In Which Miss Cull Writes to Miss Mary Braithwaite About the State of Things

In Which Miss Cull Writes to Miss Mary Braithwaite About the Parlous State of Things

Miss Cull liked the number 12, she always had, after all, it was apostolic, holy, and Miss Cull liked to consider holy things. They made her feel better about her meagre existence, her wretched eking it out --- The last piece of cheese in the fridge, could she make it last? She could cut it very thinly, wafer thin, and as she sat down to write on this hot day in July --- Too hot, far too hot for anything civilised to happen --- she thought of the twelve apostles of Christ all sitting around in a circle waiting for The Good Shepherd to begin speaking. Christ clearing his throat the moment before he delivered his words of wisdom. The parable of the Prodigal Son, her favourite, because, in truth, it rather frightened her. Wicked, wicked man! I think he should have been turned into a sheep. A dirty blurry mud-brown streaked sheep! They bleat so pathetically – well – there’s no grandeur in that is there? Entirely Lost. Irredeemable! Quite like Jonny Dent, who needs to be given a good hiding, except no one does that these days. Not that I’m behind corporal punishment. All those dead bodies to clear up. Blood on the nice new sheets. [Miss Cull thought of new sheets and wished hers were – the ones she’d seen in Bentall’s last season – cotton twill, baby blue, dreamy] Oh dear, now where was I?

       School assembly. Mary. The twelve apostles all seated around with their feet nicely tucked in. The point is I live on the twelfth floor and I do think there is some grandeur in that, although that will be missed on Mary Braithwaite. Symbology. Mary does not consider numbers the way I do, after all, I am the musician and she is, well, she says she is a Music Teacher but in truth she hasn’t any Real Talent. I believe she used to bash around a bit on the keys of the organ at St. James’s when she was allowed because her father held – well, wasn’t he the caretaker? [Designations are important, thought Miss Cull, but ‘caretaker’ will do].

Now, I must write to Mary, Carpe Diem and all that. [ And Miss Cull got up and went over to her small writing bureau. She was terribly proud of her little bureau. Rosewood she said to anyone who asked, antique, and dainty don’t you think? Not that anyone did.]

There is something I must get off my chest and putting pen to paper is the only way for any of us to … Well, clear out our pipes so to speak! So let the organ strike up! And Miss Cull twiddled with her fountain pen, then bent her scraggy neck. Figures of eight, Edie, keep the figures nice and open, no chicken scratch!  As her hand began racing across her best Basildon Bond blue writing paper kept only for Official Communications.

For Mary.

 

Miss Cull to Miss Mary Braithwaite

Flat 4B, Floor Twelve

Kingsmere

Granville Road

 

Dear Mary,

I wanted to write before now but as you know I’ve been rushed off my feet trying to organise the Music Cupboard. It really was left in the most Dreadful State last Tuesday. I do think Something Ought to be Done About It. Couldn’t you ask one of the older girls to help sort you out? When I opened it with the key . . . well, the key is rather bent, Dear Mary; I wondered what on earth happened to it? Did you leave it out in the rain? We did have heavy rain last week, which was quite a relief considering how dry the Green is; those lovely Michaelmas daisies, all gone; trampled by the deluge; flat as pancakes!

 I expect that was what it was, wasn’t it; you forgot to take the key inside. Was it left in your pocket? We can all be careless sometime. I expet you got stuck out on your bicycle in the downpour? Well, something peculiar must have happened because when I tried to turn it, well, it became quite stuck, as rigid as a dead body, no give at all, Rigor Mortis! How funny, I thought, how very peculiar! And then I saw the rust and I thought, oh dear, Poor Mary, she must have been in a terrible rush to leave the key in that sort of state. Her mind must have been on Higher Things, I’m sure; but I do think perhaps, Mary, it would serve us both better if you perhaps arranged to keep the key Safe About Your Person? A nice piece of garden twine will do it? Or a piece of ribbon around your wrist? Do you have a work basket? Or perhaps a special envelope marked ‘Music Room Cupboard Key’ as I do? I leave it out on the hall table, my little oval slip, walnut, where I keep my telephone. You’ve seen it, Mary. It has a lovely receptacle; slips out beautifully; the drawer where I keep my address book, my spectacles and anything Terribly Important such as keys.

I do think we need to keep Special Things in Special Places, don’t you?

As I say, I couldn’t get into the cupboard last Tuesday and it meant an Entire Portion of the lesson was wasted trying to unjam the cupboard. In the end, it was that nice Lottie Selby who came to help me, such a considerate girl. Sat ever so patiently upon the floor while we emptied the Entire Contents of the cupboard and even gave it a good sweeping because the floor looks like it hasn’t seen the end of a broom for a long time, Mary. Well, by the time the recorders and the entire percussion set had been ordered and tided and rearranged . . .  I do think those recorders need some attention too, one can positively smell the teeth upon them. I suggest a long soak in Dettol. You could take them home next week, Thursday, after I’ve finished my class. You come in on Fridays, and no one will be needing recorders over the weekend unless Mr. Bennet has a little tootle when he comes to clean Friday afternoon. But somehow, I can’t imagine that man ever participating in anything gleeful, can you? A few doleful B flats and B sharps but nothing more and that won’t be enough to carry us along to the next week, or the next term, if all we are doing is sharing our rather nasty germs.  

I say Mary, where are you going along to this summer? Have you got somewhere nice booked? I thought I’d try Eastbourne again this year. The local orchestra there is rather good and they have ever such nice outings if you become a member --- I am of course a member -- then you are invited to play along the seafront in the bandstand reserved only for Special Occasions; they organise lovely teas afterwards. Such indulgence! They must have a good fund. Apparently, some local magnate supports because he believes in quality. Well, we all believe in quality, don’t we, Mary? And so, we really must try to keep that cupboard in Rather Better Order. I can’t always rely upon sweet Lottie to be my domestic angel every time, can I? Poor child, she must have felt rather self-conscious sitting there upon the floor well everyone else Looked On.

Well, I will sign off now because I’ve rather a lot to do, what with the service on Sunday. Will you be helping out Mary? I do hope so; it would be nice to see you. At school, we’re like ships passing in the night? No time for a Proper Conversation. But see, we’re having it out now, a real tête-a-tête, much more satisfactory don’t you think?

 

With best regards,

Miss E. Cull.