Well I have
continued pounding on with my new WIP Hilda.
I’m now a
few years ahead of where my posts have reached. Once again I have paused for
some research. One of my characters is embroiled in the opening stages of WWI
and I need to make sure I have some background details right.
If it was
WWII I would probably already know most of the details as I have done so much
research on that war for my other works.
The trick
with the research is to have enough detail to weave into the narrative without
it feeling placed for effect. Thank goodness for the internet, most of the
detail I need at the moment is coming from that source. With my work set in
WWII I got a lot of colour from talking to people from the generations in
question. That is clearly no longer an option with the WWI generation.
For the
writers among you, a question? How do you get the details right?
For the
readers how important is it that the “history” is right?
Now, this is
a longer extract than most, Hilda is coming to a milestone in her life
1910
‘Good afternoon Miss Wilson.’ Said Maggie
from the back of Bob.
‘Good afternoon Maggie, good afternoon Fred.’
Fred tipped his cap, ‘Afternoon Miss.’
Unusually, as they were packing up on this
afternoon Miss Wilson had taken Hilda aside, ‘Don’t hurry away this afternoon
Hilda. I wish to come with you, I need to talk to your mother.’
Hilda stood nervously outside the schoolyard
while Miss Wilson put on her hat and locked the school door. What could it be?
The only times Hilda knew of that a teacher spoke to a parent was when the
child had committed some terrible sin.
Three quarters of the school year had flashed
by and Miss Wilson had nothing but praise for Hilda’s work with the younger children.
She had also gone on showing her more mathematics well beyond that she taught
to the other girls. And she had gone on lending her books on all sorts of maths
she had never dreamed existed, why just today she was taking home a book on
geometry.
Hilda walked slower and slower as the went
along the road toward Wharf Cottage feeling more and more miserable. She must
have done something without realizing it, must have crossed some boundary,
broken some rule, why else would Miss Wilson want to see her parents? Dolly and
Wilf skipping along hand in hand left them in their wake.
‘What is wrong Hilda?’ Miss Wilson addressed
her for the first time since they had left the school gate.
‘I’m sorry Miss Wilson, I don’t know what
I’ve done.’
‘What you’ve…’, a perplexed look from Miss
Wilson, ‘goodness me Hilda you’re not in trouble.’
She paused considering, ‘I hope I have good
news. I haven’t wanted to share it with you so you aren’t disappointed if your
parents don’t agree with my idea.’
Hilda almost breathed a sight of relief, but
now the anticipation was nearly as bad as the anxiety.
‘Now tell me Hilda, I have always wondered,
why is your house called “Wharf Cottage”? The river is not very nearby and we
must be fifty miles from the sea.’
‘That’s easy Miss, around a hundred years ago
there was a horse drawn tram that went past here. Our cottage was built as the
wharf at the end of the tramway. Then when the railway came through it were
turned into a cottage.’
‘I see, that makes sense.’ Then always the
teacher, ‘It should be “it was converted into a cottage”.’
‘I’m sorry Miss Wilson,’ the misery of being
rebuked, Hilda hated being wrong.
Elizabeth
Attewell set down her cup, ‘Would you like more tea Miss Wilson?’
Miss
Wilson cast her eyes around the room, ‘Please.’
Hilda
took up the pot from its stand and reached across the walnut surface of the
table to pour a steady stream of tea into the cup.
Setting
down the pot she glanced around the room trying to see it with her teacher’s
eyes. A good sized room, but full to bursting with fine furniture. Most of the
work her father did on the estate was simpler country furniture for the people
living on the estate. But as the master craftsman he was, he could turn out
pieces “fit for a king” as he fondly said. It was with such pieces he filled
his home, to the point that it was hard to navigate through many of the rooms
of the cottage.
Dolly
asked from the other side of the table, ‘Can I have some more please mum?’
Elizabeth
looked at her younger daughter, ‘No child, run and play with Wilf.’
Dolly
nodded and left the table, Hilda could tell she wanted to stay, wanted to find
out what Miss Wilson had come for.
For that
matter Hilda ached to know, why had she stuck to pleasantries like the weather?
Mum wondered too, she was sure of it, wondered why she had been paid such an
honor. Hilda’s Dad walked past the window, he’d come home a bit early. Hilda
listened to the front door open and close. ‘Tell your dad we’ve company.’
Elizabeth said.
‘Yes
Mum.’
Hilda
left her chair and stepped into the hall, Charles was hanging his hat on the
hook in the hall, ‘Dad, Miss Wilson’s here.’
‘Miss
Wilson?’
‘Our
teacher.’
He
smoothed down his coat and stepped into the room. Hilda followed him in, ‘Miss
Wilson,’ he smiled warmly, ‘what a pleasure to see you.’
The next
minutes dragged for Hilda, but finally Miss Wilson set down her cup and began
her business, ‘No doubt Mister and Mrs Attewell you wondered why I have called
on you today.’
Charles
smiled, ‘Well I guessed it might have something to do with one of the girls,
you being their teacher and all.’
‘I…’ Miss
Wilson paused her eyes meeting Hilda’s.
Charles
interjected, ‘Hilda hasn’t been causing mischief has she?’
Miss
Wilson smiled with relief, ‘No,quite the opposite in fact. But it is Hilda I
have come to talk about.’
‘Yes?’
Her mother’s voice was not exactly icy, but neither was it inviting.
‘You
might have realized Hilda has a gift when it comes to mathematics.’
‘She’s
always been quick with numbers.’ Charles’ eyes where questioning, ‘What of it?’
Miss Wilson
took her time, it was as if she was feeling her way down a path in the dark,
‘In everything you care to name Hilda is the quickest student I have ever had
the pleasure to teach. It is in mathematics that she particularly shines
though.’
‘You’ve
been lending her books.’ Elizabeth’s voice was strained.
‘I have.
At the beginning of the summer holiday I lent Hilda a book on algebra. I didn’t
really expect her to finish it. But she did, and with no mistakes. It was if I
opened a floodgate with that loan. Over the subsequent nine months Hilda has
borrowed another book off me almost every week. At first they were my own
books, but my paltry collection did not last Hilda long. I have been borrowing
maths books from a professor whose acquaintance I have.’
Miss
Wilson took a breath, eyes shining at Hilda she went on, ‘In short Hilda’s
knowledge of mathematics has surpassed my own.’
Charles’
met his daughter’s eye, doubt on his face, before turning to Miss Wilson. ‘That
is all very fine, but of what import is it?’
‘I have
been talking to the head mistress of the Cheltenham Ladies’ College, the school
I attended. Based on my word she has promised a full scholarship for Hilda.’
‘Cheltenham?’
exclaimed Elizabeth, ‘That must be thirty miles from here!’
Miss
Wilson floundered, ‘I’m not sure.’ A breath, more confidant again, ‘It would be
a full scholarship, board and uniforms included, and Hilda could come home for
holidays.’
Hilda’s
head spun, the idea of moving away from home, especially as far as Cheltenham
was daunting. On the other hand the prospect of not going into service, of
continuing to learn, continuing at school, what a magical prospect. ‘Mum, Dad,
please can I?’
Such a
mournful expression settled on her father’s face she did not know what to
think, ‘But afterward? What would the girl do after another six years of
school?’
‘Afterward?’
Miss Wilson was at a loss, ‘Why afterward she might go on to one of the ladies
colleges at Oxford, at the worst she might teach.’
‘Oxford?’
Charles was scornful, ‘I knows for a fact that women are not allowed to
matriculate at the universities, not allowed to take a degree.’
‘That is
true, but they are allowed to attend lectures, tutorials and sit examinations.
They have the qualification in all but name.’
Elizabeth
interjected, ‘But of what use would it be to a working girl? A few years and
she would just get married in any case. She would waste all that time and for
what? In those six or eight years she might earn three or four hundred pounds
and with full board save two hundred maybe three hundred pounds to contribute
to her household when she marries.’
Miss
Wilson, shifted, she seemed about to flee. Please, please, please
thought Hilda, don’t give up. She caught her teacher’s eye, Miss Wilson,
smiled at her before speaking again ‘Mister and Mrs Attewell, I know this has
come out of nowhere. Don’t make a decision today, take your time, think about
it. Things are just beginning to change for women and with her mind your Hilda
can be at the forefront of those changes. Who knows you might have another
Marie Curie here!’
Later, as Hilda and Dolly were drying and putting away the tea cups
Elizabeth looked up from the table where she was cutting slices of bread for
their supper and asked, ‘Who’s Marie Curie?’
2 comments:
Thanks for sharing Hilda. The passage feels authentic in its detail.
I enjoy research for writing but never know when to stop. I have a writing buddy who has almost completed her historical novel. She has undertaken extensive research, consulting primary sources, yet (in the passages I've seen) it never reads like a textbook. Her writing makes the sixteenth century come alive.
As a reader, I trust the writer to give me accuracy within the novel's period. I don't want to have reason to doubt.
Oh my goodness! My heart bleeds for Hilda. I really hope she gets to study.
Regarding research, I usually like to do a lot of background research on the general time period I'm working with to get a feel for it. Then I hunt down short specific details that help with authenticity and accuracy. It's not necessary to overload the reader but putting some details here and there can really colour a piece of writing just right.
Jai
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