A Little Learning. Anne Bennett
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and I suppose me and Pete will rub along well enough.’
The munitions factory was closed and the staff dispersed, and Breda lost no time in getting herself a job in the HP Sauce factory, which was taking on a twilight shift.
‘Come on, Bet, it’s four nights a week, half five to half nine,’ she said.
‘I don’t know …’
‘Course you know. You can cope with your brood all day, give them their tea, and I’m sure our mam will do the honours till you come home.’
All of a sudden it seemed an attractive prospect to go out in the evening and talk to adults about adult things. She was restless at home and missed the camaraderie of the war years. ‘If Mammy agrees to see to them, I will,’ she said.
She enjoyed her job, repetitive though it was. She loved the bald, raw humour of the married women, most like herself with children and waiting for their husbands’ demob. She wondered, though, how Bert would view the idea of her working when he came home. The other women also worried about their husbands’ reactions, though none wanted to give up their jobs.
Betty banked her money and had a little nest egg to show Bert when he expressed doubts about her ability to cope.
‘After all,’ he said, ‘the factory has kept my job open.’
‘I know,’ Betty said, ‘but the children are always needing things, and with Conner and Noel it’s two of everything and that’s extra expense. And then of course there’s the house.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ After years of army barracks, his home looked very comfortable to him.
‘It’s shabby,’ Betty declared. ‘There was nothing to buy during the war, but soon there will be things in the shops and new colours in paint and wallpaper, and we can do the place up a bit.’
Bert surveyed his living room. Its familiarity had given him comfort when he arrived home: the sofa with the broken springs, and the faded lino on the floor. Now he saw it through Betty’s eyes and realised how dingy and patchy the wallpaper was and how dull the brown paintwork.
It could certainly do with brightening up, he thought, and perhaps they could even get a new wireless and a carpet square eventually. ‘All right, love,’ he said. ‘You keep your job. As long as you can manage, I’ll say nothing about it.’
Things rubbed along nicely for over a year. Brendan got married to Patsy Brennan, a local girl from an Irish family, and Breda had a baby girl, Linda, but continued working afterwards. Duncan started at Paget Road Secondary Modern, and Janet began her last year at Paget Road Primary.
The autumn term was into its fourth week. Betty had been delighted when school started again. She’d been tired out coping with the demands of four children all day and working in the evening, but she’d never complained to Bert.
Bert was recounting some tale from the factory around the tea table, and Duncan was listening avidly. He was fascinated by anything to do with the world he would soon be joining. Betty was keeping a watchful eye on the twins, who were making a mess of feeding themselves but screamed if she tried to help them. She was just thankful it was Friday and she didn’t have to go to work. Janet had kept her head down all through tea, and catching sight of her now, Betty realised that she’d been quiet all evening. She hoped Janet wasn’t sickening for something.
There was a small silence after Bert had finished, broken only by the twins banging their spoons on their high-chair tables. Suddenly Janet said: ‘Mom, Miss Wentworth would like a word with you.’
There was a hoot of laughter from Duncan. ‘Why, what you done?’ he said, and added in disbelief, ‘Goody-goody Janet’s in trouble.’
‘I’m not, I’m not,’ Janet declared hotly.
‘That will do, Duncan,’ Betty said. She turned her gaze to her daughter and said: ‘D’you know what it’s about?’
All eyes were on Janet now, and she stammered: ‘I … I think it’s … it’s about the exam.’
‘The exam?’ Bert said. ‘What’s this?’
‘The eleven-plus, she means,’ Duncan said.
‘Oh,’ said Bert airily. ‘No need to worry your head about that, pet, you don’t need to do no eleven-plus.’
Janet’s face flushed crimson. Betty took pity on her and said, ‘Do you want to do it, love?’
‘Oh, yes.’
There was a shocked silence. Even the twins were staring at her. Bert put down his knife and fork and asked in genuine puzzlement, ‘Why do you want to take the eleven-plus?’
‘Miss Wentworth says I have a good chance of passing,’ Janet burst out. ‘She says I have a good brain and …’
‘This Miss Wentworth has been talking a lot of nonsense,’ Bert said, ‘and filling your head with rubbish. You’ve no need for a grammar school education and you can tell her that from me.’
Betty looked at her daughter’s stricken face and said, ‘It will do no harm to listen to what the woman has to say.’
‘Do no bloody good either.’
‘Bert,’ Betty admonished, with a nod towards the twins, who were reaching the age when they liked to latch on to unusual words and repeat them.
‘They’ll hear worse before they’re much older,’ Bert said, ruffling the heads of his small sons fondly. ‘Proper little buggers they’re growing up to be.’
Betty gave up. He’d never be any different. He stood up, scraping his chair back. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m away for a wash.’
‘You going to the club?’
‘I always go to the club on Friday.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Betty began collecting the plates, then said, almost casually, though she knew her daughter would be holding her breath for Bert’s reply, ‘I think I’ll pop along to the school and have a chat with our Janet’s teacher anyway, all right?’
‘Yes, if you want,’ Bert said. ‘Do as you like but it won’t make any bloody difference.’ He chucked Janet under the chin as he went out. ‘Cheer up, ducky,’ he said. ‘Why the long face? You’re much too pretty to worry yourself over any silly exams.’
Janet didn’t answer. She watched him lift the kettle from the gas and take it to the bathroom that opened off the kitchen, and a little later she heard him whistling as he had a shave.
Betty went to see Miss Wentworth the following Monday lunchtime. ‘You really think our Janet has a chance of passing the eleven-plus?’ she asked, gazing at the teacher in amazement.
‘Indeed I do,’ Claire Wentworth said with an emphatic nod of her head. ‘Janet has an exceptional brain. She seems to soak up knowledge.’
Does she? Betty thought. Miss Wentworth went on to describe a child Betty did not recognise as her daughter. ‘She’s one of the brightest I have ever taught,’ she said at last.
‘But she’s always so quiet at home, our Janet,’ Betty said.
‘Assimilating all the knowledge gained, I suppose.’
‘Pardon?’ said Betty, not quite understanding the words the teacher was using.
‘Taking it all in, you know,’ said Claire. ‘She’s probably got too much going on in her head for chattering a lot.’
‘Maybe,’ Betty said. ‘She often looks as though she’s in a dream. She must be thinking.’ She smiled and added, ‘It’s not something the