15May2025
Today I thought back to my years at StCuthberts Primary, where a quiet orphan girl named Blythe Hart lived with her very elderly, devout grandmother. Every Sunday the two of them would walk past my house to the little Anglican church, both thin and fragile, wrapped in white kerchiefs. Rumour had it that her grandmother forbade her from watching television, eating sweets, or laughing out loud, fearing the devil would slip in, and she made her wash with icy water every morning.
We used to tease Blythe. She would stare at us with a dull, adultlike gaze and mutter, Lord, have mercy on them; they know not what they do. No one befriended her; the older pupils called her mad and whispered names like Lina or Angelina, though those werent her real ones.
Back then the school canteen food was unappetising, except on Fridays when we got a hot chocolate with a biscuit or a sausage roll with a small chocolate bar. One Friday, after someone gave Blythe a hard shove, she crashed into me, toppling a tray of cups full of hot chocolate. The chocolate river spilled over two sixthformers.
Oi! they shouted.
Run! I shouted, grabbing Blythes hand and pulling her toward our classroom. In my mind I imagined a band of rough boys chasing us like a herd of wild boars, and the two lessons that followed were maths. Through the glass door two tall silhouettes lingered; occasionally the door cracked open and two heads peered in, then disappeared with a soft rustle. I sensed that we were about to face some sort of enquiry, trial and punishment.
Ill slip out unnoticed, then well head up to the attic and wait till dark before making a dash home, I whispered.
No, Blythe replied, lets go the proper way, like proper girls. Quiet and respectable.
But Blythe, theyll
What? Theyll pour yoghurt on our heads? Beat the younger girls?
Even if they do, itll be only once. If you dont go, youll live in fear every day.
We left the room with the rest of the class, as any girls shoulddemurely. Two sixthformers leaned against the wall.
Hey, little ones, lost something? one asked, holding my wallet with a cartoon Mickey Mouse and five pounds meant for the swimming pool fee and art class.
Here you go, he said, slipping the wallet into my hand, and dont run off again.
Walking home, I swung my satchel and thought how lucky I was that everything had turned out alright, and how grateful I was for my new friend.
Shall I call my mum? She can ring your granny, get you out of school, and we can watch cartoons at my place. Is that OK?
Blythe rolled her eyes.
Lets go, and well take the waffles with condensed milk that my grandma baked today.
We stayed close for many years, until life carried us off to opposite sides of the world. Yet I still remember that one moment. Jumping from the high dive into the blue pool was terrifying, but it was only terrifying once. Trying something new is scary, too. What if people call me a fool? They might say it once, but I will remind myself every day that fear only needs to be faced once.
You either conquer fear in a single leap, or it haunts you forever. The choice is yours.
Lesson: bravery is a decision made the moment you step forward, not a feeling that has to linger.
