as much patience as she could muster and did her best to become, in the words of her stepmother, ‘a proper young lady.’ Meanwhile, she spent as much time as she could studying for the exams she would have to take to be admitted to St Hilda’s.

Adele’s habit of dispensing food to the poor ceased entirely when she found her household budget cut by a considerable margin. Despite her vociferous complaints, George insisted they get by on just thirty shillings a week. Poor Mrs Morris found herself reduced to buying cheaper cuts of meat to make ends meet and struggled to provide meals to Adele’s exacting standards.

Norah was just thankful they had food on the table at all. She had recently become painfully aware of the poverty in the village. Her buxom friend Sybil, still just fifteen, had been married last week to a much older wealthy widower from the nearby village of Copton. When Norah had naively asked her how she could bear to marry such an old man, Sybil had shrugged her shoulders.

‘It’s better than starving,’ she answered bluntly, ‘and it means I’ll be able to take care of Ma and Pa and all the little 'uns. It’s all right for you, Norah. You don’t know what it’s like to go to bed hungry every night.’

Sybil’s words had struck home and Norah had since secretly begged scraps from the kitchen to take to those with the most need. She was shocked to see how thin many of the children were and how grateful their mothers were for small pieces of cheese and crusts of bread. It made her resolve to do more and, without Adele’s knowledge, she asked her father to sell Trojan. He initially refused.

‘Is this because of your stepmother?’ he demanded angrily. ‘I’ve already said that we are not selling your horse. How dare she keep interfering!’

‘No, no, she doesn’t know anything about it,’ Norah replied quickly. ‘This is my decision. I would like to use the money to help some of my friends in the village. I cannot bear to see them struggling.’

George shook his head sadly. ‘When the money is gone, they’ll still be struggling.’

‘Yes but at least then I won’t feel so guilty,’ Norah persisted. ‘You should see them Daddy. The Joneses are living on next to nothing since Albert got laid off by George Coombes six weeks ago. I just can’t ride by on Trojan and ignore them. I have to do something, however small.’

Her father smiled and put his arm around her. ‘I’m so proud of you, I hope you know that. Alright, I’ll sell Trojan if that’s what you wish. We can’t expect to get much for him though. There’s not much demand for riding horses at the moment.’

So, Trojan was duly sold and Norah dispensed food staples throughout that winter to the neediest families. When news