02 Jo of the Chalet School by Elinor Brent-Dyer Page A

grace was said, and they were dismissed to amuse themselves until a quarter to two.
    At half-past two punctually Mr Denny came, and the whole school was assembled at the piano, Miss Bettany appeared, and following her was one of the weirdest creatures the girls had ever seen. He was tall and gaunt, with long brown hair falling wildly into his eyes and on to the wide collar of his shirt. His suit was of brown velveteen, and he wore an enormous brown bow at his open shirt-throat. There was something untamed about him, and his vivid pink-and-white skin added to his unusual looks.
    ‘These are my girls,’ said Miss Bettany with a very grave face. ‘Girls, this is Mr Denny. Please sing your best for him.’
    Then she turned and left the room abruptly, and Mr Denny and the school faced each other. ‘Will you sit down?’ he said in a deep musical voice.

    They sat down and waited to hear what he had to say. He put an arm on the music-stand that had been set on the dais for him, and surveyed them solemnly. ‘Years ago,’ he began, ‘in the time of the Greeks, music was considered to be one of the necessary foundations of a good education. Read Plato’s Republic , and you will see that it is so.’
    The school gazed at him wide-eyed. To many of them Plato was a mere name, and the rest had never heard of him before. None of them felt inclined to take Mr Denny’s advice and read his Republic . The lecturer beamed at them, unwitting of this.
    Then he went on. ‘Nowadays, music is not so regarded. In many schools it is taken as an “extra.” Music!
    The gift of the gods to this earth!’
    ‘Quite mad!’ murmured Joey to her next-door neighbour, Simone. Then she stopped, for Mademoiselle was regarding her with a baleful glare.
    ‘Fortunately for you girls, your mistress knows better. A lover herself of good music – I do not speak of the appalling amount of syncopated trash that is no flooding the world! – she has resolved to see that your knowledge of the heavenly art shall be a full one. She is right – very right!’
    ‘More than he is!’ decided Grizel. ‘He looks absolutely touched!’
    The lecturer was concluded his remarks. ‘I am here to act, not as a teacher – I, who am only a learner myself, would nor presume to that rank! No! But, as a guide , I will do my best for you. Will you all please stand and sing to me?’
    The school rose to its feet, vaguely wondering what it was to sing. Mademoiselle promptly settled that question by playing the opening bars of ‘Where’er You Walk,’ which had been one of their last term’s songs. Those who knew it sang with all their might, and Mr Denny listened with a beaming face.
    ‘Excellent!’ he said, when it was over. ‘But now we will sing a song we cal all learn. Will you, little maiden, distribute these to your compeers?’
    He held out a sheaf of songs to the Robin, who took them and then gazed wonderingly at him. She didn’t understand him in the least. Luckily, Joey held out her hand for a few and passed them along, so the school baby guessed what he wanted and gave out the rest in her usual composed little way.
    The girls looked at their copies eagerly. They were a setting of Henry Maughan’s ‘Song of St Francis’ : There was a Knight of Bethlehem
    Whose wealth was tears and sorrows;
    His men-at-arms were little lambs,
    His trumpeters were sparrows.
    His castle was wooden Cross
    One which he hung so high;
    His Helmet was a crown of thorns
    Whose crest did touch the sky.
    It was new to all of them – even Joey had never seen it before. Mr Denny gave them a minute or two to look at it; then he tapped on the stand with his baton.
    ‘If Mademoiselle will be so kind as to give us the keynote, we will begin.’
    Mademoiselle meekly sounded the note, and the school made an effort at humming the air. It was easy to read, and they did it well. Once they had got the notes, there were switched on to the words. Finally, Mr Denny made them sit down, and sang