The clock on the wall of the Mission Hall said half-past-three, and I yawned discreetly into my screwed-up handkerchief, wondering just how much longer it would be before the Sunday school reading was over.

We weren’t struck on Sunday school, Charlie, Lizzie, and I. Most days we racketed around our East London street, playing tag around the costers’ barrows, chucking stones at the wheels of passing carts, drawing on the pavement with coloured chalks, but on Sundays, Ma made us put on our carefully mended best, and sent us to sit meekly in the Mission Hall, where old Mr. Nichols fulminated about hellfire and damnation and fornication – whatever that was – and we found it dreadfully, dreadfully dull.

This Sunday, however, was going to be different. The Lesson was over, and the last wails of the harmonium were dying away, when the Superintendent, Mr. Nichols – Old Nick, we used to call him – jowls pendulous over a high white collar, paper in hand, stepped on to the platform. The whole hall went quiet.

“I have here,” he said, waving the paper importantly, “the names for the outing.”
Sitting in the back row with the older girls, I fidgeted anxiously – for I was far from a favourite of the Superintendent’s – and the stern look he sent round the bare wooden room did nothing to reassure me. Day dreaming and books, they were my downfall, whereas Old Nick was always trying to impress upon us that only the Good Book was worth reading, and all other literature far better left alone. Carefully avoiding his gaze, I looked over to where my sister, Lizzie, and her twin brother, Charlie, were sitting with the smaller children. They peeped round at me and I tried to smile back reassuringly.

The Superintendent ran through the list of names and then, with a thrill of pleasure, I heard ours called, “…Charles Brown, Lizzie Brown…,” and, finally, “…Jane Brown.”

I gave a tiny gasp of relief, hardly able to believe we all three had been chosen to go. In those days, just before the First World War, holidays were only for the wealthy. Our Ma, a dock labourer’s widow, had never had one in her whole life, and neither could she afford one for us. That’s why the outing provided by the Sunday school was an experience to be looked forward to from one summer to the next.

I didn’t hear the rest of what Old Nick said – my head was so full of the thought of getting away for a whole day from our drab London street and out into the sunny green fields and hedgerows full of wild flowers. Lost in my private dream, I hardly noticed the excited chatter of the other boys and girls as we trooped out into the late June sunshine.

Lizzie, always the energetic one, skipped ahead, while our brother Charlie, wan and rickety, limped along gamely behind her. Both were determined to be the first to get home and tell Ma the great news. I dawdled behind, savouring the delicious anticipation of the next Saturday, the day of the outing.

We reached home and clattered down into the basement in the tenement where we lived. The basement was dark and airless, and always smelled faintly of Windsor soap and drying linen because of the washing Ma took in to make ends meet. Ma always tried to make our home a welcoming place, and this Sunday was no exception: the tea things laid out on a spotless cloth, and the small cake she had baked that afternoon in the place of honour.

As she poured tea, she listened happily as we told her our wonderful news, but she warned us to keep our high spirits in check, in case chance or the weather chose to take a hand and disappoint us.

Lizzie gabbled excitedly about the games and races to be run in Harpers Field, where the outing was to take place, about the goodies there would be to eat – “Cakes and lemonade, and as much ice cream as you want!” – and about the Punch and Judy show which had been promised, while Charlie, his eyes shining with admiration for his robust, chatterbox sister, beamed wordlessly at her side, nodding his head rapidly in agreement. I was lost in my own thoughts, remembering what my friend Jessie next door had said when she came back from the outing last year.“There were wild roses, thousands of them! And we picked ’em… and nobody stopped us!”

“I don’t believe you,” I said, incredulous, but Jessie said, “Cross my heart.”

The thought of those flowers – which I imagined to be as bright and colourful as those painted on the coster’s barrows – had impressed itself indelibly, for I had never in my whole life picked or even seen a wild rose.

As soon as tea was over, we could not wait to begin our preparations, even though the outing was still days away. Lizzie, as usual, had worn the soles of her boots right through, so Ma said she would have to wear mine, while Ma, who had a surprisingly small foot, promised to lend me a pair of her own. She could wear her slippers for just that one day, she said. Charlie’s Norfolk suit was shabby and fast becoming too small, but Ma worked late into the evening letting out seams and performing sewing miracles, and with a little brushing and pressing made the suit as good as new.

I spent the rest of the evening trimming my old straw hat with a new pink ribbon, happy to think that, top and toe, I would look smart…if not in between.

The days to Saturday seemed incredibly long. On Friday we all came home at noon, tucked into our midday dinners, and we were getting ready to go back to school when Ma, who was clearing away the dishes, remembered something.

“Janey. Listen now. You and Lizzie must take Mrs. Nichols’ washing over after school today. You won’t be here to do it tomorrow.” Ma did the laundry for the Superintendent’s wife and was paid a small weekly sum for it.

Lizzie, who was planning to play hopscotch after school, grumbled and pouted, and Ma spoke more briskly.

“Now, Lizzie, none of those faces. You know she likes her clean linen for the weekend. You and Jane must take it as soon as you come home from school. Don’t forget. And mind you hurry home,

Jane,” she added, knowing my habit of dawdling and window gazing.

I found it hard to concentrate during the long sleepy school afternoon. My thoughts wandered far from my books, and the end of lessons found me with only half my exercises done. Miss Price, cross at my inattention, made me stop behind for a quarter of an hour while she vainly tried to explain the principles of English grammar. But at last I was free to go and, with a belated recollection of Ma’s errand, I ran all the way home.

“Oh, Jane, how late you are,” Ma said quite crossly when at last I arrived hot and breathless, “I thought you were never coming. I’ve had to send the twins on with the basket, and it’s much too heavy for them. Run along, for goodness sake, and catch them up before they get to the top.”

Crestfallen, I raced off and in a few minutes caught sight of the twins struggling up the hill under the weight of the big basket. Charlie, his frail wrists giving way under the strain, was letting down his end of the load, while Lizzie’s grip seemed to none too secure. In this precarious way they reached the main road at the top of the hill before I could catch them. There they stopped, both gaping at the novelty of a motor carriage, which was chugging citywards, hooting importantly, causing horses to shy, and scattering nervous pedestrians.

Suddenly, I saw Lizzie correct herself with a jerk and start to cross the road.

Wait for me,” squeaked Charlie, his voice high with alarm.

“Don’t let go,” I shrieked, shutting my eyes tight for fear of what was certain to happen next.

But it was too late. When I dared to look again, the basket was upside down and the washing lay in the road like unseasonable snow.

Lizzie, completely losing her head, bolted across to the other side, dragging the upturned basket with her. I grabbed Charlie and kept him by my side until the traffic had rattled past. We stood there, looking with dismay at a long-tailed shirt that was spread out in the middle of the road, when a heavy dray with great iron-shod wheels lumbered up out of nowhere and ironed the shirt more thoroughly than Ma had ever done.

When the dray had passed by, we picked up the washing and the shirt – now embossed with gravel and punctured by small holes – and I tried frantically to think what to do next. In my mind’s eye, I could see Ma’s horror if we went home and told her: the weekly washing money meant a lot to her and she could not afford to lose that income. On the other hand, the thought of facing the Superintendent or his equally formidable wife terrified me, yet there seemed no alternative.

“Stop making that noise,” I said to Lizzie, who had burst into noisy wails. “We are going to explain to Mrs. Nick that it was an accident.”

The three of us, a very subdued troupe, Lizzie and I now holding the basket, made our way anxiously to the Nichol’s comfortable villa, which stood at a little distance. The tradesman’s door opened immediately to my timid knock and I was relieved to see only Polly, the Nichols’ maid of all work.

“The Lord have mercy on us,” she exclaimed, holding up her hands in horror, when I showed her the ruined shirt, “Goodness knows what Master will say when he sees that. You better wait here... let me speak to him first.”

I didn’t like this one bit: explaining to Mrs. Nick would be difficult enough, but from Old Nick I knew that we could expect no mercy.

Polly went away. In a few minutes she returned and shepherded us down a gleaming passageway to a dark oak door inside the house.

“Master’s in there. Knock first, mind…and speak only if spoken to.”

I tapped nervously. Old Nick’s gravelly voice bade us come in. He spoke with the irritability of a man roused from his afternoon’s nap.

“I had hoped not to be disturbed…but that of course was too much to expect. What’s this about a shirt?”

“Please, Sir,” I said, pulling the damaged garment from the top of the basket and timidly holding it up, “Lizzie never meant to do it, Sir. It was an accident. You see, Charlie’s lame and can’t run, Sir, and there was a motor carriage and then….”

I heard my voice running on, unhappy, unheeded, while Old Nick took the shirt and examined it with growing annoyance. He turned to Lizzie – whose guilty expression probably made him think she alone was to blame:

“Do you know how much a fine shirt like this costs at a draper’s, Lizzie Brown?”

“No, Sir,” whispered Lizzie.

“I will tell you, child. It costs a good half-crown!”

His eyes bored into Lizzie. She whimpered. He pushed his face close to hers.

“And do you know how much it will cost the Sunday school to take each one of you to the outing?”

“Yes, Sir…” mumbled Lizzie, “…my Ma told me: it costs half a crown.”

He snorted. “And your mother cannot afford to pay for the shirt, can she?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well then…you, Lizzie Brown,” – he puffed up – you must atone for your actions. Your brother can hardly be held to blame...”

At this, Charlie began to cry.

“When the others go on the outing tomorrow, Lizzie Brown, you will remain behind…and I shall make a point of deducting the amount from the School Outing Fund.” He nodded once. “Now be off, all of you.”

There was nothing we could say. Why Lizzie alone should be punished in such a heartless way was beyond my understanding – although, looking back, I think Old Nick, within his narrow creed, thought he was being fair and just: the Nichols had no children of their own (something to do with abstinence from fornication, I think) and Old Nick’s view of children were that they were there to listen and behave as the Good Book (and he) dictated. In utter dejection we left the Nichol’s villa and traipsed homewards.

Ma didn’t say much when we told her what had happened, just gave us our supper and put the twins to bed. I think she saw that we had had as much as we could bear, knowing how much the outing meant to us.

“I am afraid you’ll have to go by yourself tomorrow, Jane,” she said when she came downstairs, “because if Lizzie doesn’t go tomorrow, Charlie won’t want to go either.”
There was only the gentlest hint of rebuke in her words, but they made me feel deeply miserable. I never could bear Ma to be cross with me.

I went up to the bedroom I shared with Lizzie and listlessly laid out my clothes for the morning. In the candlelight I could see tears glistening on Lizzie’s plump cheeks, and I got into bed beside her and put my arms around her. I blamed myself entirely for what had happened. For the first time in my life I realized how my childish day-dreaming could not only open the door into the exciting world of fantasy but could also, like a puckish Will o’ the Wisp, beckon me and those I loved into hurt and danger.

I racked my brain to discover some way of making up to Lizzie for her crushing disappointment, but nothing came, and I fell at last into a troubled sleep, only to awake at first light.

I lay there quietly for a few moments, with Lizzie sound asleep by my side, then I got out and crept to the window. I could see at once by the clear golden light over the shadowed street that it was going to be a glorious day for the outing.

But I knew I couldn’t do it – could not dress myself and go off to the outing and see two disappointed little faces looking longingly after me, when I knew in my heart that I had been the cause of the whole disaster.

An idea came suddenly to me. Quietly, I slipped downstairs to where Ma was laying wood and paper in the range in readiness for cooking the breakfast. I put my finger to my lips, warning to her not to wake the others.

“Ma,” I said quietly, “Will it matter if Lizzie goes to the outing in my place?”

She considered for a moment, and then looked at me with the ghost of a twinkle in her eye. “I can’t see it’ll make much difference, but don’t let Mrs. Nick see you.”

I gave Ma a squeeze, then scampered upstairs and shook Lizzie awake.

“Come along, Liz. Get yourself washed and dressed. Hurry! You are going on the outing.”

Meanwhile, Ma had woken Charlie and was telling him to get dressed too.

Soon we had the children downstairs at the table for their breakfast and then, with only minutes to spare, they went off waving goodbye to Ma, with me behind them to see them safely off.

Outside the Mission Hall, we could see Mrs. Nick, her back towards us, speaking to the slow-witted driver of the Sunday school brake. Old Nick himself was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected: he always left the outing arrangements to his wife.

“Quick, nippers,” I urged them, “Hop in before Mrs. Nick sees you!” They ran to the brake and scrambled in with the other laughing children. Mrs. Nichols turned, made a quick count of heads, then, satisfied that everyone was safely aboard, got in herself. The driver flicked his reins, and the brake moved off, slowly at first, then at a smarter pace, until finally it was lost to sight.

The warm feeling that I had managed to put things right for Lizzie was still with me as I turned to go home, but as I did so I collided with someone standing behind me. My startled gaze, travelling upwards, met that of the Superintendent, travelling downwards, and for a moment we stared at each other, dumb with surprise.

Then he said: “Why aren’t you in the brake, Jane Brown? Don’t tell me you were late, again?”

I summoned my courage. “No, Sir,” I said, “Lizzie has gone in my stead.”

“What!” he exclaimed, flushing angrily, “She cannot go, I have forbidden it. I will not allow it. She must be brought back…she must be brought back at once!”

He stood there spluttering, yet knowing he was defeated, and suddenly I saw him with new eyes, a solitary old man, jealous of his position at the Sunday school because it was the only power he had. I felt sorry for him.

“Lizzie’s only a little girl, and it was such a big disappointment,” I said. “She is going to have a wonderful day, a day she will remember for the rest of her life. If you had had a little girl, you would understand.”

His eyes widened with surprise and a most curious look crossed his features. For a moment I thought he was going to cry. Then he humped his shoulders, turned on his heel, and went off without another word.

And I, in my careless way, as I ran up the road to home, I never gave him another thought, only thinking of the bliss on the faces of the two children in the departing brake.

“Goodbye, Sis,” said Lizzie’s just before she got into the brake, “I’ll be thinking of you all day. And tonight, when I come home, I’ll bring you a bunch of wild roses.”