So she waited till Friday。 Kingston…on…Thames had been an
exciting dream。 Here she could feel the hard; raw reality。 So
she knew that this would e to pass。 Because nothing was ever
fulfilled; she found; except in the hard limited reality。 She
did not want to be a teacher in Ilkeston; because she knew
Ilkeston; and hated it。 But she wanted to be free; so she must
take her freedom where she could。
On Friday her father said there was a place vacant in
Brinsley Street school。 This could most probably be secured for
her; at once; without the trouble of application。
Her heart halted。 Brinsley Street was a school in a poor
quarter; and she had had a taste of the mon children of
Ilkeston。 They had shouted after her and thrown stones。 Still;
as a teacher; she would be in authority。 And it was all unknown。
She was excited。 The very forest of dry; sterile brick had some
fascination for her。 It was so hard and ugly; so relentlessly
ugly; it would purge her of some of her floating
sentimentality。
She dreamed how she would make the little; ugly children love
her。 She would be so personal。 Teachers were always so
hard and impersonal。 There was no vivid relationship。 She would
make everything personal and vivid; she would give herself; she
would give; give; give all her great stores of wealth to her
children; she would make them so happy; and they would prefer
her to any teacher on the face of the earth。
At Christmas she would choose such fascinating Christmas
cards for them; and she would give them such a happy party in
one of the class…rooms。
The headmaster; Mr。 Harby; was a short; thick…set; rather
mon man; she thought。 But she would hold before him the light
of grace and refinement; he would have her in such high esteem
before long。 She would be the gleaming sun of the school; the
children would blossom like little weeds; the teachers like
tall; hard plants would burst into rare flower。
The Monday morning came。 It was the end of September; and a
drizzle of fine rain like veils round her; making her seem