Orphan Helen
Helen’s uncle was an old scholarly bachelor. He never considered women the ‘enemy’, rather he was indifferent about them; that they weren’t really relevant and he could never work out a use for them, so when he discovered he was the guardian of a fourteen-year-old girl, he was at a bit of a loss.
His much younger and rather wild sister had married at a very early age and promptly had a daughter. One year later, the husband jumped on a ship and sailed off, never to be seen again. Last year, she died of cancer and the old man was the girl’s only living relative.
Despite his objections, the authorities decided he would be her guardian and thus avoid the expense of keeping her. As he did not know what a girl needs, nor any woman to advise him, he clothed her in breeches, shirts and a pair of old boots that he had in his cupboard.
Of course, Helen was shocked when her uncle left these clothes on her little bed in the attic of his small house, but she had no choice. She had lost all her pretty clothes in the orphanage and they had cut all her lovely curly brown hair off. Helen had never worn boys’ clothing before and she stood before the mirror looking at herself. With a sinking feeling, she realized she looked like a boy. She had a sudden urge to change back, but her old clothes were total rags, orphanage clothes, falling apart. She sighed and went down to her uncle.
Although she had loved her mother dearly, she smothered her, whereas her uncle never gave her a second thought. He was never cruel or neglectful, just indifferent. She got out of bed when she wanted, didn’t need to brush her hair one hundred times, which she hated, didn’t need to be polite to all of her uncle’s dull colleagues, although she always was and could stay up as late as she liked.
She brought the subject of clothing up with her uncle at breakfast.
“Uncle, could I have a dress and some other pretty things, please?”
Her Uncle didn’t even look up from his book on Greek History.
“Nonsense. The clothes were perfectly acceptable when I wore them. You look perfectly clean and well dressed. Now run away and do whatever girls do.”
Helen grabbed some toast and left, wondering just what it was she was supposed to do.
It was Helen who brought the subject of school up. She approached her uncle, who was in his library. It was the largest room in the tiny house and history books stretched to the ceiling. Uncle’s nose was buried in an enormous book on the ancient civilizations of Europe.
“Uncle,” said Helen, quietly, since she knew not to be noisy in a library, “Uncle, shouldn’t I be in school?”
Uncle, barely moving, said, “should you?” while trying to decipher ancient clues relating to this civilization then, as if realising the significance of the question, said, “yes, yes, of course you should. The school is at the end of the street, off you go.”
This startled Helen, who replied, “but shouldn’t you come with me?”
Uncle looked up.
“Why?” He said, “you know your name, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then what do you need me for? Off you go and mind the motor cars.”
Helen didn’t know if she was happy or sad about this. Her mother had never let her go anywhere alone, and this new freedom excited her.
Helen trotted off to school full of excitement and apprehension and when she reached the gates of the school, it was in recess. Large groups of children were gathered in all sorts of noisy activities. Her attention was attracted to groups of girls talking, skipping, and throwing a ball around. Instinct drew her towards them, but before she could approach, a soccer ball rolled up to her and she trapped it with her foot.
“Hoy, buddy. Kick the ball back.”
Helen, surprised at being called ‘buddy’, gave the ball a mighty kick, sending it sailing over everyone’s head. Cries of adulation broke out and a tousle headed boy ran up.
“Come and join us. We’re one player short,” he said.
“But I’m a girl, “ objected Helen.
“Who cares? If you can kick like that, I won’t tell,” said the boy and ran towards the ball. That Helen felt attracted towards the boy might be an explanation why she ran after him and she found herself in the middle of a crowd of boys struggling to get the ball. She did not know what she was doing or who was on her side, but scored a goal just as the recess bell rang out. Everyone stopped doing whatever and lined up in little groups, ready to enter the classroom. Helen stood alone, uncertain what was happening. Then a voice rang out.
“Boy, come here.”
Since Helen was the only one standing alone, she responded.
“I’m a girl, sir. I’ve come to join the school, sir.”
The teacher, Helen presumed he was a teacher, peered at her through tiny glasses.
“You know, I think you are. Why are you in boys’ clothes?”
“It’s all my uncle gave me, sir.”
He stared once more, then yelled out and an older girl appeared.
“Take this... girl to the administration office at once.”
The older girl pushed a buzzer and told Helen to wait there, then disappeared. A door opened and a large lady filled the space. She wasn’t obese, just large and nearly blind.
“What do you want, boy?”
“I’m not a boy, miss, I’m a girl and I need to enrol in the school.”
“You better come in then,” she replied, then proceeded to fill out the form.
“Right, name?” She asked.
“Helen Briggs.”
The woman squinted at Helen.
“Strange name for a boy.”
“I’m not a boy, ma’am.”
She squinted at Helen even more.
“You look like a boy to me. We’ll put you down as Harry. The boys will make mincemeat out of you with a name like Helen.”
Helen sighed but kept quiet, as she had been taught to do.
“Take this and go to your class.”
Helen located the room and entered Miss. Maxwell’s class. She handed her the form.
“Class, this is Harry, who’s come to join us. Pick a seat amongst the boys, Harry.”
Helen was going to object again, but she spotted a spare seat beside the tousle haired boy and sat down.
“I thought you were a girl,” he whispered.
“I am.”
“Then why are you called Harry?”
“That’s what the stupid woman in the office called me.”
“Why are you wearing boys’ clothes?”
“It’s all my uncle would get me.”
Miss Maxwell silenced any more discussion until school ended. The boy pulled Helen aside.
“Would you be on my team this Saturday?”
An exasperated Helen said, once again, “I’m a girl.”
“I know that, “he said, “but you kick a ball better than any boy.”
Helen felt a tremendous surge of pride.
“But won’t the other boys complain?”
“I won’t tell them if you won’t. besides, they all know you as Harry. Look, meet me behind the blacksmiths after tea and I’ll teach you how to play.”
