No 29 - Miss Pringle's Very Brief Encounter with Romance

Pupil Free Day.

Miss Pringle’s (very brief) Encounter with Romance

It was a pupil free day. The Headmistress, Miss Sefton and the Assistant Head, Miss Pringle were to attend the annual conference for GSA Heads (Girls Schools Association) which was to take place in Manchester at the Principle Hotel.

It was Rebecca that noted, ‘In truth, it was not so much a pupil free day but a Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle free day for the girls’. Tamsin said, quote ‘It’s not fair. It is not a free day. We are still supposed to study’ unquote. I am not quite sure why I put that in quotes probably trying to sound like a published author I ‘spose.

In the interim Miss Frenzi the Sports Mistress was left in charge of the college.

These independent schools like Denham Hall are private colleges and are distinguished by their academic excellence, pastoral care, and co-curricular provision… or that’s what it says on the internet. It goes on to say ‘the conference is to discover new ideas, share insights, challenge assumptions, catch up with old friends and above all to inspire’.

As Lord Hampton-Myer Head of the Board of Directors at Denham Hall told Miss Sefton during a coffee break at the GSA meeting, ‘I am aware of these dreadful rumours circulating around the college. As you know Miss Sefton Denham Hall is a privately owned college. It is a place of learning for genteel Christian young ladies, daughters of families of substance, and was given its charter by George II and its status as a privately owned establishment cannot be changed by the government, or anyone else for that matter, and it will remain so in perpetuity. Of that you can rest assured’.

These were comforting and reassuring words for Miss Sefton after recently having to refute the disgusting and distressing gossip that was circulating around the college, a rumour that the college was to be amalgamated with creatures from the Watford Grammar School for boys into some sort of huge government comprehensive school.

While circulating, Miss Sefton noted the Marchioness of Cirencester, a generous Denham Hall benefactor, was present without her husband and deep in conversation with the president of the GSA, a Mr Robins.

The following week the gossip that leaked out of the teachers’ common room was that while on the train to Manchester Miss Sefton moved into the corridor to stretch her legs when a gentleman entered the carriage and struck up a conversation with Miss Pringle. She explained she was on her way to a Heads of Teachers Conference and that it was her first visit to Manchester. He replied saying he was ‘something’ in the city.

The conversation continued until the train was about to pull into Manchester Station. Miss Sefton had yet to resume her place in the carriage. The gentleman stood up gathered his briefcase and asked Miss Pringle if she was free that evening. Miss Pringle was speechless, or at loss for words.

Anyhow she informed him in the most polite manner that ‘yes, she was free’ and ‘yes, that is the way it always had been’ and ‘yes, that was the way it was going to remain’ and thanked him very much for asking.

I knew this story would get the girl's tongue’s wagging, not that they wanted to see Miss Pringle married off or anything like that, and being in her late forties/early fifties I guess children were not necessarily upper-most in Miss Pringle’s mind.

Today was Friday; the forecast was fine for the weekend and I had phoned mother to alert her that I would be bringing Phaedra Gascoigne home for the weekend. As Tamsin was returning to Loch Awe for the weekend I asked mother if I also invite Mr Crisis the science teacher. He was presently living in the empty caretaker’s room. Miss Sefton the headmistress was unaware that Mr Crisis, although his appointment was a permanent position, it may turn out to be more of a temporary nature. He may be called back to Epsilon Bootis any moment.

On arriving at Inveraray Castle I asked mother, where the cat came from that was wandering around the kitchen. She replied it came from the bread shop in the village. When the shop was recently sold Mrs Rutherford, the owner, said she wanted the cat to go to a good home. She assured mother it was a good ratter.

Mother said, “if I had known at the time Mrs Rutherford had rats or mice in her bakery I may have thought twice about having a standing order for a cottage loaf or two, whether her cat, Lorraine was a good ratter or not”. I pondered, yes good point. By the way, we haven’t had a cat for many years at Inveraray Castle, not since Barnaby died.

Colonel Carter-Brown and his wife were calling around this afternoon and the colonel informed father he was bringing Reynard the orphan fox cub with him. He had been given permission from the authorities to keep him as a pet.

I realised, as did father, if this Reynard beast were to revert to its natural instincts and was mistaken in thinking we had a rabbit living in the kitchen instead of a cat there was going to be one hell of a kerfuffle when he catches sight of Lorraine, so when the colonel arrived father asked the colonel if he might tie him up outside.

A little later I and Phaedra asked the colonel if we could walk Reynard down to the river. We left the men sorting out the world’s problems. Although the priority I imagine will be to decide if there was any noticeable difference between a Chivas Regal 20 and the 25.

Mother and Lady Rowena the colonel’s wife meanwhile sat in the saloon with the intent on demolishing a bottle of reddish colored stuff while discussing the occult or the after-life or something.

We dare not take Reynard off the leash as we were not sure just how domesticated he was but he did attract a lot of stares and a few comments like ‘lovely looking dog you have there’, and ‘looking for Rabbits?’

Arriving back at the castle we took Reynard the fox into the castle’s tea shop thinking it would be a good talking point for the tourists when they arrived back home. A young Asian lass asked us what breed of dog it was and Phaedra told her it was a fox. Wide-eyed she confessed she had never before heard of that breed. As she leaned forward to stroke Reynard I intervened and suggested that may not be such a great idea.

From the tea shop, I thought I heard the musical strains of ‘I Belong to Glasgow’ emanating from the saloon. It was certainly not Mr Crisis who was leading the singing. I reckoned father must have opened the Chivas Regal 20 or failing that had finished the 20 and then opened up the Chivas 15, 25…. or whatever.

As the piano was in the saloon I could not see how I and Phaedra would be able to prise the males out of the saloon so we were forced to retreat to the Green Room and listen to the wireless and play cards followed by ‘Who Am I’. We really must get the piano tuned.