Less Happier Lands

By Annette De Burgh

Set in the hostile climate of 1960s Britain, English teacher Diana Benton starts her new job at an exclusive Scottish school. It is here she is confronted with the rebellious American pupil, Samantha Stevenson. A war of words soon spirals into a forbidden and passionate love that covers many years. But as the years move on, troubled waters lie ahead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette De Burgh
• Release date: Dec 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310190452

Annette De Burgh

Annette De Burgh reads, writes and listens to poetry and is a published author of articles, short stories, poetry and 4 paperback novels. Currently among other things she chairs a writing group and also runs a reading group.A change of publisher in 2013 has seen all books repackaged and released exclusively on Amazon Kindle before becoming available on other e-book platforms.Likes to be known as Anne!

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Copyright © 2013 Annette De Burgh

All rights reserved.

First published in paperback by Indepenpress as

'Another Sun Shines'

This is a work of fiction. Certain names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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O N E

Tuesday, 31st August 1965

Diana Benton arrived in Scotland after an incredibly long and tedious car journey. She had stopped for an overnight rest in an hotel in Carlisle which was adequate but certainly not luxurious. Next morning she had started early, shivering as she stowed her luggage into the car boot, feeling the first tinge of Autumn in the air. From Carlisle to Glasgow, the journey had seemed endless through miles of desolate, wind-swept, sheep-covered hills and mountains. This had been harsh reality, a world away from the beauty and the mellowness of Ross-on-Wye where her widowed mother lived. Moments of doubt frequently assailed her. Had she made the right decision to take on the task of principal English teacher at St. Andrew's School? What was she searching for? As she approached Glasgow she saw the dark, forbidding rain clouds shroud the mountains. It was pouring down as she drove into the city, shuddering as she peered through the rain-drenched windscreen, seeing the drabness and the desolation of the dark tenements and the mean streets of Glasgow.

The road signs guided her on through Clydebank and, following the A8 which ran parallel to the Clyde, she drove through a small bleak village called Cardross before arriving at her destination, Helensburgh. This was a prosperous commuter town on the banks of the river.

Here was a different world. This was the town where the wealthy tobacco merchants once lived. It possessed an air of orderliness, having been built on a grid system with all roads leading to either the hills or the Clyde.

17 Sinclair Gardens

Helensburgh

Tuesday, 7th September 1965

My dear Mother,

There is a bracing breeze off the river. It is the final days of a Scottish summer, and already I feel the chill of the climate.

St. Andrew's School comprises a huddle of grey stone mansions with two new modern blocks, one being the gym and science sections and the other the girls' boarding house. They all look down to the town and River Clyde. The school boasts a good academic record and the pupils are well known around the town.

When I entered the huge front porch of what must have been a tobacco merchant's magnificent manor house, there was a mellowness and an atmosphere of learning - and creaking floorboards on which many feet must have trodden. There is a junior and a middle school, but I am only concerned with the pupils in the senior school, all supposedly the crème de la crème!

The walls of the Assembly Hall boast sepia tinted photographs of long departed pupils and Rolls of Honour. There is a history of families who have left Scotland maybe a generation ago and are now sending their children to the school they attended. Indeed many of the Boarders come from far-flung places. On the second floor, there is a steep spiral staircase to a small gallery which is used as an art room.

My flat is an off-shoot of the girls' boarding house. I have my own entrance and the windows overlook a tennis court. There is a small entrance hall. The flat has fitted carpets throughout in an uninteresting browny beige. It is centrally heated and some of the windows have secondary glazing. The kitchen is small and modern, with an electric cooker and a small fridge, although the units are not really to my taste being yellow. The bedroom has one single bed, as you'd expect, with a duvet which you know I cannot stand, but I suppose, having sampled the cold weather here, it will be a necessity. There is a fitted wardrobe incorporating a dressing table and mirror. Off the bedroom is a small shower room, tiled floor to ceiling in green tiles! Even the shower cubicle has a green plastic curtain and a fine spray shower that seems to take forever to heat. There is a toilet and wash-hand basin. The living room has a put-u-up - I am not sure why - and in the bay window, there is a small table and two chairs. I have two comfortable easy-type chairs, a electric log effect fire, two shelves for books, no pictures, a sort of unit against one wall to act as cupboards and a sideboard. There is a small screen television, a telephone but no radio so I am glad I brought my own. I have placed my own bits and pieces around, and no, it doesn't look at all like home! In time I may move into a larger flat - but at the moment I am not overjoyed with the change I've made.

The staff are the usual assortment - do school staff ever change? The only difference here seems to be the dialect: I am conscious of my English accent, although I am not the only English Miss here. The games mistress-cum-RE teacher is from Manchester. She has a hearty laugh and a loud voice and is called Mollie Mason.

Have I settled in? That is hard to say for nothing is as I anticipated. I am preparing my pupils for the Scottish Highers and the following year the English A-Levels.

As you so rightly advised, I have taken time to go and look at my classroom. Like the rest of the building it is old and atmospheric. More creaking boards! There are four lines of four old desks with the opening lids … and chairs which I know will scrape along the wooden floor which has marks ingrained from years gone by! It has a lofty ceiling not conducive for good acoustics and a huge casement window with slatted blinds. I suppose some days the sun will shine! It all overlooks the playground - another obvious distraction! I will be seated on a six inch platform, but my desk is modern and somewhat incongruous amongst such ancient artefacts.

On my first morning, I entered the classroom with a modicum of anticipation. I had taken care with my appearance that morning, although I was not overly happy with my new dark grey suit. It suddenly seemed very severe and even the white blouse did not lift it. I had hoped to show off my slim figure, (how long will that last with the stodgy school meals, I wonder?) but all was then disguised beneath my flowing black gown which I suddenly found I was expected to wear. We sit at Assembly like crows in a field!

I had sat at my meagre dressing table that morning, glancing at my reflection in the poor lighting - installed by a man, for sure, without any regards for applying make-up. Was I still attractive, I wondered? I was thankful that I really did not look my years as I applied faint eye-shadow to highlight the greyness of my eyes, gently outlining the winged brows. I heightened my cheek bones and finally outlined my lips and smiled, revealing, of course, perfect white teeth. My blonde hair (which will soon be white, through worry!) I tied back. Oh, do I sound vain? I hope not, but I did not want to appear a frump - twenty-seven is so old when you are seventeen! I just wish you had been here to laugh with me at the ridiculousness of it all.

I entered the classroom and sixteen pairs of eyes greeted me as I stood behind my desk with the register.

I introduced myself and was just starting to feel a little more assured that all was progressing smoothly …

Diana stopped writing, her pen poised over the next line as she remembered sitting behind her desk reading out the names on the register, acknowledging each pupil as he or she had answered. One name remained unticked. She called the name again and there was no response.

I have sixteen names and … Diana glanced swiftly round the class, yes, sixteen pupils … but only fifteen have replied. Samantha Stevenson has not answered. Diana waited, allowing her gaze to wander round the room, cursing herself for not being able to memorise each pupil's name. She tapped her pencil impatiently on the desk. There was no reply, just a faint titter.

Perhaps one of you would enlighten me as to why Samantha Stevenson is refusing to acknowledge her presence? Diana knew the whole class was aware of her growing discomfort, and her attempt to be in command of a situation she felt slowly slipping from her grasp.

The silence remained.

I will not continue until I have a response, she said, clasping her hands together in what she hoped appeared like a relaxed pose.

She is called Sam and not Samantha, came a voice from the back of the room.

Diana heard the ripple of laughter and fought to remain calm despite an inner feeling of panic. She bit her lower lip and a frown creased her forehead. The silence continued as all eyes surveyed her.

It would appear that Samantha Stevenson is incapable of speaking. Diana injected a slightly mocking tone in her voice. Open your jotters … she instructed. Now write your name. I am, of course, assuming Samantha can write! There was no laughter and feeling a little deflated, Diana continued, Commencing with the front row, you will stand, say your name and hold out the jotter for me to see. Very childish, but if you wish to behave like children, then I will treat you as such.

Diana pointed her pencil to the pupil at the end of the first row. Stand up!

As she spoke, two heads turned towards a girl who Diana could see was doodling on the page of her open jotter.

You! she pointed to the girl, Stand up!

The chair scraped back. The girl, immaculately dressed in the school uniform, stood up. Her fashionably cut, short, blue-black hair immediately reminded Diana of the wings of ravens. The lightly tanned attractive face with the mouth gently quirked in silent amusement, the provocatively raised arched brows and the gas-flame blue eyes with sweeping black lashes now confronted Diana with a disquieting stare.

There was a pause before Diana said pointedly, Perhaps you would be good enough to identify yourself.

Silence.

Diana sighed audibly. I am assuming that you are the Samantha Stevenson who cannot answer to my register call? Diana's voice now had an overtone of exasperation.

Miss Benton. The blue eyes held a mocking glint, as her voice with an unmistakable American drawl replied. Hasn't anyone told you that should never assume?

Diana's eyes opened wide in surprise at the temerity. I beg your pardon? she gasped with a degree of asperity. Are you Samantha Stevenson?

Miss Benton, a note of exasperation had come into the American tone, I am known as Sam, I do not answer to Samantha. Then, with a contrived air of innocence she went on, If this register fiasco is an example of your tutorial skills, then it is a poor outlook for the rest of the year.

The class broke into laughter at the unabashed insolence. There was a tense pause as Diana stiffened. She stood up, her hands clenched by her side. In a voice she barely recognised as her own, she remonstrated, How dare you talk to me like that, Samantha.

Diana closed her eyes for a second, unable to believe her authority was being challenged at such an early stage. She felt her heart thumping with anger and frustration. They remained glaring at each other as two opposing wills clashed, charging the atmosphere with mutual antagonism. The class watched and waited, their eyes darting from Diana to Samantha.

Samantha, you will apologise, Diana said coldly, her face mask-like in an attempt to hide her emotional turmoil.

Diana saw a faint flicker pass through Samantha's watchful eyes.

Miss Benton, I do apologise. My observation, whilst probably true, was indeed rude but I am called Sam, not Samantha.

It was to be a battle. Diana recognised that a gauntlet had been thrown down and she was filled with a vague uneasiness. Here was a pupil who could question her authority and who could goad her into irritation; one who had the deadly combination of quick-wit, audacity and peer group popularity.

Diana spoke slowly choosing her words. Well, Sam, you will answer to the name of Samantha when I address you.

An indecipherable expression flitted across Sam's face before she replied.

I don't think so, Miss Benton.

Oh you will, believe me! Diana retorted grimly.

... Diana stared at the half finished letter to her Mother. What had possessed her to be so bloody minded to a pupil? It was so out with her character. Yet, Samantha Stevenson had ruffled her by her very presence.

You'll not get through to Sam! Miss McGregor, the Maths teacher, commented abruptly during the mid-morning break in the staff room. A difficult and disruptive pupil, too much money and not enough commitment.

Let's see, shall we! Diana replied, trying to inflict confidence in her tone.

Mmm, I've seen better teachers than you fail! Miss McGregor's voice was brittle.

Now you are being hard, Fiona McFall cut in quickly. Sam has what we would all like to possess - charisma - in abundance!

Diana threw back her head and laughed as she placed her empty coffee cup back on the tray. Charisma - is that what it's called? I would call it bad manners and a lack of respect!

Fiona laughed. Oh, Sam is a very charismatic seventeen-year-old who can be quite brilliant. There was no mistaking the admiration in the voice.

Dare one ask in what field Samantha's brilliance lies? Diana asked curiously as she raised her eyebrows.

Samantha ... nobody calls her that! Miss McGregor said sharply.

I call her that, for that is her name. Diana saw them stare and they shrugged their shoulders.

Well your class should be interesting, Miss McGregor's said cynically.

So tell me, where does Samantha's brilliance lie? Diana repeated her question.

Well, Fiona said hesitatingly, No one has really managed to tap into any specifics. She frowned. We are all sure there is something waiting to be discovered - not one exam, on any subject, has been below ninety-two percent!

I will be impressed when I witness her brilliance, Diana replied curtly.

T W O

USA, September 1967: Martin Luther King urges African Americans to launch a campaign of massive civil disobedience.

Diana Benton stood in the middle of the Refectory. Supper duty was, she knew, one of the least popular duties amongst the staff. It was a large, noisy room that seemed to have little identity. Two of the original wooden tables remained and these had been allocated to the pupils of the upper school. Diana reasoned that this was presumably because they were better mannered. The remaining tables were of an assortment of sizes and materials. The staff, those who did not live locally, were seated at the top of the room on a long bench-type table. The Headmaster and his wife sat on wobbly and uncomfortably high-backed chairs. Over the wall at the back of this table was a clock, and the school emblem complete with the motto: Pride in Perfection.

Diana felt uncomfortable as she walked up and down the hall, conscious of the silent scrutiny as the eyes of the pupils flickered over her. She had adopted a primness of attire, a sensible, grey pleated skirt, a blouse and a drab cardigan beneath her black gown and flat-heeled, black shoes. She felt as if her entire personality was being submerged. Her fair hair was drawn back to the nape of her neck in an ageing style, her make-up was slight, almost non-existent. After only a few days, she was not happy, a weariness had descended as she toyed with the thought of relinquishing her position and returning to the warmth of the South.

Her eyes flickered across to the groups of pupils and she slowly walked round the hall going from table to table. There was the sound of laughter from one of the upper school's table and glancing across, she saw Sam Stevenson minus her blazer, her school tie pulled slightly away from the open collar, the cuffs of her school shirt turned back and a lock of hair across her forehead. Her hands were gesticulating as she talked in an animated fashion, her American drawl contrasting with the slipped Scottish accent of Philomena who was joking with her.

Diana approached the table without enthusiasm, noting the untouched meal in front of Sam.

You are not hungry, Samantha? She pointed to the plate. There was no reply, merely a disinterested shrug of the shoulders. I asked you a question. It is usual to reply! The words fell from her lips without thought.

She saw Sam turn and give her a brief under-the-lid stare as a silence descended on the group around the table. Why was she so abrasive to this pupil? She had experienced a sleepless night after the first encounter trying to analyse their obvious and immense dislike of each other, trying to self-justify the constant clash of wills. In all her years of teaching, she had come into contact with many disruptions in a class, many pupils who wished to pit their will against hers, but never an under-current of tension.

Ah, Miss Benton, the blue eyes glanced up and there was a glint of amusement in their depth as Sam replied with false humility. I am so sorry, I did not realise you were addressing me. But no, I have not eaten my supper. I do not like it!

You will get nothing else, and believe me there are ...

Oh, Miss Benton, please don't patronise me by telling me there are thousands starving. I do sympathise with them, Sam said with studied politeness. You know ... they can have my supper any time.

I am not in habit of patronising pupils! Diana rejoined swiftly, feeling a flush creep over her cheeks. Neither am I in the habit of accepting rudeness from them. She felt disadvantaged and wished she could walk away. But defeat was unthinkable. What is wrong with the food?

Miss Benton, there was contempt in the eyes and reproachful satisfaction in Sam's reply. You may enjoy such food, but I dislike cold hamburgers. I dislike under-cooked fried onions. I dislike greasy fries. There was a faint giggling round the table.

No, Samantha, I do not enjoy such food. I am however grateful that I am not hungry, and I see no reason for such wilful waste. Diana was conscious again of the underlying asperity as she spoke. She was also now aware that she and Sam had become the subject of interest.

Then Miss Benton… Sam began slowly, a mocking smile touching her lips. May I respectfully suggest that you return to the top table. There you can relish your supper before it becomes cold and less appetising than it already is.

There was a burst of laughter and a few hands slapped the table. Sam sat back in the chair, arms folded, a self satisfied smile stretched across her mouth. Diana felt a sense of defeat.

Samantha, you are entitled to leave your supper, Diana said with wearily resignation, but I would be glad to have an essay from you on deprivation. It is obviously something you know very little about.

That is unfair!

The air was charged with tension as Diana clenched her hands in anger.

But life isn't fair, is it? Diana retorted heatedly. Then turning, she walked back to the top table and sat down. The plate of hamburgers, onions and chips stared back at her. Across the hall Sam sat watching her.

Well, you won that round! Miss Kinnear, the assistant head murmured as she shook her head. Her sharp eyes had missed nothing of the encounter. Now only two years off retirement, she had witnessed it all before.

Only just! Diana muttered, but there was no glow of victory as, with a shake of her head, she pushed her half-eaten meal away. The meal is pretty awful - do we get hamburgers often?

You'll get used to the food, Miss Kinnear replied with resignation, And in dealing with Sam.

I wonder! Diana said doubtfully as she picked up the glass of water and tried to drown the taste of the greasy chips. I can feel the vibes of a disruptive pupil. It's not so bad when they are in middle school, but a seventeen-year-old, is going to be hard work.

Ach, they were all the same, the Stevenson family, Miss Kinnear sniffed, as she placed her knife and fork meticulously together on the plate of her half-eaten supper. Diana saw the ringless, aged hands and turned to meet the pale blue eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses. Diana saw the thin lines that racked across her forehead.

You have been here a long time? Diana asked.

Since I was your age, Miss Kinnear nodded, I was going to do so much … ach well, dreams are cheap. I remember Sam's father … such a handsome man … and very strong-willed." There was a wistful note in her voice and Diana shivered, realising that she too could end up a fixture in a school, a life of memories and no living.

Sam is self-willed and very spoilt. Miss Kinnear continued, She needs a strong hand to guide her. Mind you, you've not helped matters by referring to her as Samantha - not a name she likes, so I am told.

I think there is a great deal she doesn't like … but I'll not climb down, that's her name.

There was a banging on the table and they turned to see Mr Charles, the headmaster, who was now on his feet, hands held out for attention. He was a small, podgy, bespeckled, bald-headed fifty-year old man, who made up for lack of stature by sarcasm and the need to wear his tutorial gown on all occasions. His voice was unctuous and Diana turned to stare across the hall, noting that Sam was no longer with the group at her table but had moved to sit at a table occupied by the middle school. Diana frowned in annoyance. Then she saw one of the young girls was crying and she watched as Sam placed an arm round the shaking shoulders. When Mr Charles had finished his announcement, Diana left the table and slowly sauntered across.

Look, she heard Sam say in an easy, calming voice, it's all right, everyone hates leaving home. If you're lonely, talk to me, I'll listen. But don't give in, don't let them see you cry. Life is all about winning. Come on!

Diana saw the flicker of a smile on the girl's face as Sam got up. Then meeting Diana's surprised expression, she said in a curt tone.

You wanted something, Miss Benton?

It was two days later when Diana Benton entered the classroom. She walked across to the desk and placed her books down, seeing Sam bent low at her desk covering a page of her notebook in doodles.

Slowly Diana pulled the chair out from behind the desk and sat down.

Good morning, Samantha, she said in a matter of fact voice.

There was a pause before Sam raised her head to stare blankly ahead as she replied in a monotone, Good Morning, Miss Benton!

Diana hovered for a moment before continuing.

This morning we will approach Shakespeare. I say approach because I am sure many of you have side-stepped the subject. I want to try and open a door in your minds to the beauty of his writing and the sheer excellence ... She paused seeing Sam's dark head again bent low over a notebook, her pen in hand, moving over the page to cover it in what looked like senseless scribbles. Diana continued talking but Sam's obvious disinterest started to distract her.

Samantha! she sighed in exasperation, It would help if you concentrated on what I am saying.

The hand continued drawing and the head did not trouble to glance up.

Samantha Stevenson, I am talking to you.

Slowly the hand stopped drawing and the blue eyes stared at her - the drawl was contrite.

Oh, Miss Benton, I didn't realise it was me you were talking to. Sorry, but I am concentrating.

If you are concentrating, which I doubt, perhaps you will enlighten me as to what I hope to cover? Diana leaned forward on the desk.

You are going to talk about Shakespeare, Sam replied, her head still bent low.

I do not wish to talk to the top of your head! Diana said quietly.

Why, Miss Benton, some say it is better looking than my face! Sam muttered as the class tittered.

If your attitude is to be one of total insolence, I will really have no alternative but to suggest to Mr Charles that you be removed from my class, Diana retorted, conscious again of the anger that Sam had provoked. Slowly she continued to explain to the class the format of the lessons on Shakespeare. She deliberately ignored the bowed head in front of her as she gazed towards the far pupils with determination.

Are there any questions? she asked after her discourse had finished.

Miss Benton! She stared at the seething, deep blue eyes, realising that the bowed head had lifted and that Sam was again challenging her.

My goodness, she exclaimed in mock surprise, Samantha has re-joined us. Surely you do not have a question. I would have thought your doodling was of far greater importance. She paused eyebrows raised. I eagerly await your question!

There was a pause before Sam said in a reflective manner, Surely, as this school is in Scotland, with Scottish pupils, we should be studying Robert Burns and not the Englishman's poor equivalent.

There was a general acknowledgment of agreement as Diana held her hands up for silence.

"I