Fenella’s Caning
by James
Elsa Svenson, or Elsie Rodwell as she was known to her family, the queen of culture journalists was retiring. Her column, “A Night on the Town with Elsa Svenson”, appeared each week in The Capital Review, and was packed full of news and gossip about the London culture scene; no book launch or opening night party had been complete without Elsa, glass of red wine in one hand and cigarette in the other, passionately debating whatever the current hot topic was. Now Elsa was handing over to Fenella Fortescue-Smyth, the daughter of The Review’s owner, Lady Fortescue-Smyth. Most people thought Fenella had got the job through nepotism but Elsa, as always, had a contrary view. Elsa had a high opinion of Fenella despite, or maybe because of, a rocky start to their working relationship.
Of course there had been parties and dinners to celebrate Elsa’s retirement, but she ended her last working day by taking close colleagues for a couple of drinks at their friendly, albeit scruffy, office local. Afterwards she left the pub and went back to the deserted office to take down the pictures and memento’s that decorated her office (she had cleared her drawers and filing cabinet days ago). Sitting in her office chair for the last time, she put her feet up on the desk and thought back over the years. She mused over how seemingly chance events had driven the direction of her life.
Young Elsie Blackstock, the daughter of a labourer from Seven Sisters, was bright and determined; unusually for those days, she had gone to university and then came back to Seven Sisters to teach English Literature, rapidly becoming headmistress of the boys’ secondary school. She had cared for her boys, pushed them to achieve their potential, and didn’t tolerate bad behaviour. There was a cane in the headmistress’s study and it wasn’t there for decoration. Her career had been her life and love had come late; but she had been bowled over when love came to her. Miss Blackstock became Mrs Rodwell, the wife of a intelligent artistic young solicitor. When she left her post as Headmistress, with some sadness, the school gave her an affectionate send-off. Some wag in the Old Boys Club even had an engraved silver band fitted on her cane and she was presented with it along with more serious farewell gifts. The newly-weds set up home in Crystal Palace.
Then came the sad and tough years. Her husband of six months became ill and Elsie cared for him until he died. Now without a husband or an income, she was forced to take any job and became the secretary to the Penge magistrate’s court correction department overseeing the administrative paperwork for the corporal punishment of convicted offenders. One day the duty police officer didn’t turn up to give a punishment. Elsie stepped in; she had not lost her touch with a cane but the forgetful duty officer had lost his job!
Filling in forms and thrashing petty criminals was not how Elsie had foreseen her life to be, but she didn’t complain and just got on with it. She sustained her interest in the Arts by the occasional evening at West End theatres and sometimes a visit to the National Gallery when she had a day off. It was on one of these visits to the gallery that she made the acquaintance of Lady Fortescue-Smyth. Elsie was gazing at The Annunciation by Fra Filippo Lippi, she loved the seriousness and beauty of the Archangel and of the young Mary who was immediately ready to submit to the will of God, combined with the almost frivolous way in which God responds to Mary’s trusting acceptance by hurling a dove towards her waiting womb from a hand that is just visible at the top of the canvas. Lady Fortescue-Smyth, who Elsie had only seen at a distance sitting on the magistrates bench and had never spoken to, clapped Elsie on the back, “It’s Mrs Rodwell isn’t it? Now who would have thought the martinet of Penge Penal Institute spends her afternoons off in art galleries?” she laughed with an easy friendliness in her voice “Come and have a pot of tea with me”. They became friends and that is how Elsie Rodwell became “Elsa Svenson”: Lady Fortescue-Smyth asked Elsie to write occasional culture articles for The Capital Review and the column just took off of its own accord like a seed growing in fertile ground.
When Elsa’s feet were well and truely under the table, some years after she stopped working at the magistrates’ court, she was given her own office at The Capital Review’s building which she decorated with things that were special to her: photographs of Harry Rodwell, her family and of her old school. Somehow the cane crept into the office and hung from the picture rail just behind the door. It raised a few laughs among her colleagues.
Elsa was established and in her prime as a journalist when Lady Fortescue-Smyth asked Elsa if she would take her daughter, Fenella, under her wing as an intern cum secretary. The girls was bright but lazy and, if truth be told, a little spoilt by the attention of being a newspaper magnate’s daughter. Elsa took her task seriously: she gave Fenella simple tasks and the girl made a mess of them; she gave the girl plum assignments and told her exactly what to do and she turned in sloppy copy. Elsa, the former headmistress, soon identified that the problem was not a lack of ability but simply that Fenella was used to having her messes cleared up by somebody else.
Elsa stopped giving Fenella jobs that involved writing or thinking and treated her as a not too bright secretary. That rankled Fenella and the relationship between the two deteriorated (causing Elsa at least some discomfort because this was the daughter of her employer, patron and friend). Matters came to a head one evening when Fenella, who had been given Elsa’s review of a play at the Old Vic to type up, announced that she had lost the original draft and so had not typed it up.
Elsa had advised, reproached and complained to Fenella many times before. This time she told her exactly what she thought of her behavior and, for the first time, told her how it sickened her to see somebody so bright and privileged squander their talent and that the bright boys at her old school would give their right arms for Fenella’s opportunities. Somehow Elsa became an headmistress again; she took the cane down from the picture rail, grabbed Fenella by the collar of her jacket, bent her over the desk and pulled down her knickers. By that time the office was empty and noboby heard the six swishes, cracks and sharp gasps of pain that were followed by tears. When the tears subsided there was an awkward silence. Elsa was thinking “What on earth came over me?”. The girl broke the silence by mumbling that she was sorry and left.
The next morning Elsa came in to the office with a heavy heart, she had the spent the night reproaching herself for that flash of temper: she had no right, she was not the girl’s mother. She felt that there could no longer be a place for her at The Capital Review ‑not the end of the world, but she felt a bond with the place. Elsa was an habitual early riser and always first into the office. Not today, she was surprised to hear somebody else moving about. Fenella had “found” the missing draft and come in very early to type it up. She came into Elsa’s office and said “Good morning Elsa” and handed over the copy and, apart for apologizing for the delay, behaved as if nothing untoward had happened the evening before. Elsa waited all day a visit from Lady Fortescue-Smyth to dismiss her. When Lady Fortescue-Smyth did pop her head around the door, it was to discuss a forthcoming feature article. Elsa tried to interrupt her flow to talk about what had happened the previous evening, but failed.
In the following weeks Fenella Fortescue-Smyth was a changed girl. She became a responsible secretary and Elsa began to entrust her with little writing jobs again; Fenella was a hungry pupil devouring the knowledge and skill of her teacher. After a few months she left the internship to get a job as a journalist on another paper outside the family empire. She was away from The Capital Review for some five years; Elsa watched her mature as a writer. In fact it was Elsa who suggested Fenella take over her column when retirement beckoned.
The quiet few minutes sitting in her office chair had been enough. Elsa was just about to get up and her coat when she sensed somebody behind her. She smelt perfume and two hands gently covered her eyes and she heard Fenella’s laughter and felt a kiss on her hair. Fenella put a bottle of good quality Bordeaux on the desk, “Thought you might enjoy this when you get home” and looked up at the picture rail behind the door, she took the cane down and put it on the desk with a shy smile “Thank you for everything you did for me”.