Gradually, I adapted. After a week of hard work, I could copy letters, and
sign my name, and began to learn cursive. I knew the sounds of all the
letters, and started teaching myself to read.
Everyday, I sat in m'room, during the free time in the evenings, teaching
myself. 'Cat, c-a-tttt! C-a-t!' I would write it out, among the other words
I tried to teach m'self. I would have Annette check them for me, because I
was too embarrassed to ask anyone else. After a month, I could read well
to myself, and stuttered only a little reading out loud.
Writing mistress also said my grammar was improving. I was sort of proud of 'meself, but I realized they were all trying to make me docile. They were making a pet out of me and my progress.
Dancing Mistress had taught me waltzes, and spirited gavottes. Singing Mistress had me sing hymns. Writing Mistress had given me literacy and vocabulary. Manners Mistress had me docile and polite. Sewing Mistress made me graceful and frivolous.
I feared I was acting above my station.
The months at boarding school wore on. I survived only after writing letters to my parents. As soon as I could write well, I wrote daily.
Dear Mother, Father, William, and Isaac, I do miss you all and I miss home. Ive learnt to write, as you can see. My teechers still think I am a disgrase, however, but I frankly dont give a dam. (Excuse my French). Ive learnt to dance and sing and write and sew little red flowers onto patchwork quilts. Does that not sound lovly? Indeed. Can I come home? Love, Judith
In brackets, are words scratched out Dear Mother, Father, Will, Isaac, I still miss you all. As well as the woods and the fields, and the dogs, and cats and every Thing about home. I wish I could return but I gess you want me too finish my finishing. I've begun to [reed] read books like all the other girls. Writing [misters] Mistress says I am improving, and I suppose I do give a damn or two after all. I've made a friend. Her name is...confound it, I can't spell French....Annette DuBois Valjean... she's the only friend and only sane one in this school. It is spring now. How are the rains? None too heavy, I hope. How are the crops doing this [seeson] season? Has William come home from school yet? How is Isaac? Say hello to Angus (our dog) for me. Love, Judy
Dear Mother, Father, William, (if you're there) and Isaac, Still missing you, of course. They're making a puppet out of me here. Can you imagine, Judith Silver, made docile and tranquil? If only you were here to see it! I'm learning French if you can believe it. And at first I had thought learning what they call 'proper' English, would be a language of it's own. Bah! All this is not to say, of course, that I am entirely happy. I still begrudge the fact that you sent me here, and I do NOT intend to spend my summer at the school. I want to come home and work the fields. I never thought I would miss that, but I do. That and the animals, and the smell of the farm, and the colour of summer. Let me come home for a visit. Or I'll come seek you out myself- I am not kidding. You mark my words. I will see a country summer this year, if it's the last thing I do. If I don't get out of the corsets they're making me wear up here, I will choke, and I meant his literally. SEND ME HOME! Love and spite, Judy
Indeed the school made a puppet out of me. One day, looking in the mirror putting up my hair as was expected of me, I noticed that my skin was pale, and of the shade of porcelain colour that my school mates had. I had not been in the sun very much, and I longed to be outdoors. My arms were pale, and only my face had the slightest hint of colour in it anymore.
God, I missed the sun.
It was now late April, and May was fast approaching. Having spent a term here at the school, I was ready to be sent for at the beginning of June.
I couldn't wait. When Annette and I walked together, or sat in the Great Hall talking, all I could find myself talking about was home. Annette, of course, would not be going. She had found, or rather, the Headmistress had found for her, a position as assistant to an artist in Denmark.
She would willingly go, as she could not return to France, having no method of transportation, and nobody would take her in during the summer.
Annette went to denmark to earn some money for her family. I knew that in late May, a letter from Father would come for me, telling me I would be returning home.
And everyday, I asked the headmistress if indeed a letter had come. And every single day of the month, I got the same response.
'No, Judith.'
'Not today, Judith.'
'Still no, Judith.'
'When it comes, you'll be the first to know.'
'no.'
'no.'
'CONFOUND IT ALL NO ILL TELL YOU WHEN THE BLASTED THING ARRIVES!!!'
The next time I asked, (apparently I'd not learnt my lesson) she gave me a look that said she was going to choke me in my sleep if I asked one more time.
So I stopped asking, figuring that when the letter finally came, I'd be dead at the hands of my headmistress, and that would defeat the purpose of asking for the letter in the first place.
Writing mistress also said my grammar was improving. I was sort of proud of 'meself, but I realized they were all trying to make me docile. They were making a pet out of me and my progress.
Dancing Mistress had taught me waltzes, and spirited gavottes. Singing Mistress had me sing hymns. Writing Mistress had given me literacy and vocabulary. Manners Mistress had me docile and polite. Sewing Mistress made me graceful and frivolous.
I feared I was acting above my station.
The months at boarding school wore on. I survived only after writing letters to my parents. As soon as I could write well, I wrote daily.
Dear Mother, Father, William, and Isaac, I do miss you all and I miss home. Ive learnt to write, as you can see. My teechers still think I am a disgrase, however, but I frankly dont give a dam. (Excuse my French). Ive learnt to dance and sing and write and sew little red flowers onto patchwork quilts. Does that not sound lovly? Indeed. Can I come home? Love, Judith
In brackets, are words scratched out Dear Mother, Father, Will, Isaac, I still miss you all. As well as the woods and the fields, and the dogs, and cats and every Thing about home. I wish I could return but I gess you want me too finish my finishing. I've begun to [reed] read books like all the other girls. Writing [misters] Mistress says I am improving, and I suppose I do give a damn or two after all. I've made a friend. Her name is...confound it, I can't spell French....Annette DuBois Valjean... she's the only friend and only sane one in this school. It is spring now. How are the rains? None too heavy, I hope. How are the crops doing this [seeson] season? Has William come home from school yet? How is Isaac? Say hello to Angus (our dog) for me. Love, Judy
Dear Mother, Father, William, (if you're there) and Isaac, Still missing you, of course. They're making a puppet out of me here. Can you imagine, Judith Silver, made docile and tranquil? If only you were here to see it! I'm learning French if you can believe it. And at first I had thought learning what they call 'proper' English, would be a language of it's own. Bah! All this is not to say, of course, that I am entirely happy. I still begrudge the fact that you sent me here, and I do NOT intend to spend my summer at the school. I want to come home and work the fields. I never thought I would miss that, but I do. That and the animals, and the smell of the farm, and the colour of summer. Let me come home for a visit. Or I'll come seek you out myself- I am not kidding. You mark my words. I will see a country summer this year, if it's the last thing I do. If I don't get out of the corsets they're making me wear up here, I will choke, and I meant his literally. SEND ME HOME! Love and spite, Judy
Indeed the school made a puppet out of me. One day, looking in the mirror putting up my hair as was expected of me, I noticed that my skin was pale, and of the shade of porcelain colour that my school mates had. I had not been in the sun very much, and I longed to be outdoors. My arms were pale, and only my face had the slightest hint of colour in it anymore.
God, I missed the sun.
It was now late April, and May was fast approaching. Having spent a term here at the school, I was ready to be sent for at the beginning of June.
I couldn't wait. When Annette and I walked together, or sat in the Great Hall talking, all I could find myself talking about was home. Annette, of course, would not be going. She had found, or rather, the Headmistress had found for her, a position as assistant to an artist in Denmark.
She would willingly go, as she could not return to France, having no method of transportation, and nobody would take her in during the summer.
Annette went to denmark to earn some money for her family. I knew that in late May, a letter from Father would come for me, telling me I would be returning home.
And everyday, I asked the headmistress if indeed a letter had come. And every single day of the month, I got the same response.
'No, Judith.'
'Not today, Judith.'
'Still no, Judith.'
'When it comes, you'll be the first to know.'
'no.'
'no.'
'CONFOUND IT ALL NO ILL TELL YOU WHEN THE BLASTED THING ARRIVES!!!'
The next time I asked, (apparently I'd not learnt my lesson) she gave me a look that said she was going to choke me in my sleep if I asked one more time.
So I stopped asking, figuring that when the letter finally came, I'd be dead at the hands of my headmistress, and that would defeat the purpose of asking for the letter in the first place.
