Photo Robin Ree
Putting Rumours to Rest
The first term had only just commenced and the old rumours had already re-surfaced. I am not sure who spreads this slanderous, disgusting gossip but I have my suspicions it was Chloe Higgins of the fourth. I made mention of her in a previous article. She is a known trouble maker. True or false, what made it genuinely alarming was the rumour resurfacing that Denham Hall was to be ‘amalgamated’ with Watford Grammar School for Boys, believe it or not?
If that was not bad enough, what made it even more distressing was the news that after the ‘amalgamation’ the college was to be turned into a comprehensive school, whatever that means. Tiffany said it is sort of a secondary school; a sort of government school. Tamsin rolled her eyes and whispered, ‘heaven forbid’.
She hurriedly butted in, as if it were an afterthought, saying ‘anyway if we were amalgamated with those Watford Boys Grammar School creatures they might just as well turn Rickmansworth Young Ladies College into an unpatrolled wild game reserve’. I am not sure what she meant by that and I was not about to ask. George, number Two, our founder would agree with Tamsin on this one, were he still alive that is.
I do not want to dwell on this news. Later on during the day, after I had just left the infirmary from visiting Jessica who was still under observation by Nurse Mayo after ingesting toadstools instead of mushrooms, I spied Tamsin and Tiffany sitting on a bench at the approach to the college entrance.
As I approached I overheard Tiffany saying “Tamsin you cannot call them that”.
I interrupted “call them what?”
Tiffany answered “it’s Tamsin; she just called them Red Indians”. I chose not to reply to this pair instead I chose to listen.
Tiffany turned to Tamsin and repeated “you cannot call them Red Indians, Tamsin. For starters, they are not red”.
Tamsin replied “well what about Pink Indians? Anyway it is not just a question of colour, is it? It’s also a question of race’’.
“How do you mean?” queried Tiffany.
“Well I agree they may not actually be red coloured persons per se, but they are not Indians either,” said Tamsin.
Tiffany persisted “they are American Indians”.
“No, no they can’t be” replied Tamsin. “They don’t even come from India. They just called themselves that and anyway, red is just a friendly nickname, like for people with red hair”.
Well, I could not argue against Tamsin’s logic. Rarely does she lose an argument. Her insistence is legendary. Fortunately, the bell sounded for the afternoon session and as Miss Pringle, the assistant headmistress and English teacher, was a stickler for punctuality, I did not tarry or even hang about.
In the afternoon Briggs was to drive the college bus to the Gurnell Leisure Centre where the college had booked three of the swimming lanes. Miss Frenzi, the Sportsmistress, was hoping to put together a strong swimming team for the up-and-coming Schools Swimming Carnival.
Unfortunately, Rebecca Tate, a county representative swimmer who we could always rely on to put Rickmansworth Young Ladies College in a respectful position on the leader board had just left the college. Our only really serious threat in the competition was Pixie Hill Camp School.
Tamsin had little or no interest in competitive swimming and would have been quite happy playing in the shallow end of the pool with a bucket of sand and a spade. Nevertheless, we did have a couple of hopefuls with Charlotte Patterson, a new girl to the college who was no slouch when it came to freestyle.
To be fair Tamsin’s strengths lay more in her acrobatic ability. She found out the hard way the importance of knowing when to straighten out after completing the third of a triple somersault during the school Christmas concert.
It was a small error like this that resulted in her recently finding herself in Nurse Mayo’s brief care with bandages, iodine and everything, even plasters after colliding with the pianist upon leaving the stage like a projectile.
That was Friday over with; now for the most important day of the week. It was Saturday. Inveraray here we come.
Father had arranged a long term contract for the hire of an executive jet twice a month to ferry me and college friends from Stanstead Airport to Oban. He was able to afford this luxury having ‘interests’ (his word), in mining and oil in Brazil.
We were initially going to ‘Awe Grange’, Tamsin’s home, a restored ex presbytery overlooking Loch Awe. In the afternoon Tamsin’s parents drove the short drive to the ruins of Kilchurn Castle where we parked in the car park and spent the afternoon fossicking around the castle ruins and taking photos for our Facebook page.
The following day, Sunday, Tamsin’s mother and father drove us home to Inveraray Castle.
Tamsin’s parents returned home and Tamsin stayed and spent Sunday evening with us. Father was again on business in Brazil. I am pleased to say no séances or reading of tarot cards had been arranged this weekend but a bridge party had. The bridge parties were not as much contests as social evenings.
This was apparent by the participants, the new gardener’s wife, Mrs Pasta the Italian kitchen hand and not forgetting Mrs Dalrymple, the village physic. Mother usually paired with Mrs Dalrymple thinking she must have an advantage of being in touch with the ‘other side’.
Before the bridge parties commenced Mrs Flowers would drive her husband down to the Argyll Hostelry in the village where he had joined the local Wassailing club. Tamsin dumbfounded queried ‘a Wassailing Club? It must be the only one in Scotland’.
Seeing the main appeal of wassailing was drinking cider to the point of intoxication and allowing, if I may to resort to the vernacular, of ‘getting limp on the turps’ at the same time indulging in discordant caroling. I could see the attraction for Mr Flowers but not for Betty. I guess she will be the one doing the driving home.
It was Monday morning and back at Rickmansworth Young Ladies College. It was Miss Sefton the headmistress who mounted the stage of the concert hall to address the full college assembly. Normally this duty would have been undertaken by Miss Pringle the assistant headmistress so I assumed there was an important announcement about to be made.
I am pleased to inform our readers that the news that was about to be delivered by Miss Sefton will not only delight but will convey a huge feeling of relief and lay to rest any lingering doubts that you, the gentle reader, or the girls may have had for the long term future of the college. The news was unambiguous, brief and to the point.
Miss Sefton chose her words carefully. She began. “Despite rumours to the contrary, I cannot stress too highly this college will NOT (pause) be merging WITH, amalgamating WITH or integrating WITH any other place of learning. It will remain Denham Hall Young Ladies College”.
She continued “This college was founded for the education of the young daughters of families of influence and substance over 400 years ago. Any change from its original purpose would have its founder and benefactor, George II turning in his grave”.
She paused briefly for a desired dramatic effect before continuing.
“The college governors will concur with me that for the last 400 years THIS is the way it has been, THIS is the way it is now, and THIS is the way it will remain, certainly during my tenure at this college”
Stepping back from the dais Miss Sefton nodded “Thank you. Miss Pringle you may continue”.
There was a brief pause…… er that seemed to go on forever, followed by a spontaneous and sustained outburst of applause and cheering from the students, the teachers and the two gardeners standing in the hall doorway. I cannot say for certain but I suspect I saw Miss Pringle dabbing her eyes with her hankie.
The rumours had been laid to rest once and for all; with school principles of the calibre of Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle at the helm of Denham Hall Young Ladies College, it will also be their legacy, as well as George number two’s, hopefully for the next 400 years.
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