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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Judith Loriente was born in
Melbourne in 1979, and educated at five different Melbourne schools, both
private and government, all of which provided abundant material for the writing
of The Troublesome Year. She began writing novels
whilst still at school, and after several false starts wrote The Troublesome
Year in 2001. Judith has also recently
completed a sequel to the first novel, entitled The Following Year, and is intending to write a third novel to complete
the trilogy. She lives in Hawthorn,
Melbourne, and has been working in administration and word processing for the
past six years. Chapter One Mrs Box, the
principal of Aylesbury Ladies’
College, was
staring out
the expansive
window of
her expansive
office late
one Monday
morning early
in the
year. She
was thinking.
She could
think for
hours if
she wanted to.
Sometimes she
would think
all day.
But suddenly
she remembered
something that
was not
to do with
the luxury
of thought.
“Miss Foster!” she called out,
without bothering
to open
her office
door. Miss
Foster, in
her tiny office
just outside
Mrs. Box’s,
rolled her
eyes, got
up, and
went in
to join
her commander. “There
you are,
Miss Foster.
I was wondering what
you thought
of my
speech in
assembly this
morning.” “Which one?
The one
you gave
before the
guest speaker
spoke, or
that one
you gave
after she’d
spoken to
everyone about
the benefits
of studying
medicine at
university?” Mrs
Box paused
a moment,
an almost
nostalgic look
on her
face. “Well,
what did
you think
about my
speeches in
general. Were
they well
received?” Miss
Foster thought
for a
moment. “I
think,” she
finally proposed,
“the girls
liked what
you said
about the
upgrades to
the canteen that
had been
made over
the holidays… ” Mrs
Box beamed. “…
but I
don’t think
they were
so keen
to discover
that you’d
found out
about and
fixed up
the problem
with the
fence that
borders on
Atherton Boys’
College, and
that they’d
no longer
have to
put up
with unwanted
visits from
boys during
lunchtime.” “And
it was
just as
well we
found out!”
said Mrs
Box in genuine concern.
“Boys in
our school would
mean something
awful, something
like…” “Co-education?” Mrs
Box looked
a little
perplexed, then
smiled. “I’m
sure the
girls are
thanking me
at this very
moment.” “I’m
certain they’re
at least
thinking of
you,” said
Miss Foster,
smiling politely. Mrs
Box suddenly
puffed up
with apparent
confidence, and
began to
stride about
the room.
“I
don’t think
anyone realises
just how
important these
speeches I
give are,”
she began
rather passionately. “It’s my
job to
give the
girls encouragement,
to inspire
them, to
get them
to reach
out and
take control
of the
world, to
grasp it
in their
hands.” She
made a grasping motion
with her
hands as
she said
this. “I
want the
girls to
know that
when they
finish school
they can
do anything they
want, that
the whole
world is
open to
them to
read like
a text-book,
that they
can go under the
oceans, or
up in the
skies... ” “Flight
attendants?” asked Miss
Foster. “Pilots!”
smiled Mrs
Box proudly, not noticing
that her
assistant had
been impertinent.
“I want
to instil
something more
than an
education in
them. I
want to
instil an
ideal. Things
have come
so far,
but there
are still
some young
women out
there who
don’t know
they have
the power
within them
to trample
on any
man who
stands in
their way.” “But
why would
anyone want
to trample
on men?”
asked Miss
Foster, impertinent
again. Mrs
Box looked
a little
surprised, and
almost dazed.
“Why, to
stop them from
trampling on
us! Miss Foster,
surely you
know that
men’s prime
aim is
to rule the
world. They’ve
had control
of it for thousands
of years,
and it’s
only now… ”
She started
to become
emotional. “It’s
only now
that we
women have
begun to
realise that
it’s our turn
to rule.” “But
don’t you
think that
might not
be an
entirely good
thing?” Mrs
Box looked
sharply at
Miss Foster. “Isn’t
having only
women ruling
as bad as having
only men
ruling?” “Certainly not!”
retorted Mrs
Box, sounding disgusted.
“They’ve had
it good
for a
long, long
time, and
it’s high
time they learnt
what it’s
like to
be oppressed.” “That doesn’t
sound very
fair.” “Fair?”
asked
Mrs Box,
as if
testing the
word for
the first
time. “Surely that
attitude’s not
about promoting
equal rights
for all,”
said Miss
Foster, suddenly
checking her
burgeoning impertinence
and making
an effort
to sound
rather innocent. Mrs Box
looked a
little confused,
then shook
her head
and looked
at Miss
Foster in
a particularly
patronising way. “I just
can’t help
but wonder
if oppressing
men might
lead to
a men’s movement.
I’m just
concerned,” she
added, sounding
as innocent
and ignorant
as any one of
the girls
when facing
Mrs Box. “My dear
Miss Foster,
you have
a lot to
learn. A
long, long way to
go.” Miss
Foster made
no reply.
“But there
is one
thing you
can tell
me. I
called you
in for
another reason.
I was informed that
one of
the Year Nine
girls didn’t
go to
the careers
exhibition last
Thursday, even
though she
turned up
to school. Mrs
Webster informed
me, and
I asked
her to
follow it
up with
you. Have
you located
which girl
it was?” “Yes I
did. It
was Harriet
Harkleigh. Not
a known
troublemaker, though a
little absent-minded
at times.” “Very well.
I think
I’ll need
to have
a talk with her.
Just to
make sure
we’re not
going to
have any
troubles with
her in
future. It’s
best to
nip these
things in
the bud
early on.
Please make
an announcement
and ask
her to
come in
here.” “Is it
really necessary
to call
her in
right now,
in the
middle of
a class?” “Miss Foster, please leave it to me. I think I know best in these matters.” *
* * Harriet
Harkleigh was
in a Sport
lesson when
the announcement was made.
Being called
into the
principal’s office
didn’t much
bother her - didn’t bother her
at all
actually. The
ankle she
had conveniently
managed to sprain
in a sport lesson
four weeks
earlier had
by now obviously healed
- that
is, it
had reached
the point
where it
was no longer plausible
to pretend
it had
not healed.
It had
in reality been
hurt so
slightly that
it had ceased to
cause her
the slightest
pain after
a week.
She could
have let
it last
longer, but
it didn’t
do to drag
these things
on for too long.
Six weeks
was the
longest she
usually let
any complaint
persist, unless
there was
a visible injury,
in which
case she
might let
it drag
on several
months, four
months being
her record.
That record
had been
set due
to a fracture of
the bone
of her
left arm -
a particularly
happy injury,
since it
had not
even been
intended. It
had been
the only
one of her injuries
to require
plaster, which
she had
found to
be of tremendous
use. Even
after the
plaster had
come off,
Miss Bendle,
her normally
cold-hearted and nasty
old Sport
teacher, had
insisted Harriet
refrain from
Sport until
it was certain it
could not
do any damage.
It had
been terribly
convenient. And
it was
also terribly
convenient to
be pulled
away from
Sport during
her first
class since
the ankle
injury. Her friends also seemed to get something out of it, chiding her after the announcement and accusing her of any number of deeds which could result in a summons to the principal’s office. Harriet brushed them off quickly by owning up to every one of the things they accused her of, and tripped off to the principal’s office, her bunches of light brown pigtails bobbing happily up and down, with a perfectly light heart. She was rather curious to find out what she had done. “Harriet Harkleigh”
stated Mrs Box
rather distastefully
when the
summoned girl
was shown
in and
presented before
her. “I
believe I’ve
seen you
in here
before, last
year. Something
about forging
notes to
get out
of Sport
I believe.” “Yes, that’s right” said Harriet politely,
her mean
little blue
eyes as
round and
respectful as
she could
make them.
“I know
it was disappointing when
it turned
out they
hadn’t been
forged.”
Mrs
Box looked
at her
suspiciously for
a moment.
“I’ve never
known a
parent willingly
write so
many notes
to get
their child
out of Sport. It
doesn’t stand
to reason.” “Mummy
said she
didn’t like
doing Sport
when she
was my
age either,”
said Harriet
in explanation. “That’s
no cause
for all
those notes!”
retorted Mrs
Box. “A
most disappointing
situation, I
must say. All
that trouble
over Sport.
And why
are you
wearing your
sport uniform?
You know
the school
policy - you
have to
change back
into your
regular uniform
as soon
as sport
is over.” “I
was in
the middle of
sport when
you called
me in here,” said
Harriet very
simply, feeling
that there
was no
need for
embellishment. “Very
well,” said
Mrs Box
tersely. “But
there is
another matter
- why I called
you in
here in
fact. You
didn’t go
to the careers
exhibition last
Thursday. I
hope there’s
a very
good explanation. You’re in
Year Nine
now, and
it’s time
you started
thinking about
what you’re
going to
do with the
rest of
your life.
You’re not
a child
anymore. You
need to
decide carefully
what you’re
going to
do in
Year Ten
so you’ll
be better
prepared for
the final
years.” Mrs
Box looked
even more
sharply at
Harriet, her
eyes seeming
to converge
and bulge
rather alarmingly.
“Why didn’t
you go?” she demanded. “I
didn’t want
to,” replied
Harriet, again
simply. “I
wasn’t interested
in what
I’m going
to do
after school.
I thought
it was
a waste
of time,”
she finished,
with impressive
composure for
an Aylesbury girl
facing Mrs
Box. “Didn’t
want to
go!” said
Mrs Box,
attempting to
digest the
words. “You
didn’t want to
go? The
matter is
not for
you to
decide, young
lady. It
was a
planned excursion.
Your parents
had to
sign a
permission slip.
I’m afraid
I’ll have
no choice
but to
report the
matter to
your parents,
and give
you a detention.” “Can
it be
a lunch-time detention?”
asked Harriet. “Why lunch-time?” snapped back
Mrs Box. “I don’t
know,” said
Harriet, “but
I’d prefer
lunch-time.” “You will
have an
after-school detention tomorrow,”
said Mrs
Box. “I’ll
let your
parents know
about it
today when
I call
them. Your
mother won’t
be much
help in
the matter,
I’m sure,
going by
her record
with her
notes. But
I’ll see
if I
can get hold
of your
father. I
haven’t had
the pleasure
of meeting
him yet,
I don’t
think, but
hopefully he’ll
see sense
and punish
you in some other
way.” “But
you did
meet my
father!” protested
Harriet. “Remember,
it was
last year,
after a
school concert.
You thought
he was
my grandfather, and
said how
nice it was to
see grandparents
at school
events.” Mrs Box
looked thoughtful
a moment,
then embarrassed, then sharpened
her eyes
and flared
her nostrils
in resolution.
“Nevertheless, I
will see
if I
can speak to
him. You
will have
a detention
after school
tomorrow, and
I’ve also
made an
appointment for
you with
the careers
counsellor for
tomorrow lunch-time
since you
didn’t go
to the exhibition. You
will report
to Mrs
Parkhead at
the beginning
of lunch
tomorrow. Do
you know
where her
office is?”
“Yes.” “Good. You
may leave
now. Miss
Foster!” she
shrieked in
her usual
way.
“Miss
Foster!”
Miss Foster
opened the
door, let
Harriet out,
and closed
it without
saying a
word to
Mrs Box.
She did
however smile
in great
sympathy at
Harriet, who
nevertheless walked out
none the
worse for
her encounter.
She actually
saw a
great advantage
in it.
There were
still twenty-five minutes
of Sport
left, and
she could
very easily
get out
of them. She
smiled to
herself, and
made her
way to
the library.
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