CHAPTER IX

The School Service Badge

Settling down at Abbey Close after a month at Highfield was like transferring oneself from a noisy farmyard to the calm of the cloister.  The house was so near to the Minster that it seemed pervaded by the quiet Cathedral atmosphere.  When Winona drew up her blinds in the morning, the first sight that greeted her would be the grey old towers and carved pinnacles, exactly opposite, where the jackdaws were chattering, and the pigeons wheeling round, and the big clock was going through the chimes and striking the hour of seven.  There was a particular gargoyle at the corner of the transept roof which appeared to be grinning at her across the road, as if some imp were imprisoned in the stone image, and were peeping out of its fantastic eyes.  Winona had grown to love the Minster.  She would go in whenever she had ten minutes to spare after school.  The glorious arches and pillars, the carved choir stalls, the light falling through the splendid rich windows on to the marble pavement, all appealed to the artistic sense that was stirring in her, and gave her immense satisfaction.  But even the beauty of the Cathedral was as nothing when the organ began to play.  Mr. Holmes, the organist, was a great musician, and could manage his instrument with a wizard touch.  In the afternoons, between four and five o’clock, he was wont to practice his voluntaries, and to listen to these took Winona into a new world of sound.  He was a disciple of the extreme modern school of music, and his interpretations of Debussy, Cesar Franck, Medtner and Glazounow came to her as a revelation.  The glorious weird harmonies, the strange, unaccustomed chords of these tone-poems stirred her like the memory of something long forgotten.  As Anglo-Indians, whose knowledge of Hindustani faded with their childhood, yet start and thrill at the sound of the once familiar language, so this dream-music brought haunting elusive suggestions too subtle to be defined.  It held a distinct part in Winona’s development.

The girl was growing up suddenly.  In the almost nursery atmosphere of Highfield, with nothing to stimulate her faculties she had remained at a very childish stage, but now, with a world of art, music, science and literature dawning round her she seemed to leap upward to the level of her new intellectual horizon.  It is a glorious time when we first begin to reap the inheritance of the ages, and to discover the rich stores of delight that master minds have laid up for us to enjoy.  Life was moving very fast to Winona; she could not analyze all her fresh thoughts and impressions, but she felt she could no more go back to her last year’s mental outlook than she could have worn the long clothes of her babyhood.  She was sixteen now, for her birthday fell on the 20th of January.  Somehow sixteen sounded so infinitely older than fifteen!  There was a dignity about it and a sense of importance.  In another year she would actually be “sweet seventeen,” and a member of that enviable school hierarchy the Sixth Form!