At Aunt Greta’s–
Back to 1944 Again!
by Gabi
Chapter 6 of a Continuing Saga…

Author’s Note: I have made some minor changes to the previous chapter (School ’n Stuff)
so you might like to re-read that before delving into this latest offering.
Thanks to Angharad for her excellent proof reading service.

I WAKENED NEXT morning with a slight tummy ache. I soon discovered I was back in 1944 once again–and that it was a school day. That meant that I would have to attend as Greta–whose place I had taken again. I was walking to school with Greta’s two best friends, Judy Wilson and Susan Brown. There was hardly any traffic, the occasional bus or delivery van, a milkman with his horse-drawn float, and lots of school children riding bicycles to school. Our chatter was about the unusual lack of an air-raid during the night, and how tired we all were the next day after there had been one.

‘Ooh, goody!’ exclaimed Judy, brightening suddenly. ‘We’ve got gym first lesson after prayers. Isn’t that top-hole?’

‘Super,’ I said without enthusiasm, thinking of my tummy ache and the fact that Auntie had told me that when she was at school all the girls had to do gym wearing just their vest and navy-blue knickers and gym shoes! The very thought of it filled me with horror and embarrassment and I could feel my cheeks getting hot.

‘You’re quiet, today, Grete,’ said Susan. ‘You usually talk the hind legs off a donkey. I s’pose you’re missing poor Wendy?’

‘Yes,’ I thankfully agreed and added, ‘I had a bad night, and I woke up with a tummy ache.’

‘Poor you,’ said a sympathetic Judy. ‘I hate it when I get a tummy ache–or a headache.’

‘Are you feeling any better now?’ Susan asked, sounding concerned and giving my hand a friendly squeeze.

‘A bit.’

‘P’raps you should ask if you could be let off gym,’ suggested Judy. ‘It’s horrible having to do gym when you’re feeling under the weather; ’specially if you’ve got a tummy ache.’

‘You’re not coming on, are you?’ Susan asked suddenly.

‘Coming on?’ I queried, looking at her blankly.

‘You know,’ she said before lowering her voice and whispering, “the curse–your period?’

The penny dropped and I answered hastily, ‘Can’t be that, I haven’t started them yet.’

‘You lucky THING!’ Susan remarked. ‘Mine started in the Easter hols, worst luck!’

‘Mine started at the start of the summer hols,’ Judy stated.

We were nearly at the school, and I suddenly thought that now I was a girl, I would be having periods too, and must ask Mummy about them, or Auntie G. I was not thinking about where I was or what I was doing and automatically headed for the usual entrance.

‘Hey, Grete!’ exclaimed Judy. ‘Where d’you think you’re going? That’s the BOYS’ entrance. You’re not a BOY!’

‘Well if she is,’ Susan said giggling. ‘HE sure is wearing the wrong uniform! What sort of boy d’you s’pose would go to school dressed in a gymmer?’ I could feel myself blushing. In my own time there was only one entrance, shared by boys and girls.

‘A very confused one?’ I suggested to cover my blushes. At this we all dissolved into a giggle-fit and headed for the girls’ entrance. Once inside I followed my two friends to the girls’ changing room, where we deposited out hats and blazers, and took off our outdoor shoes and replaced them with what the other girls called “house-shoes”–black leather slip-ons with elastic panels at the side–that were in my shoe locker under my peg on which I had hung my blazer.

‘Don’t forget to bring your hanky,’ Susan told me, lifting the skirt of her tunic and stuffing hers up her knicker-leg. I quickly took my own hanky from my blazer pocket and stuffed up the right leg of my own knickers. (‘What a handy place to keep things,’ I thought.)

‘Come on, slowcoaches,’ Judy told us, picking up her satchel, ‘or Miss De’Ath will get to our form room before us, and you know how ratty that makes her–a fate worse than Death!’ This made Susan and one of the other girls giggle.

Miss De’Ath? After a moment’s puzzlement I remembered she was Auntie Greta’s form mistress; her very name filled me with apprehension. I wondered what she would be like; I imagined her as old and prim with a tight mouth and grey hair in a bun–my vision of a typical old-fashioned schoolmarm. I was not looking forward to meeting her, particularly since Auntie G had told me about her remarks about my essay about what I was looking forward to after the war was over. If I remember rightly I wrote: “The end of sweets rationing will be dead brill and well cool!” which was very far from how kids talked in 1944, so it was far from kewl as far as Miss De’Ath was concerned and the very thought brought a flush to my cheeks.

I felt very self-conscious in my gym tunic amongst these girls. I know I’m a girl, but I’ve only been one for a couple of days. We left the cloakroom and I followed Judy and Susan because I did not know which form room we were in. Imagine my surprise when they turned into my own form room in the future. I was wondering if it would be very different when we entered. There was the usual hubbub of young voices that I was used to, but all the faces were strange to me. Three boys were having a loud argument about German air-raids, and whether Spitfires could shoot down doodlebugs. I am sure I had read somewhere that Spitfire pilots developed a way of changing the doodlebug’s course by flying alongside and lifting up one wing so it changed direction away from its proper target. My two companions guided me towards a group of girls talking near the window.

‘Hiya, Judy,’ said one girl whom I didn’t know from Adam–or should that be Eve?

‘Hiya, Evelyn,’ Judy replied. (‘Kewl guess,’ I thought!)

‘Hiya, Sue,’ Evelyn said. ‘Hiya, Greta, I was so sorry to hear about Wendy; you must miss her soooo much.’ She came and gave me a hug.

‘Thank you, Evelyn,’ I answered solemnly. ‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet that I’ll never see my best friend ever again.’ Saying the words made me feel very sad, and I nearly started to cry, even though I had never known Wendy; she had been Auntie’s best friend so it was inevitable that the sadness would affect me. Several other girls came and gave me hugs as well, and then I really did begin to cry. I groped for my hanky and pulled it out to wipe my eyes.

‘Come and sit at your desk, Greta,’ said Susan, taking my hand and leading me towards the second row of desks and sat me down behind one of them. Judy and Susan took their places on my right, leaving an empty desk between mine and the window; I wondered if it had been Wendy’s. The other girls went to their desks and sat down.

I was not expecting to hear a loud and very clangy hand-bell being rung. Suddenly, as the first clang had barely sounded, there was an unruly rush as the boys scrambled to get to their places before our form-mistress arrived. When Miss De’Ath–I presumed–came in, one very scruffy looking boy with very unruly hair was still not in his place.

‘Good morning, Miss De’Ath,’ we all chanted together, standing up as we said it. Miss De’Ath came as something of a surprise to me. She was very far from my mental picture of her. She was quite young, about the same age as my mum, and she had bouncy blond wavy hair that just touched her shoulders. She was wearing a modest amount of makeup and I reckoned I would like her a lot if I had to stay being Greta,

‘Good morning, children,’ she replied. ‘Michael Winterbottom, why weren’t you standing at your desk when I entered the form room?’

Michael Winterbottom blushed deep puce and mumbled, ‘Dunno.’

‘What did you say, young man?’ said our teacher, bristling slightly.

‘I dunno!.

‘Master Winterbottom,’ retorted Miss De’Ath, ‘please answer my question properly and not in that guttersnipe way. You should have said, "I do not know, Miss De’Ath".’

‘I dunno, Miss De’Ath,’ repeated the unhappy Michael. Miss De’Ath raised her eyes heavenwards as if in supplication for Divine Help.

Judy tapped my leg and I looked at her. She was smiling, so I grinned back and gave her hand a squeeze while the poor Winterbottom boy searched the dictionary for the word. ‘Well, Master Winterbottom, can you find that word?’

‘It don’t seem to be here, Miss,’ replied the boy. ‘I dunno why.’

‘That is because the word does not exist,’ replied Miss De’Ath. ‘What you should have said was “I do not know”. Do you understand?’

‘I fink so,’ replied the boy sullenly.

‘Hmmm!’ said the lady. ‘Take a misconduct mark.’ She made a note in a book on her desk and then looked up and smiled. ‘Now, sit down, girls and boys, and I will call the register and then you may line up ready to march into prayers. Joyce Alexander?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘Lucy Barker?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘William Biggs?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘Susan Brown?’

‘Present, Miss De’Ath.’

There were two more names and I tried to see who was answering so I should know who they were. ‘Greta Chambers? – Greta Chambers?’ Judy poked me in the ribs and I realised I was being called.

‘Present, Miss,’ I replied hurriedly.

‘Please try to wake up, Greta, it’s not as if we had an air-raid last night.’

‘Yes, Miss, sorry, Miss,’ I answered feeling the colour in my cheeks rising.

‘That’s all right, Greta. I realise you must be missing Wendy. Now, where was I?–George Danbury?’

‘Here, Miss.’

When Judy, whose name was last on the list, had replied, ‘Present, Miss De’Ath,’ the lady snapped the register shut and put it in the drawer of her desk.

‘Don’t forget your hymn books,’ Miss De’Ath called out, then, ‘Form Captain and Door Keeper,’ One of the boys sprung to his feet and went to stand by the door with his hand on the knob, Judy nudged me in the ribs and hissed, ‘Go on, girl! You’re form captain!’

‘Wake up, Greta dear,’ said Miss De’Ath. ‘You’re form captain this term, remember? So go and stand by the door so the rest of the class can fall in behind you.’

‘I’m s-s-sorry, Miss De’Ath,’ I stammered, my cheeks burning. ‘I’m feeling a bit off colour this morning.’ I stood up, squeezed between my desk and Judy’s and went to the door.

‘Right, class, fall in behind Greta.’ There was a rumbling of desk seats tipping up as they were relieved of the weight of each pupil and everyone fell in behind me. The door was still shut with us waiting; I wondered why when the bell clanged again. ‘Open the door, Robert,’ said Miss De’Ath, ‘and, Greta, lead on to the assembly hall. Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Right!’

I was glad I knew where the assembly hall was, as I had noticed it was the same as in my own time when Judy and Susan led me to our form room. I had to wait while one of the lower forms left their form room in front of us, and I just followed on after their teacher. Two seniors, a boy and a girl were waiting inside the hall and directed me to the row of chairs that were allocated to our form. The younger kids were already standing in their rows in front of us and soon the rows behind us were filled with older pupils. The staff went to the dais and stood in front of their chairs.

A few moments later the headmistress, Miss Norma Sterne, swept through the door; she was a large lady, carrying some papers and a hymn book clasped to her ample bosom with her right hand and her black academic gown billowing out behind her. On reaching the dais and taking her place in front of the big chair in the middle, she looked at us over her half-moon spectacles and said, ‘Good morning, school.’

‘Good morning, Miss Sterne,’ we chanted in reply.

‘Turn to page forty-three in your hymn books and we will sing All things Bright and Beautiful.’ There was a rustling of pages as we found the place; after a few seconds silence reigned again. ‘Right, Miss Griffiths,’ commanded Miss Sterne and an elderly lady at the piano began to thump out the tune. We joined in after a short introduction. Afterwards Miss Sterne led us in the Lord’s prayer, and then she added a prayer for the Allied forces advancing through Belgium towards Germany. After that we were dismissed to go to our lessons.

In our form room we put our hymnbooks away in our desks and then headed once again for the changing room to get ready for gym. The girls from the next form up were sharing the lesson with us while the boys of both forms went out into the playground for their PT which was taught by a former army physical training instructor called Sergeant-Major Ball. The name Ball rang a couple of bells in my brain and I wondered if he was an ancestor of the two Balls who attended the school in my time.

My tummy ache was still there and it must have shown in my face because Susan turned to me and asked, ‘Are you feeling all right, Grete?’

‘I’m okay,’ I replied. ‘It’s just my tummy ache is a bit worse. Maybe some exercise will do me good.’ I loosened the hideous Kermit-green girdle round my waist and pulled my tunic over my head, then off came my tie and blouse; I was just copying what Susan and Judy were doing.

‘Well if it gets worse, maybe you should go and see Nurse,’ Judy told me as we changed our house-shoes for gym shoes–or plimsolls as everyone seemed to call them–before making our way to the gym just down the corridor, where we found our gym mistress waiting for us. Strangely, I didn’t feel shy walking down the corridor in my undies being in the same boat as all the other girls, and the boys were already outside with Sergeant-Major Ball.

‘Good morning, Miss Springer,’ everyone chanted as we entered the gym–I left off her name because I didn’t know it.

‘Good morning, girls,’ she replied. ‘Form up in four lines, please, feet together, arms loosely by your sides, and we will do some exercises to loosen up.’

She looked quite tall for a lady, and was made to look taller than she probably was because the gym tunic she was wearing left most of her long legs uncovered. In my own time it would definitely come into the category of skirts that Mummy referred to as pelmets because they seemed to be designed to keep the bare minimum hidden. I was surprised that Miss Springer was dressed like this because our gym teacher–forty years later–always wore a polo shirt and trackie-bums (as the girls called them).

We formed out four lines as told. ‘Right girls, running on the spot, beeee-GIN! Hup-hup-hup-hup-keep-up-E-liz-a-beth-hup-hup…’ and so on. I wondered who Elizabeth might be, but didn’t dare look. Then we did “stride-jumps with raising and lowering of the arms, then a relay race (our team won) and then we were lined up to vault over the “horse”. The horse was about the same as I was used to in my own time except that instead of a mini trampoline to spring on to to gain enough height to clear the horse, there was a spring-board. I supposed that trampolines had not been invented in 1944 and anyway with most materials needed to make armaments–as I had learned 40 years later–trampolines could hardly be classified as essential war materials.

We formed a long line so we could vault in turn; I was about fourth in line so I watched the first three doing their stuff. Run up, bounce on the spring board, hands reaching forward on the horse, legs astride and swinging through to land neatly on the mat the far side of the horse. Easy-peasy, I had done it tons of times. I ran up, sprung, placed my hands on the horse and swung my legs through and landed feet together on the mat with Miss Springer steadying me on landing. I stood to attention on the dismount as I had been taught and then I got a terrible pain in my tummy and everything went squiffy and I was falling…

I became conscious of a strong pungent smell and saw a lady in nurse’s uniform holding a bottle under my nose. I was on a bed with curtains drawn around me. ‘It’s all right, Greta,’ she said, ‘you fainted during gym and Miss Springer carried you here. You’re in the sick-bay.’

‘Do you know what happened?’ I asked, becoming conscious of my tummy ache again.

‘You had vaulted the horse and landed and then you just collapsed.’

‘I’ve got a terrible tummy ache, Nurse.’

‘Can you show me where?’ she asked.

‘Down here,’ I answered, adding ‘below my tummy button.’ I put my hand on where the ache seemed to be coming from.

‘Is your period due?’

‘I’ve not started them yet,’ I replied. ‘I don’t know much about them.’

‘Hasn’t your mummy explained about periods?’

‘I can’t remember,’ I said. ‘Could I please go to the lav?’

‘I’ll get you a commode.’ She hurried out and returned a few minutes later wheeling a wooden box with a loo-seat with a chamber pot underneath. She helped me out of bed, gave me a roll of loo paper and left me on my own. Through the open window I could hear the Sergeant-Major bawling out commands at the boys as he drilled them in the playground and I felt rather sorry for them. I pulled down my knickers and sat down. It was then that I saw some spots of what looked like blood on my white under knickers. When I had relieved myself I wiped myself and dropped the paper in the potty–the paper was AWFUL, as rough as sandpaper and about as absorbent!

‘Nurse,’ I called.

‘Finished?’ she asked, putting her head inside the curtains.

‘There’s some blood on my knickers,’ I said and could feel myself blushing.

‘I thought there might be, Greta. You’ve got a period pain.’

‘What should I do?’

‘I’ll give you a sanitary towel and then send you home. Will your mummy be at home? I’ll give her a tinkle; can you remember your number?’

‘Tuckton 4763.’

* * *

Mummy came and collected me and as we walked home together she started to explain about what was happening inside my body and how it would now happen every month. When we arrived home, we went upstairs, and she told me to undress and get ready for bed so I could have a good sleep. Before leaving school, Nurse had got me my bottle of mid-morning milk so I wouldn’t miss out on it–milk was rationed, but children got extra and we all got a third of a pint at school every day at mid-morning break.

I got into bed, and Mummy brought me my milk which she had hotted up, then she gave me an aspirin for my period pain, closed the curtains and suggested I try to sleep.

* * *

I waked up some time later. My tummy still ached, but not as badly so I reckoned the aspirin had helped. The door creaked and I turned to look who was there and saw my own mother. I was back home as myself.

‘How are you feeling, Gaby darling,’ Mummy asked. ‘Auntie said you were feeling poorly.’

‘Oh, Mummy,’ I exclaimed and burst into tears.

She came and sat beside me on the bed and took my hand. ‘What’s the trouble, poppet?’

‘I’ve been back to 1944 again and went to school as Auntie G. During gym I got this awful pain in my tummy and fainted. It turned out that I had started my first period. Auntie G’s mummy came and took me home and put me to bed with some hot milk and an aspirin. I went to sleep and when I w-woke up and you were here.’ I buried my face in her cardie and cried.

‘There, there, my darling,’ Mummy soothed me, stroking my hair which was still in two plaits. ‘How is your tummy now?’

‘It still aches, so I suppose I must have started my periods and I don’t really know what to do.’

‘Auntie Greta warned me that you might have; she remembered she started her first period a few days after Wendy was killed by the doodlebug. So I stopped by Boots and bought you a pack of pads.’

‘The nurse gave me a sanitary towel when I told her I had some blood in my knickers.’

‘I thought she might have. When I was at school we always went to nurse if we came on and didn’t have a pad.’

‘Came ON?’ I queried.

‘That’s girl-code for having your period.’

‘Oh, Auntie G’s friend, Susan, called it the curse,’ I said.

‘We used to say that too, sometimes,’ Mummy told me, ‘but it’s not very polite.’

‘So if I was to tell another girl I was on, she would know what I meant.’

‘Yes, darling, and remember, we girls stick together and look out for each other. Now you must make a diary so you know when you will be due next time. It may be a bit irregular to start with but it will soon settle down to a regular pattern. I know that I should be on the week after next. Are you feeling any better, poppet?’

‘Sort of. It’s lovely having a cuddle with you, but my tummy still aches.’

‘I’ll get you a hot-water bottle to put on your tum; that always helps. Auntie wondered if you would like some soup for your lunch? She’s got some of those lovely fresh soups from Waitrose.’ *

‘That would be lovely,’ I said.

‘I think she’s got asparagus or cream of chicken. Oh, and she’s just taken a fresh wholemeal loaf out of the bread maker.’

‘Ooh, cream of chick, please; with some of her new bread–that’s always GORGEous. I like asparagus, but it always gives my wee a strong pong.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ replied Mummy with a giggle. She kissed my cheek, gave me another hug, stood up and went to get me a hottie and to tell Auntie G my choice of soup for lunch.

* * *

Mummy brought me my hottie and I laid it on my tum which soon began to feel better. As I lay there I went over the events of the morning and I couldn’t help thinking about Sergeant-Major Ball and his possible descendents who attended school with me. The elder one, Kevin, is three years ahead of me and has always been a bit of a thicko so I don’t really want to ask him, particularly as I am now a girl. His sister, Kristal, is in my form, so I decided I would ask her if she was related. Kristal fancies herself as a boy magnet and is always getting told off for wearing makeup and jewellery in excess of what the school rules allow. In fact she is about the only girl in our form who always wears makeup, and Wattie–our form teacher–is always sending her out to the washroom to take it off. The other thing about Kristal Ball is that she always believes implicitly what her horoscope says.

There’s one boy at school that I’m dreading meeting–Kenneth Quinn. A large, oafish bully who likes nothing better than to throw his–very ample–weight about. He always made things unpleasant for me when I was a boy, and my feeling is that he is certain to pick up the wrong end of the stick when I return to school as a girl. I can remember many occasions when he has called me names–wimp, girlie, coward, pansy, wally–all of those and more. The other thing that he enjoys is waiting and waylaying kids smaller than himself on their way to school or home and demanding sweets, money or anything else he thinks he can get away with. Not a nice character.

I really missed by brother, Tim, still in quarantine for bubonic plague, or whatever it was. I was wondering what he would say to me when we eventually met. He was two years older than me and had always been protective towards me. I was longing to talk to him and wondered if I would be allowed to ’phone him. Another thing to ask Mummy.

I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I was aware of was being gently woken by Mummy. ‘Are your tummy cramps any better, Gaby darling?’

It took me a few moments to answer, ‘Much better, thanks, Mummy. The hottie has helped a lot.’

‘So how do you feel about getting up and having your soup downstairs with Auntie and me? We’re having the same as you.’

‘I’d like that. Should I get dressed?

‘If you like. You could wear your new girlie jeans.’

‘I’d rather wear my new denim skirt. The more practice I get wearing skirts before going back to school the better.’

‘Okay, that’s sensible. Why don’t you have a bath? It will help your tummy and you’ll feel much fresher afterwards.’

‘Yes, I’d like that. Err, Mummy…I was wondering if I could have a chat with Tim on the ’phone? I don’t even know what he thinks of having a sister.’

‘He was rather shocked at first, but when he thought about it he was rather pleased. He was only worried about how you felt about it.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I said I thought you were rather pleased because of what you had told me a day or two ago. Was that the right answer?’

‘Yes, It was.’

‘Good. I’ll go and run your bath for you.’

* * *

Having a hot bath really relaxed me, lessening my stomach cramps and easing the worries I’d been having about the reception I was going to get when I went back to school. Mummy came and washed my hair, and I rinsed off in the shower afterwards. Then I put on my towelling bath robe and returned to my bedroom where Mummy dried my hair with the new hair-dryer we had bought on Saturday and put it in a high ponytail with one of my new scrunchies. She had laid out my clothes for me on the bed, but before I started dressing she gave me a pad and showed me how it fitted inside my knickers and after that it took me only a few minutes to dress.

When I got downstairs I was greeted by the wonderful smell of freshly-baked bread. ‘Mmmm, Auntie G, that smells gorgeous,’ I exclaimed and went to give her a hug.

‘And you look gorgeous,’ she replied, returning my hug. ‘How’s the tum?’

‘A bit better. Having a hot bath was a great idea.’

‘That’s good. I’m afraid you’ve rather got landed in the deep end of the start of womanhood,’ she told me. ‘I’m sorry you have missed out on your girlhood, being a little girl is such fun.’

‘Well it would have happened pretty soon anyway, so it doesn’t matter that it’s started now.’

‘You’re very philosophical about it, Gaby,’ Auntie told me as the telephone started ringing. ‘Will you answer it for me please?’

I picked up the handset saying ‘494763…’

‘Is that my new sister Gaby?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Ti-i-i-immmmmm!’ I squealed gleefully.

* Waitrose: A supermarket chain in Britain providing higher quality produce than the larger, cheaper supermarket chains.

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To be continued…

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