The Rainbow

At last it was time for recreation. She gave the order to

cease working, and in some way or other got her class out of the

room. Then she faced the disorderly litter of blotted,

uncorrected books, of broken rulers and chewed pens. And her

heart sank in sickness. The misery was getting deeper.

The trouble went on and on, day after day. She had always

piles of books to mark, myriads of errors to correct, a

heart-wearying task that she loathed. And the work got worse and

worse. When she tried to flatter herself that the composition

grew more alive, more interesting, she had to see that the

handwriting grew more and more slovenly, the books more filthy

and disgraceful. She tried what she could, but it was of no use.

But she was not going to take it seriously. Why should she? Why

should she say to herself, that it mattered, if she failed to

teach a class to write perfectly neatly? Why should she take the

blame unto herself?

Pay day came, and she received four pounds two shillings and

one penny. She was very proud that day. She had never had so

much money before. And she had earned it all herself. She sat on

the top of the tram-car fingering the gold and fearing she might

lose it. She felt so established and strong, because of it. And

when she got home she said to her mother: "It is pay day to-day, mother."

"Ay," said her mother, coolly.

Then Ursula put down fifty shillings on the table.

"That is my board," she said.

"Ay," said her mother, letting it lie.

Ursula was hurt. Yet she had paid her scot. She was free. She

paid for what she had. There remained moreover thirty-two

shillings of her own. She would not spend any, she who was

naturally a spendthrift, because she could not bear to damage

her fine gold.

She had a standing ground now apart from her parents. She was

something else besides the mere daughter of William and Anna

Brangwen. She was independent. She earned her own living. She

was an important member of the working community. She was sure

that fifty shillings a month quite paid for her keep. If her

mother received fifty shillings a month for each of the

children, she would have twenty pounds a month and no clothes to

provide. Very well then.

Ursula was independent of her parents. She now adhered

elsewhere. Now, the 'Board of Education' was a phrase that rang

significant to her, and she felt Whitehall far beyond her as her

ultimate home. In the government, she knew which minister had

supreme control over Education, and it seemed to her that, in

some way, he was connected with her, as her father was connected

with her.

She had another self, another responsibility. She was no

longer Ursula Brangwen, daughter of William Brangwen. She was

also Standard Five teacher in St. Philip's School. And it was a

case now of being Standard Five teacher, and nothing else. For

she could not escape.