Having bored myself rigid with the scene in the railway station and feeling like I was pulling teeth - even with the return to the cliche part where our main character gets dressed and I revel in the boy/girl clash (the original story of my own that I'm ripping off is named oh-so-originally Boy to Girl in case it wasn't obvious) - I decided I would skip ahead. I've been watching some video essays and Harry Potter kept being referenced and so, with that in mind and with my main character on a train, I thought I might use the journey to try and get some other characters in the narrative. Still no real plot here but at least I have a conversation. It's clearly first draft territory though - you'll see that for yourself - but at least I have a name for my main character now. The other character is the only name I remember from the original (not the surname, not sure she had a surname back then), as is her character design but description of her here is deliberately sparse because my MC isn't analysing her looks as they analysed their own back in their room and I wanted that to be a Thing. Mind you, maybe being sparse is a bad choice.
First draft. Just keep repeating that mantra and maybe I won't hate it as much! Here's the noodling from tonight:
“Are you going to Leeds too?”
I was a bit startled, having been
enjoying the view across the rugged landscape and chalking up yet another cliché
by making the observation deliberately in my head just to do so. “Huh?”
“Leeds. Is that where you’re going?”
repeated the girl sat opposite me. She looked unnervingly similar to the girls
at my school in the face, which just added the feeling that things were off
when I took in her clothes. “I’m going to Leeds. Union camp, you know, learning
about the value of friendship or something annoying like that. They’ll probably
say something about what jobs to do. I want to do Maths.”
“Maths?” She spoke quickly, too quickly
for me to really take everything in all at once. “I mean, yeah, yeah, I’m going
to Leeds.” Also, there was a bit of a culture shock to be spoken to by a girl
without opening conversation. Not to boast but people tended not to open
conversation with me for any reason. If this were a film would it pass Bechdel’s
test?
She looked harder at me, cocking her head
like a small dog. “Are you a Colonial?”
“Pardon?” I don’t usually use that word
but the situation seemed to demand the kind of archaic confusion my grandparents
were fond of, I just removed the undercurrent of irritation that usually
accompanied their pronunciation.
“You said ‘yeah’ rather than ‘yes’. Makes
you sound like a cowboy.”
“Cowgirl.” I corrected impulsively,
feeling stupid before the last syllable left my mouth. “On account-”
She was laughing anyway, the kind of
light polite laughter that came from genuine amusement and not being threatened
by the situation. I’d heard it often enough, but never evoked it. “Well, then,
what’s your name?”
For the briefest moment I consider
telling her my actual name, the one I grew up with, but luckily the confusion
of seeing her laugh gave me pause for just long enough to realise that this was
not the time nor the place. At least, not yet. “Suzanne. Suzanne Charlton. You?”
“You talk funny. Are you sure you’re not
a Colonial?” she caught my look of utter incomprehension. “Well, I’m Harriet.
Most people call me Hattie though and Harriet sounds a bit posh if you ask me.”
“Hattie,” I repeat, anxious to catch hold
of one thread of the conversation at least. She seems nice enough.
Smiling at my repetition. “Hattie Watson.
You’re not from Carlisle are you?” Perceptive too.
Without thinking I started talking: “Lived
there seven years,” it came out almost as a defensive boast, which was not what
I was intending. “Moved from Lancashire.” I was flustered, recognising that
this was a chance at gaining a friendly ear in whatever the heck was happening,
and grabbing it with both hands. “I live in Stanwix.” Luckily this was true for
Suzanne as well as me, so I could bring things back on track. If I’d learned
nothing else by watching Quantum Leap it was that Sam had to leave those
he leaped into the way he found them so they could carry on living. I had no
intention of leaving Suzanne with a web of confusion when I left. And I felt
like I could leave at any time. Unless this was like Quantum Leap and I
had to put right what once went wrong. Hattie was talking again.
“…that’s why I ended up going to Trinity
School rather than working down in Denton Holme. My Dad reckons it’s better for
me anyway so…” she tailed off. “School or Co-op?”
For a moment I thought I’d misheard.
Also, I had no idea what she was talking about. Nor did I know. What on Earth was
a Co-op anyway? Oh well, in case of emergency: be honest. “School.”
“How fabulous! So you’re an academic as
well?”
“I mean, I guess.”
“Don’t you know?” she looked moderately
confused.
This wasn’t an easy conversation. But
then, I reflected, most conversations were filled with landmines and mistakes
to make so this was unfamiliar but no different to normal. “Oh, yeah, I do.
Just… it’s a figure of speech.”
“Lancastrian?”
In for a penny… “Yeah. I mean, yes.” Also
I had no idea what a Union camp was and that was, apparently, where I was going.
And Hattie had been nice enough to strike up a conversation. I decided to take
a risk and ask some questions of my own. “You been to one of these before?”
“No, first one. I suppose it’s the same
for you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh, good. So, what’s your favourite
subject? Mine’s Maths, and the sciences obviously.”
“Oh, History. I like the First World War.
Well, like is probably the wrong word, but it’s my favourite thing to learn
about.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“First World War? Is that like a Roman or
Saxon thing? Most of my History is all about modern stuff and nonsense.”
I was taken aback. Well, I did
think this was all a bit close to Victorian times. Either that or she was very
into Maths and not a fan of History, which would make sense, most of the
History I’d done in class was medieval and industrial era anyway so we hadn’t
actually studied the First World War, it was just what my Dad was into. “No,
1914-1918, I guess it’s a bit-”
“Oh, the Great War you mean? I’ve never
heard it called the First World War before, you make it sound like there was
another one! Or more! Gosh! Can you imagine? Oh! I bet you like reading those
science fiction books! I’m not a fan, my Mum made me read H. G. Wells once, she
really liked it, and it wasn’t as good as Anderson or the Brontës. Have you
read Wells?”
Something told me to drop the subject and
take the opportunity to talk books instead. “Read the Landships once, prefer
short stories.” I’m not completely dense, but I ignored the ‘something’. “You’ve
never heard of the Second World War? Hitler and the Germans, that sort of
thing.” In the moment, despite my huge confidence in my own abilities, I found
myself floundering and relying on half-baked memories of Commando comics and
bad TV shows. “Like Dad’s Army or ‘Allo ‘Allo?”
Hattie looked utterly confused, but
clearly decided that I wasn’t a raving lunatic and, instead, jumped to what must
have been the only logical conclusion for her to draw. “I’ve not heard of those
books, who wrote them? I’ve heard of Hitler though,” she looked thoughtful for
a moment, “Angry gadgey with a silly moustache, did something in Germany or
something?”
I didn’t think Hattie was this
ill-informed, nothing about her so far suggested it, apart from the fact that
she had blonde hair and films had long since told me that blonde girls in films
were a bit- no, that seemed unlikely. Basically, I got the distinct impression
that she really didn’t know about Hitler and that, therefore, this strange
place in which I found myself didn’t find him as noteworthy as perhaps I
thought he ought to be. “Leader of Germany, of the Nazis?”
“Yes, he went on a bit of a radge from
what I know, then he was done in. Capitalist and all that.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I’d heard that
term once or twice but honestly had no idea what it meant. “A what?”
“Oh, you know, a radge – bit angry… a
radge.”
“No, no, I know that,” I did, heard it
before: Carlisle slang. “Capitalist?”
“Well, that’s what the Soviets say about
Germany. It’s a capitalist country. Like the Colonies. My Dad reads all the
news, says I need to as well, he quizzes me on it. Says Maths is a pointless
subject with no real applications in the real world.” Her voice took on a
posher tone when she said that, I guessed she was quoting her father. “Sorry, I’m
going on a bit.”
“No, it’s cool.”
Again that look of confusion flashed over
Hattie’s face. “What?”
“It’s cool, I don’t mind.”
“Is it? I thought it was pretty decent,
actually.”
“Huh?” This was far harder work than
normal conversations. I decided that the best course of action was to play this
more carefully, say less and pay more attention. It was beginning to dawn on me
that being in the body of a girl might be the least disorienting thing
happening and, arguably, the least confusing. “Why Maths?” I grasped at
anything to keep the conversation moving. I had at least found out that it wasn’t
Victorian times: Hattie knew about the First World War, or the Great War, which
meant that had happened. Didn’t people between the wars call the First World
War the Great War?
“It’s easy. You line the numbers up,
apply the stuff and they do what they’re supposed to do. Then, if you’re not
certain, you can work backwards. Everything has a correct answer, no opinions
or guessing. You know, like in Literature Appreciation where you’ve got to say
why the author used that word or this phrase. Or Computers, where the
programming can have mistakes and you don’t realise until the end and even then
you don’t know where it is.”
I spotted the ‘Literature Appreciation’
rather than English, the use of ‘Computers’ rather than ‘Information Technology’.
However, more importantly, I totally got what she was saying about Maths. “Yeah!”
My enthusiasm wasn’t put on. “Same with languages. Like, in Latin, when you
know the verb endings it’s easier to translate and, if there’s a problem, you
can work backwards.”
“Latin?”
“Oh, yeah, I got to take it in…” I
paused, I took it in Year 8 because my school offered it but this place might
not have that. I took another stab: “Language of the Romans. I learned a bit
because I want to learn French and Spanish and Portuguese but, well, haven’t
got the time. Not yet. Latin’ll make it easier ‘cos they’re Romance languages,
based on Latin, and Portuguese is practically Latin anyway.”
“I’m not as much of a fan of languages.
Had to learn a bit of Russian, obviously, and my Dad wants me to learn some
Zulu and Xhosa.” Hattie had that look again. “Trinity doesn’t have African
languages, Dad was talking about going to Union House. God, I hope the camp
doesn’t make us do languages.”
Zulu I knew, I’ve seen the film, but the other one I wasn’t even going to try and pronounce even having heard her say it. “I know a bit of German,” I said, a little lamely. I’d always considered myself a bit of a linguist but I had never even wrapped my head around the fact that Russian had a different alphabet, let alone learned any words.