Hilda XVII: The Butler's Pantry

Well with Christmas round the corner I finally have a few days off.
I hope the opportunity to relax will allow me to find the mindset to get back into writing.
I have been working so hard that when I have a moment not a great deal seems to happen.

I don’t think it is “writer’s block”.
Just exhaustion.

This week’s scene sees Hilda in terror over being summoned to the Butler’s pantry.

Oh and so you don't think I am contradicting myself, I wrote this a few weeks ago...

1912
‘Hilda,’ the butler’s eyes sought her out, ‘I would like you to come into my pantry after breakfast.’
Hilda’s stomach twisted itself into knots. What could it be? Had Leeanne been complaining about her again? Had one of the family seen her when she took the main stair as a short-cut the other morning?
She sat miserably through the rest of breakfast. Being scullery maid was so hard, the endless drudgery grinding at her every day. Being told off for something petty just about made it unbearable.
She was stacking the breakfast things by the sink when Mrs Garraway came up beside her, ‘Leave those now Duck, they’ll wait. Mr Young wants to see you.’
Hilda turned on the tap and held her hands under the stream of water, anything to delay just a moment longer. Rubbing them quickly with soap then drying them on a tea towel. She checked her apron was straight turned toward the butler’s pantry.
More a cross between a sitting room and an office the butler’s pantry was like no kitchen pantry Hilda had ever known. In one corner the heavy barred door that led to the strongroom where the silver plate and other valuables of the household were stored. Hilda’s heart sank to her ankles as she saw not only Mr Young, but Mrs Smither in the pantry.
Were they going to dismiss her?
She hated the job, but being dismissed as a scullery maid would be as a sure sign that she was of little worth as there could be. Then she noticed Monsieur Glanville in the corner, and Mrs Garraway was following her into the room.
‘Now Hilda,’ smiled Mr Young, ‘come and sit here across from me.’
That was hopeful, she had heard that those who were dismissed were made to stand in front of his desk. ‘You’ve been with us for a year now,’ said the butler, ‘how are you finding it?’
Was it a trap?
Was she meant to trip herself up with a disrespectful complaint?
She hesitated, ‘I like it well enough. The work is hard, but I work with a nice bunch, and Mrs Smither is very nice.’
She was too Hilda thought, very strict as a woman in her position had to be, but fair too.
‘Thank you child.’ Said Mrs Smither, Hilda thought she saw her hide a smile.
‘Now Hilda,’ said Mr young, ‘the reason I have asked you here this morning…’ Here it comes thought Hilda, ‘is to see if you would be agreeable to taking an apprenticeship with Monsieur Glanville.’
Hilda was sure her mouth popped open, for a moment she could do nothing but stare at them, she hadn’t imagined anything of the sort being offered to her.
Her capacity to dream had been crushed into a scullery maid’s world, ‘I…’ she licked her lips, what should she say?
It wasn’t something she had ever wanted, or imagined, but one day being in charge of a kitchen like Mrs Garraway? Surely that was better than moving up to a maid? ‘You see,’ interrupted the French chef, ‘since zat day when you ‘elp with ze pastry I have watched when you ‘elp Mrs Garraway. You ‘as strong ‘ands but with a delicate touch, and you are quick and clever. If you work ‘ard I can use you, can teach you.’
Hilda met his eye before turning to the Butler, ‘Yes, Mister Young, yes if I can, yes please. I’ll do my best.’
‘I am sure you will. Now as a matter of course we have to ask your father, and he will have to sign the papers. Apart from that you can start as soon as Mrs Smither finds a scullery maid to take your place.’

Hilda XVI: The Car

My internet connection is dodgy once again. So I have uploaded this using my phone.
I am not sure what is happening, but the technology around here just doesn’t seem very reliable at the moment.

In this scene Hilda meets a new addition to Ettington Park’s staff.


1912
It was one of those rare moments when most of the staff were at the kitchen table together.
‘You’ll never guess what his Lordship is bringing back from London today’ Said the Butler, Mister Young.
‘I hope not a bunch of guests.’ Quipped Kat, ‘We’ve only just got over the last lot.’
‘No Katrina.’ the butler was the only one of the staff who used Kat’s full name, mind you he was the only one who did not call Hilda “Duck” after the first day. ‘There is not a party of guests coming. Anyone else?’
Leonard Freestone, one of the footman guessed, ‘A horse, his Lordship is bringing a new thoroughbred for the stables.’
Warren Mores, also a footman ‘A retriever, he’s bringing a new gun-dog.’
Mister Young’s eyes twinkled, ‘None of you are even close. He is bringing a motor car! And with it a chauffeur!’
A bubble of excited conversation rippled around the table. Hilda was curious about the motor, but also surprised at how much interest the topic was causing.
She remembered well the first time she had seen a “horseless carriage” as they had still been called five or six years before. That one had been a rattling, noisy thing that had passed by along the Fosse Way in a cloud of oily smoke. Since then she had seen a few more every year, in just the past year she had probably seen a dozen. They were still a curiosity, but no longer the real novelty they had been when she was little.
Hilda was not allowed to join the others to watch the wonder arrive.
Still the scullery maid, still beneath the notice of the gentry.
She stayed in the kitchen and scrubbed the pots when all the rest of the staff trooped upstairs for the event.
Later though she did go across to the coach-house.
She tiptoed into the echoing building. One third of the building had been cleared to take the machine. A great, long shining motor dominated the space. A uniformed figure leaned against one of the back panels rubbing with a cloth. Hilda broke the silence, ‘It is a beauty.’
Laughing blue eyes met hers, ‘Hello then, come to have a look?’
‘It’s certainly the nicest motor I have yet seen.’
‘It’s a Rolls Royce, people are calling them “Silver Ghosts”.’
‘I’m Hilda.’
‘Hello Hilda, I’m Gerard Makepeace.’
‘Most folk here calls me “Duck”’
‘Duck? I’d have thought Duckling was more like it.’
She hated the way people always poked fun at her size. Still, his expression was friendly, she didn’t think he was wanting to be nasty. Not that she often held a grudge anyway. ‘Have you had anything? Would you like me to bring you some tea and biscuits to tide you over until supper?’
Gerard smiled gratefully, ‘Thank you that would be very nice.’

Hilda XV: Avon

 Sorry about the absence of a post last night. I was actually traveling. I am in Queensland for a couple of days for a work conference.
This week's Hilda scene is a bit more relaxing for her.


1912
In a long narrow wooden boat Hilda sat with her hands lightly resting on the oars as they trailed in the water. She narrowed her eyes against the sun reflecting off the Avon River. She would have blisters later from the pull up the river.

But it was worth it.

And so was the shilling she had handed over to the boatman. Near half a day’s wages for an afternoon’s hire of the boat. Worth it for the sheer pleasure of sitting in the sun, as she let the boat drift back down the river. Closing her eyes she could hear nothing but the wind rustling the willows on the further bank. Then a cow lowed in the fields further across. At that moment she could have been on a river anywhere, at that moment she was a thousand miles from Ettington Park and her life as a drudge.

‘I’m glad we came.’

Kat’s voice intruded into Hilda’s daydream.

Kat had spoken from the stern where she lay sleeves rolled up to her elbows and soaking up the sun. Hilda would not have quite found the courage to hire the boat without Kat stiffening her resolve. She had been on the river before, but always with her dad.

Coming to the hire place with Kat she had a moment’s terror about what would happen if she tipped the boat. After all she couldn’t swim a stroke. But they had jollied each other along and now they were here on the Avon, maybe a mile or more upstream from Stratford and for a glorious afternoon they had no responsibility except to themselves!

She smiled back at her friend, ‘It was worth every penny.’

Hilda XIV: The Wrath of Monsieur Glanville

A fierce thunderstorm is pounding all around me as I write. There was a flash followed by an almost instant bang a few minutes ago. I don’t know what it hit, but it was close.

It was lightning that put our internet off line the other day, so I hope it stays on after this storm so I can post this.

In this week’s scene Hilda enduring thunder of a human kind, she is worried she is going to feel the wrath of Lord Shirley’s French Chef.

1912

‘You call zose pastry cases?’ Screamed Monsieur Marcel Glanville. Monsieur was Ettington Park’s French Chef. To have a French chef on one’s staff was the height of style and Lord Shirley certainly wanted to proclaim his style to his peers. ‘Zese are twice the size I ask for!’

He swept up the tray of pastry cases and flung the whole thing in the direction of the sink. Most of them ended strewn across the floor. There’s another mess for me to clean up, thought Hilda. Normally Hilda liked Monsieur Glanvile but when he felt under pressure he had a vile temper which she did not like at all. Poor Lindsay she thought, the kitchen maid who usually bore the brunt of the temper was already in tears. Lord Shirley had a party of guests so the pressure on the whole staff was as intense as it ever was. Lindsay wiped her eyes on her sleeve as she reached for another sheet of the puff pastry she had so painstakingly rolled out. She’d have to make up more now, she would not have enough. ‘No, no!’ Bellowed the chef, ‘You make more pastry. The scullery maid could do better!’

He gazed around the room, ‘You, ‘Ilda, yes you,’ He gestured at her, ‘come here.’

Unsure as she had ever felt she stepped over next to him. ‘See,’ he demonstrated, ‘we take ze knife and cut ze pastry in square like so.’

A few deft strokes across a sheet of pastry with his knife, ‘Now we take a square, and fold it around like so, and pinch ‘ere and ‘ere. Et voila a shell ready to bake. Do me a hundred like zis!’

Hilda gaped after him, she turned back to the table in front of her. What should she do? Well she had always been told to do anything Chef told her. The worst that could happen would be him shouting at her. That might make her cry, but it would do no worse. After all this wasn’t her job.

She laid hold of a square of pastry. Now how did he do it? She thought, he rolled it, then he pinched here, her tongue poked out between her lips as she concentrated. And he pinched here, she thought.

She set her effort down next to chef’s. Not very different, and it weren’t hard. She snatched a glance at Lindsay, would she be cross with her now? Lindsay’s face was down as she focused on the complex task of folding butter and flour together to make the puff pastry. Hilda breathed a sigh of relief and took up another square of pastry.

Half an hour later the chef came back to the table Hilda was working at. ‘Merde.’

Hilda didn’t know the word but she had guessed the way the chef used it that it was a swear word, she had felt proud of herself until that moment. She had found a rhythm and the task had gone smoothly, Lindsay rolling out the pastry and Hilda folding the shells. She felt her heart sink, ‘I’m sorry chef.’

‘No, no, zis is good! I expect a mess, but no, zis is good.’ He smiled, ‘We will use these. Thank you.’

Then he looked around the kitchen, ‘But now you must go back to your job and clean some of zese pots.’

Hilda sighed as she looked at the mountain of pots and dishes that cooking for such a large group was making. The only saving grace was with the weather so warm she would not have to clean the hearths of too many of the guest’s rooms in the morning.

Hilda XIII

Well I am back at work as of tomorrow. My break has seen me do little writing and take fewer photos!  I don’t know what is wrong with me. Still I had a nice time in any case.

I guess I shall get back into the swing of things, never much fun going back to work though.

This week sees Hilda getting a nice surprise and Leanne Deer’s nose getting out of joint.

1911

Hilda hurried down the hall carrying the ash bucket carefully. ‘You’ve a visitor.’

Hilda gasped and jumped, spinning around to find Kat’s grinning face, ‘You! You made me jump sneaking up behind me!’

‘Your sister’s down in the kitchen.’

‘My sister?’

‘That’s what I said weren’t it? Have you finished here?’

‘I have, I’ll be straight down.’

Ginnie looked up from the kitchen table where she sat with a tea cup in front of her.

What was she doing here? And in her Sunday best?

Mrs Garraway the cook was pouring tea for Mister Young the Butler, Trent Harriman one of the footmen and Leanne Deer.

As Hilda came in one door Mrs Smither came in the one opposite. Hilda smiled and said, ‘Good morning all.’

Hilda always took any opportunity to be personable, do unto others as you would have them do unto you always seemed a most sensible teaching. So she did, being as friendly as she could, and in general she found most people warmed to her given the chance.

There were always those like Leanne. Leanne scowled at her as she came in, but for every one like her there were at least a dozen people who would behave decently. ‘Good morning Duck.’ replied Mrs Smither, she caught sight of Ginnie, ‘Ah, I see we have a guest.’

‘The young lady is Miss Attewell, Hilda’s older sister.’ Said the Butler, ‘Miss Attewell, this is Mrs Smither our housekeeper.’

Mrs Smither nodded, ‘Miss Attewell.’

Ginnie smiled, ‘Please Mrs Smither, Ginnie.’

‘Ginnie? What an unusual name.’

Ginnie’s eyes found Hilda’s, ‘Hilda christened me Ginnie when her was very small. Her couldn’t manage Mary-Jane, so I was “Ginnie” and it has stuck ever since.’

‘When her was small?’ Quipped Trent, ‘Her still is! There still isn’t much of Duck!’

He was right Hilda thought, she was still only four feet eleven inches and hoped she would reach five feet before she finished growing. But given her dad the ex-jockey was not much above five foot she did not hold much hope.

‘That’s true,’ agreed Ginnie, ‘our younger sister Dolly is already taller than either of us.’

Dolly was taller, but Ginnie like her took more after their mother and did not have Hilda’s diminutive frame.

‘Tea Duck?’ Asked Mrs Garraway.

‘Yes please.’ She smiled at her sister. ‘You’ve given me a nice surprise Ginnie.’

Hilda had seen her dad here at Ettington Park three or four times since she started. He sometimes came by on business and had a longstanding arrangement with the butler that he would drop in for tea when he had the time. She had never really expected to see anyone else. She wondered for a moment if Mrs Smither would tell her off later? Probably not, not if I make sure I don’t linger too long drinking my tea.

‘Mrs Gilchrist has given me the day off at the shop,’ explained Ginnie, ‘and I thought in respect of the fact that it is your afternoon off I might take you to Stratford this afternoon. If I meets you here and we hurries to the station we might just about catch the half past twelve train.’

That would only work if we were away from here on the stroke of midday. Except she wasn’t meant to leave her tasks until noon.

‘Isn’t your sister lovely inviting you out like that Duck?’

The question came from Mrs Smither, how to answer? ‘Her is,’ Hilda threw a smile at Ginnie before turning back to Mrs Smither, ‘We all likes our Ginnie.’

‘Hilda, as long as you work hard for the balance of the morning, I have no objection to you finishing at half past eleven. We can’t have your sister disappointed.’

Hilda felt a warm glow of contentment, one that was not even spoiled by Leeanne's disapproving scowl.

Hilda XII: Spite

Well I am still in northern NSW. The weather is warm to hot, which is a nice change from Melbourne!
What with one thing and another I have barely touched my camera the whole time I have been away. I guess I will be getting withdrawal symptoms soon!

I have managed a little time writing but nothing serious. Which brings me to this week’s Hilda scene

1911
Hilda carefully emptied the dustpan into the covered bucket. If you dumped it in too quickly it caused a puff of fine ash to billow out and you had another job ahead of you.
Hilda’s knees ached, her back ached and her head spun. Miss Jane’s room was the fifth and last hearth of “the family’s” rooms she had to do before she went down for a cup of tea. Hilda had been on the go since three in the morning. It seemed years since she had paused for breakfast at six, now it was ten and she was ready for a break. With practiced speed she crumpled paper and built a pile of kindling into a little tepee. She didn’t put a match to the fire, Leanne Deer the house-maid who did for Miss Jane would light it later.
A quick wipe over the tiles in front of the hearth and Hilda stood back to check her handiwork. Her back grumbled as she straightened, the hearth would do. Surely Even Leanne could not find fault with it.
Leanne was the only member of the house staff Hilda did not bring herself to like. To be sure Mister Young the butler frightened her, but she had never had a cross word from him.
While she had plenty of cross words from Mrs Smither and Mrs Garraway the cook, both women were likely to scold when she didn’t finish something as quickly as they expected, but neither of them was spiteful.
Leanne was the very essence of spiteful she took every opportunity to pick at Hilda and her work. A dozen times in the three months Hilda had been at Ettington Park Leeanne had complained to Mrs Garraway that Hilda had left ash or dust in a hearth in one of the rooms she looked after. A speck here or there was all Hilda had ever seen when she was sent back to clean it again. Going back was especially trying, because she ran the chance of being seen by one of the family. As the scullery maid and hence out of uniform, she was not meant to be seen by the family.
She was beneath notice and shouldn’t sully their day with her presence. Hilda wasn’t certain anything would be said if she was seen but the prospect terrified her anyway.

Hilda XI: “Kat”

I wasn’t sure if I would be able to get this post up tonight but after a bit of juggling here we go.
I have continued North from my brother’s farm to my Mum’s place.
In total 17 hours on the road. That takes me to Northern NSW. After travelling north 17 hours and 1,400 km (900 miles) I am still considered to be in the south east corner of Oz.
Oz is a big place! No wonder I normally fly!

Well here is this week’s “Hilda” post. Kat shows Hilda up to her room and begins explaining what a scullery maid does to “earn a crust”.


1911
Hilda followed Kat out the far door into a long, low, dim hallway the only light coming from a few lamps and high set windows right at the far end. Kat began a long narrative as they walked,‘This is the servants’ hall, it runs right under the house from one end to th’ other. There is three servants’ stairs that lead off it and go right up to the attics. Those are for us, there are two main stairs too, but don’t ever be caught on them unless you are sweepin’ them or the like, you’d be in terrible trouble.’
Kat paused, ‘I’s sorry, is I going too fast?’
Hilda nodded, ‘A bit.’
‘I’s like that, Mrs Garraway is always on at me for chattin’ too much. I’s excited to have you.’
She led the way through an arch onto a steep spiral staircase, ‘This is the “Little Stair” it is the quickest one to the staff bedrooms at the top. If you wants to carry anything heavy upstairs you should use the middle stair. Now where was I?’
Hilda, climbed the narrow stair behind Kat, ‘These are not so bad going up, but I’ll be frightened of tumbling going down.’
‘They’s not too bad, not once you’s used to them. Oh, yes I’s very pleased to have you. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to who’s my age, or near enough. And truth be told, Mrs Smither’s goin’ to make you scullery maid which means I get to move up to a house maid.’
‘Is scullery maid worse?’
‘It’s the most thankless job, an I’s done it two years.’
‘What’s so bad about it?’
‘You has to be up earlier than the whole rest of the house, you have to clean the hearths in the stoves and light the fires to start the water heating. Clean anything that was left out for you when you went to bed. Then you sneak up and clean the hearths and set the fires in the reception rooms. You don’t light them, the house maids or the gentry folk do that later. Then you come back down and help set out the breakfast things for the staff. Then you get’s to have a bite with whoever of the staff is there. Then it’s washing up the staff breakfast things. After that you sneaks upstairs to whichever of the gentry folks rooms that’s empty and clean those hearths and set those fires. Bear in mind you’s never meant to be seen by the gentry ‘cause you’s not in uniform. Then it’s back downstairs to wash up the gentry’s breakfast things, and that’s all before you stop for a cup of tea. Then you help with cutting up or whatever else the kitchen staff want you to do, and washing and cleaning as they use things through the day. Then’s dinner with the staff before the washing that up and what ever the gentry’s used for their lunch. Then cleaning what ever the kitchen staff use preparin’ the gentry’s dinner in the evening. Finally it’s washin’ up the night meal stuff. Mrs Garraway’s usually pretty good and lets you to bed around nine or so when that is runnin’ late. Then it is up again at three in the morning to start all over.’
Hilda’s head spun, ‘Is that every day?’
‘Yep, ‘cept for your afternoon off. You’ll be very tired for the first few weeks, but it gets easier as you gets used to it, and,’ She smiled warmly, ‘I’ll give you a hand when I has a moment. Now this is the womens’ quarters.’
Kat led the way into a hall that clearly ran under the slates of the roof. ‘This glass door is locked at night.’
Along the passage Kat turned into a doorway, ‘This is the room you and me’ll share.’
It was not a large room, but pleasant enough, a view over the park from a dormer window. A narrow brass bed on either side and a wardrobe by the door. Kat opened the wardrobe door. ‘You can have these two shelves, and these coat hooks. You’ll have to keep your case under your bed. This is your one, I’s made it up for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Hilda set her case on her bed.
She was glad she was not on her own, glad she had not had a moment to dwell on what might have been.
‘Well if you get your apron on I’ll make a start showing you the ropes.’
Hilda snapped open the clasps on her case, her apron was on the top of her neatly folded clothes, she guessed she might need it this morning. Kat was still talking non-stop, ‘I s’pose you and I will get on, we had better. Otherwise, you and I will be up in this room havin’ a “Kat and Duck” fight!’
Hilda did her best to smile, Kat would be easy to get on with, she was doing her best to settle the new girl. ‘Excepting we should call you “Rabbit”’
‘Why Rabbit?’, Kat paused, then laughed, ‘Oh, o’ course, on account of me rabbiting on!’

Hilda X: Introductions

This week has once again not been productive for writing. I have put a bit of thought into my other WIP, Veil of Iron, I think I am coming a little closer to a solution to my plot problem. But it is going to take more thought and I guess I am just going to have to jump in and write some of the changes to see if they work.

 

So all in all I have not done much with Hilda, it seems a weekly refrain!

How about the rest of you, have you had time for writing or reading this week?

So once again this scene follows straight on from the last. Hilda is introduced to some of the people “at the Park”.

1911

‘Good morning Mrs Smither, this is my Hilda.’

‘Good morning Mister Attewell, Hilda.’

Hilda’s dad smiled at her, she read in that smile an attempt at reassurance, it will be alright said his eyes, as they stood just inside the kitchen door. ‘Mrs Smither is the housekeeper and in charge here.’

Hilda stood in the doorway clutching her case tightly and said nothing.

Mrs Smither drew herself up, ‘Actually, Mr Young the butler is in charge of the house. Can we get you a cup of tea Mr Attewell?’

‘See Duck, Mrs Smither takes good care of me. She’ll see you right.’ He paused considering for just an instant, ‘Thank you Mrs Smither I had better keep on this morning. Well Duck, give your dad a kiss.’

Hilda’s resolve to not cry almost broke as she watched Charles Attewell disappear, she nervously looked around the kitchen. A big space, a range of stoves along the far side, benches along the near side and a long table through the middle surrounded by a dozen kitchen chairs.

In addition to Mrs Smither three other faces looked curiously back at her. How she wished she could find a corner to hide by herself. Mrs Smither stood very straight, ‘Well Hilda, first things first some introductions. This is Mrs Garraway the cook, she has charge of our kitchen when Monsieur Glanville is not here. You will answer to Mrs Garraway most days.’

Red faced Mrs Garraway beamed at her, ‘Mornin’, You work hard and do as you’s told and you will not ‘ave any trouble from me.’

Hilda thought she didn’t look the sort to give anyone trouble, Hilda whispered a ‘Morning.’ Back at her.

‘Then this is Lindsay Tiley, our kitchen maid.’

A big raw-boned girl nodded at her, ‘Morning.’

Hilda nodded back at her. ‘And finally, last and least is Kat Lutton our scullery maid.’

A pretty dark-haired girl, maybe just a year or two older than Hilda smiled warmly at her, ‘Good morning Duck!’

Hilda tried to smile back, Mrs Smither went on, ‘We will introduce you to the other staff as you meet them. Now first things first, have you an apron in that case of yours?’

‘Yes Mrs Smither.’

‘Good, you’ll be taking over from Kat as scullery maid. The scullery maid has no uniform, you are expected to wear neat clean clothes, you will be given more and aprons too, but this morning you can wear your own. Now Kat will show you to your room, you can leave your case hat and coat there and put on your apron. Kat will take charge of you over the next few days and show you most of what you need to know. The rest, well I will give you instruction as we go. Kat, show Hilda where to start.’

Kat smiled again, ‘Come on then.’

Hilda VIII: Church

Well Hilda has languished a little this past week.

As you know I write on the train on my way to and from work. Well this week I have been thinking more about my other WIP Veil of Iron than writing on either.  I say thinking because I have a plot problem I want to sort out and it has me stumped.

The net result is not much writing at all. Although I have done little with Hilda, as I said last week I am somewhat ahead of tonight’s extract.

Anyway, the extract this week follows on immediately from last week. Hilda is still anxiously awaiting her parents’ verdict on whether she can take the scholarship Miss Wilson has arranged for her to go to High School.

1911

‘There’s Miss Wilson,’ Hilda turned to her mother, ‘can I sit with her?’

‘Of course dear.’

Hilda almost skipped toward her teacher, ‘Good morning Miss Wilson.’

Miss Wilson turned at her voice, a warm smile lit her face, ‘Good morning Hilda.’

‘Can I sit with you in church today?’

‘Yes, you may sit with me.’ Just a hint of emphasis on the word “may”.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. May I sit with you today.’

‘Of course.’

Hilda walked beside Miss Wilson into the church. Reverend Jarret, the vicar smiled and nodded, ‘Good morning Miss Wilson, good morning Hilda.’

Hilda liked old Jarret, his sermons always seemed to focus on the nicer parts of the bible. There was never much “Hell fire and damnation” from the old man.

As they settled on the wooden pew Miss Wilson passed Hilda a prayer book. ‘I’d have thought you had enough of me at school?’

‘Miss Wilson, you shouldn’t say that. I love every moment of school!’

‘Even trying to teach Bess Tomlinson her seven time’s table?’

‘Even that!’

‘Well I must say you are more dedicated than I.’ Her teacher paused, ‘Have your parents said anything to you?’

‘Not yet, Mum says they are still talking about it.’

‘We must take it as a good sign, they haven’t given you an outright “no”. We should say a prayer that they’ll make the right decision.’

Now as I say Goodnight a piccie of the day:

 Melbourne at Sunset