trennels | Autumn Term, Chapters 8-10

This chapter title and that of chapter 7, interestingly, are ironic, unlike others in the novel.

So, we left Chapter 7 with Lois's rather candid and--one would have thought--unwise admission that she is going to go on 'pretending' that the twins just ran off; she immediately begins to reframe it as 'not particularly pretence'. But the admission has been made, cementing permanently Nicola's implacable dislike of Lois.

(Side note: Rowan is almost-sentimental about an almost-Arundel Tomb in Wade Abbas cathedral. Oh, Rowan.)

Anyone have any feelings on Nicola's lunge at Marie? Her second physical fight, after that with Pomona. I remember fighting quite often at Nicola's age, but I was a little hellcat. Nicola's habitual Job's comfort 'in x number of hours it will all be over', which nobody else finds the least bit useful, has always delighted me.

The Court of Honour itself is a great setpiece, I think, but I have no idea about its verisimilitude, having never been a Guide. Has anyone first hand experience of one of these awful occasions?

The mere notion of playing with matches seems not to prompt the universal, generic horror that it did in my childhood: it's understood as a rather foolish thing to be doing, but something that might be mitigated by stamping on them to make sure they'd gone out, for example. I remember it rather being a synonym for idiocy: maybe those gruesome 1970s and 1980s Public Information films that we watched regularly at school had some permanent effect after all.

Redmond handles her questioning appallingly, I think: she asks Nicola to give her account, then at a crucial moment in it--when the twins are alleged to have disobeyed Lois, switches to Lois, and then back to Nicola again, then calls Marie, then returns to Nicola again. I certainly don't envy Rita Calthrop having to take the minutes of that lot! It would seem to be a way virtually to ensure that stories get confused and truth gets elided, not to mention making it very tricky to determine if somebody is lying or not: even if absolutely everyone were acting in good faith, it would be difficult under those circumstances for people not to be influenced by others' narratives. It also seems not to occur to her that Lawrie's tears might be the natural result of stress rather than guilt: the poor mite is only twelve, after all. Not to give her a chance to calm down and speak seems the height of unfairness. Redmond has notably poor judgement throughout the series, and perhaps she rather favours Lois (there's another incident in End of Term which suggests so). She gives Lois a dressing down at the end of it, but makes allowances for 'lack of experience and excess of zeal' in her case when she won't do the same for a couple of 12-year olds who have only been Guides for ten minutes. Loathsome woman. Maybe others can view her in a kinder light? Lois's reaction is an interesting mixture of weakness and misguided (ahem!) determination.

Muriel Pollick's reaction--she had always wanted to see a full-dress Court of Honour, but actually didn't take any vicarious pleasure in it at all--is to me a nifty (if necessarily unconscious, as Forest intended the novel as a stand-alone at first) parallel to Miranda's delight in a damn good row. Forest does pitiless Schadenfreude rather well, I think.

I'm an unapologetic sucker for Marlow family dynamics, and I adore this chapter. We have, I think uniquely in the series, a full deck of Marlows around the breakfast table. They are a fairly ruthless family with regard to each others' feelings: it's also gloriously funny, from Peter's account of 'miming ballads' as witnessed at a friend's sister's school (and Nicola's secret agreement with him at the wetness of this activity--has anyone first-hand experience of it? It sounds gloriously batty, and I speak as someone who loves folksong and traditional balladry) through Commander Marlow's immediate concern for his wallet over matters of honour, to Karen and Rowan's sardonic commentary on 'character-building' at Kingscote. Even Giles, of whom my low opinion is a matter of noisy record, manages to appear amusing and charming in this setting: 'a lot of the orderly chaos I'm always reading the service is so good at and [...] a lot of sea in places we usually try to keep it out of.' As a child reader, I was particularly taken by the references to naval signals too rude for juvenile and feminine company (and longed to see some); I notice now that Giles and Geoff's amused fastidiousness on the matter is shortly followed by Giles swearing 'So you are by -- (what's a good salty oath?)' I'm still not sure what the oath might be that Forest so delicately preserves us from: please submit your suggestions. His perverse taste for Mickey Mouse is almost endearing too. Does anyone know, by the way, what Giles is attempting to quote: 'Never expect, young Nicola, to be sufficiently praised for your virtues, or sufficiently condoled with over-flagrant injustice; but always remember -- no, I can't imagine what it is you should always remember.' Or is he just being a pompous tosser?

Seriousness does break in: Rowan is persuaded to give an account of the match row, which reveals her capable of some unpleasantness herself; Ann realises just how low Lois has sunk in her mendacity; the family push the twins a bit too far in their teasing of them--and here it is Nicola, rather than Lawrie, who breaks. That interests me: Lawrie is susceptible to humiliation at school, perhaps, but feels secure and cosseted as the baby of the family even when she is teased? Whereas Nicola has prickly pride even at home? Or that Nicola has bottled her feelings successfully after each humiliation, where Lawrie has already got it all out of her system?

Finally, Giles makes his own error in judgement of character and tone in encouraging the twins to be 'bad'. I'd be really interested to hear how people who read the novels as children read his tone back then. I remember knowing that he wasn't serious (as I think even Nicola truly does), but still being angry with him for his unfairness in chapter 13.

In which we get a glimpse of how the A and B forms regard Third Remove, and are introduced to Miranda West, who later becomes a close friend of Nicola's in particular, but is here only a haughty antagonist.

Tim is cured of her desire for favouritism as Headmistress's Niece in a rather nice, complex and ironic way, I think: it isn't just a case of 'getting what you wish for' being unexpectedly unsettling--it's that what works on Keith is an appeal to her rather levelling sense of egalitarianism: she softens notably at the idea that Third Remove have been treated dismissively by the rest of the Thirds.

Another rather epic post. I'm sure there's lots I've missed nonetheless, do feel free to raise topics in the comments.