To order your copy of The School on North Barrule see our online shop, visit our Edinburgh bookshop or one of our Stockists.

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“I DO wish,” said Voirrey, from the depths of the old armchair, “that you wouldn’t have the wireless on so loudly, Andy.” She had to raise her voice above the noise of the brass band. “I feel awfully dismal tonight, and I always think that brass bands are cheerless things.”

“They’re supposed to be cheerful!” her brother shouted back, from his position by the window. But he took his hands out of his pockets and lounged across to turn off the offending music. He then returned to the window, where he stood staring out into the April dusk. The chimneys and roof-tops of the North London suburb were outlined against a clear, darkening sky.

“Why do you feel dismal?” he asked presently, and Voirrey said:

“Oh, I don’t really know. You’re restless yourself. Something’s been worrying Mother during the last few days; you know that as well as I do. Where can she be, do you think? I wish she’d come home!”

“I told you — she was just going out as I came in from the park. She said she had some long-distance telephone calls to make.”

“It’s taking her a long time. Mother doesn’t usually make long-distance calls,” said Voirrey, stirring restlessly.

“What are you reading?” asked Andreas, more from the need to say something than from any real curiosity. “Oh, your blessed Manx scrapbook! Aren’t you tired of it yet?

“No, and I never shall be,” said Voirrey. “But I haven’t been reading for some time; I can’t see in this light. I was thinking about the Island and imagining that I was sitting on Spanish Head, with the sun shining and all the gorse in flower. You know, Andy, I almost don’t believe that the Island is a real place.”

“Don’t be an ass! You know it is!”

“Oh, yes, but I can’t really believe it. I know we’re Manx, though we’ve never set foot on Manx soil, and Father lived there till he married Mother, and we’ve got the large scale map and know all about everywhere, but I can’t imagine ever going there. It’s lovely, though, to imagine that I’m on the cliffs in the spring, or standing on the summit of Snaefell, seeing England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales, or on Maughold Head in a gale.” Voirrey’s face was dreamy.

It was true that she, much more than Andreas, knew “all about everywhere” on the island they had never seen. The year their father had died, when Andreas had been ten and Voirrey eleven, he had planned to take them there at last; ever since they had been old enough to understand he had told them endless stories and legends and had even taught them a little of the Manx language. But Andreas Quilliam had died suddenly, and, during the two years that had passed since then, there had not been much money for holidays, especially in so distant a place as the Isle of Man.

Voirrey had continued to think of the Island, and whenever she was miserable and things were unsettled, as they seemed to be at the moment, she would get out the scrapbook her father had compiled and turn the thick pages, reading the cuttings and looking at the familiar pictures. There were Manx quotations in the book and strange eerie Manx legends and stories. There were exciting accounts of the famous Manx Tourist Trophy motor-cycle races, and a good deal of the poetry of the great Manx poet, T. E. Brown.

“Do you suppose that Mother is worried about money?” asked Voirrey at last, breaking a long silence.

“I don’t see why — any more than usual,” said Andreas, who was decidedly the more practical of the two. “She’s got a good job, and she had a rise only three weeks ago. You know how jolly thrilled she was!”

“Then I don’t know what it can be, but there’s something,” said Voirrey, with a gusty sigh. It was true that Mrs. Quilliam had not been herself during the past few days. She had written a good many letters and had been vague and absent-minded.

At that moment the door opened and a voice cried cheerfully:

“Good gracious! Why are you both in the dark? Brrr! It’s gone cold and I’m frozen!” The light flashed on and Voirrey sprang out of the armchair, tossing back her light brown hair and dropping the scrapbook on the table.

“I’ll make up the fire. Come and sit here, Mummy. We — we were feeling rather dismal.”

“Why?” Mrs. Quilliam threw aside her coat and sat down in the chair her daughter had vacated. “There’s nothing to be dismal about. In fact there’s every reason to be extremely thrilled. Just wait till I tell you both my news!”

“Is it good news, then?” Voirrey asked in astonishment, putting on a reckless amount of coal.

“Of course it is. Did you think something awful was happening? But I didn’t want to tell you till it was more or less fixed up. Sit down on the stool here by me and listen.”

Andreas drew the curtains and sprawled on the sofa and Voirrey dropped at her mother’s feet.

“Please tell us. We knew something was happening. Have we inherited a fortune?”

“Nothing like that, though I think you may feel that this is just as good. I don’t quite know where to start,” and Mrs. Quilliam looked from her daughter to her son. All three were very much alike, with the same bright brown hair and very dark blue eyes. She went on slowly, “I know how much you have both always wanted to see the Isle of Man — especially Voirrey.”

Voirrey jerked upright, her face suddenly tense.

“Mother! We’re not going? For an Easter holiday?” For the High and Grammar Schools which she and Andreas attended had broken up on the previous day.

“No, not for a holiday — for much longer than that.” Voirrey sat very still, suddenly conscious that she could hardly breathe. Go to the island that had never seemed real! Go for longer than a holiday! It was unbelievable.

“Are we going to live there?” Her voice cracked oddly and Andreas merely stared in silence.

“Well, you are. You and Andreas. You see — you remember my aunt, Mrs. Elizabeth Rigby? Aunt Beth. You’ve heard about her, though you’ve never seen her.”

“The rich one?” asked Andreas unexpectedly.

“Yes, the rich one. Well, I never expected that she would do anything for us; in the first place there was really no reason why she should, and in the second I have always thought her rather mean. She likes to spend money on certain things that interest her, but — oh, well, anyway, I was quite wrong, because she has suddenly decided to pay for your education.”

“But we don’t need it paying for,” said Voirrey, hopelessly bewildered. “We — we passed for the High School and the Grammar School. I don’t understand.”

“What’s the old girl going to do?” asked Andreas irreverently.

His mother frowned at him, but went on:

“It seems she was staying in an hotel last Christmas and there she met a Mrs. Stanley-Caine — a real Manx name, Voirrey! — who helps her husband to run a co-educational boarding-school in the Isle of Man. The school is called Barrule House and has an excellent reputation, I believe. It sounds a most wonderful place, and—”

Voirrey was still staring blankly, her thin little face very pale, and it was Andreas who broke the silence.

“But, Mother — she isn’t going to send us there? Co-educational, did you say? A lot of girls as well as boys? I’d sooner stay at the Grammar School! I’d like to see the Island some day, but as for this Barrule House — no, thanks!”

Mrs. Quilliam said quickly:

“Andreas, don’t be silly! The Grammar School is all right, but it’s a very ordinary place. I always wished I could do better for you, and I have always approved of co-education. At Barrule House they have specialists in everything — a really brilliant staff. And, what’s more, you’ll be in the place where you belong. When all’s said and done, you’re a Manxman. And I believe there are many Manx children in the school.”

“But, Mother,” began Voirrey, her voice still sounding very odd, “is it all arranged?”

“Pretty well. I’ve telephoned Aunt Beth and the school tonight.”

“Telephoned the Island?” That seemed very amazing to Voirrey.

“Yes, you goose. It isn’t such an incredibly far place. People telephone to America and heaven knows where else every day. The Stanley-Caines can take you both for the summer term, which starts on April 23rd, so, provided that I can have you ready, there should be no difficulty. You are to meet one or two members of the staff and some of the boys and girls in Liverpool in time for the boat.” She looked at them with understanding. “I know it’s a tremendous shock to think of going away to boarding-school and to the Island, but a pleasant shock, I hope. And I hope, too, that by the end of July you’ll both be healthy and sunburnt from long hours spent out of doors, and not much too pale and thin, as you are at present.”

Andreas continued to look both horrified and rebellious, but Voirrey, struggling with unbelief, incredulous joy and apprehension at the thought of boarding-school, felt as though she must be dreaming. The very name Barrule meant much to her. There were two mountains called North and South Barrule; she had heard of them often and seen them on the map.

“You haven’t told us where the school is,” she faltered, and her mother said slowly:

“It’s on the slopes of North Barrule, Voirrey, high on the Mountain Road, a few miles from Ramsey.”

Voirrey reached for the scrapbook and turned the pages rapidly. In silence she displayed a big photograph, which took up nearly the whole of a page. It had always been one of her favourites. In the foreground was a stretch of bare mountainside, in one place tapering to a long, outjutting hill, Sky Hill. Beyond it the whole of the North of Man lay outspread, flat under the great white clouds and curving a little to Point of Ayre in the east far away. There was just a glimpse of the town of Ramsey in the south-east corner of the picture, but it was the bareness, the clouds and the almost aerial view of the North that Voirrey loved.

“ ‘View from the Mountain Road,’ ” she read, though she had no need to read the words. “Oh, Mummy, it can’t be true! I’ll be afraid of the school, I think. I never, never thought I’d go to boarding-school. But it sounds wonderful! I believe I’ll wake up and find it was all a dream.”

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To order your copy of The School on North Barrule see our online shop, visit our Edinburgh bookshop or one of our Stockists.