"The sequel EBD might have written."

IMPORTANT NOTICE

Many of you have already discovered, to your disappointment, that all copies of Heather Paisley's Chalet School sequel, New Beginnings at the Chalet School, have been sold. As they have gone to collectors, the chance of finding a copy on the second-hand market is very remote. FOCS are not planning to reprint the book at present but, if there is enough interest to make it financially viable, we would be prepared to do so.

If you would like to register interest in a possible reprint, please contact Betula O'Neill, by email to topsyturvy@blueyonder.co.uk.

Many fans have wished for more Chalet School stories, some have predicted the future of the school, but few have actually written about what happened next. Heather Paisley has done so, capturing EBD's style exactly, and writing the story which Elinor might have written.  "I have to say that, when Heather sent in her first draft of this book, and Ann said we must publish it, I was reluctant - very reluctant, in fact, as I am not at all fond of "future" stories - ie those set after Prefects. Since the May newsletter, I have worked very closely with New Beginnings and have read it no less than four times in not many more weeks. "First of all, I read it for pleasure. I found it as moving as Highland Twins and I wept buckets. Then I read it, looking for EBDisms, spelling mistakes, etc. I wept again. The third time was to check it after John Baxter and Sue Rodgers had proof read the typescript.   As I found the odd further EBDism and inserted yet more commas, I wept again. Finally, I read the printers' proofs. This was on a Sunday morning and afternoon,when I was tired and it was, to be honest, the last job I wanted to do. This was just for a final check - I would not be moved this time.

"When I rang Heather with a couple of final queries, I had, once again, wept. As a genre, I still don't like "futures", but Heather has achieved something very rare - she has written a book which Elinor Brent-Dyer really might have written. There is the obligatory new girl whose difficulties are solved in the end, there is Len's fairytale wedding and there is - no, I am not revealing any more.   You will have to read it for yourself." Clarissa Cridland

Here is an extract, taken from Chapters Nine and Ten

Down in the Thirds' common room, later that day, the girls rested after Mittagessen as was the rule.  Marjorie Graves sat with her feet upon the radiator, which was strictly forbidden.  Her little playmates were congregated around her in various attitudes, as Marjorie sounded off about the tediousness of the Prefects.  She had been caught by Renata that very morning, speaking English on a French day and slang to boot.  Renata had, as could be expected, dealt with her faithfully and Marjoriewas dismally aware that pocket money would be a closed book to her forthe rest of the week, as all she had left was just enough for church collection.  To add insult to injury, Matey had sought her out not a moment later torend her for the state of her cubicle and her belongings therein, so inaddition to the fine, she faced spending the Saturday evening hemming a sheet 'sides to middle' in Matron's room, instead of enjoying country dancing, or whatever the girls decided to do.

Therefore, Marjorie felt herself to be rather hard done by and determined to do something about it.  She had all the makings of being a firebrand and was only just prevented from this by strict attention and care from her mother, herself an Old Girl and former Games Mistress at the School.

"These prees are completely insufferable," she advised her friends. "The way they go on, you'd think that they had always been such good little girls and that we were the first ones ever to do anything that wasn't accordingto Cocker."

Susan Benham gurgled with laughter. "Not likely!  Why Jack Lambert herself was one of the naughtiest there was!  Do you remember that time she climbed out of an upstairs window to rescue Minette?"

"Yes," Marjorie jumped on this with glee, "and what about the time that she and Jane Carew had a stand up fight about Ferry's car?  Not a good girl at all."

Felicity Maynard, sitting nearby with her close friends Lucy Peters and Jean Morrison, overheard this and stood up for her mentor, as could be expected. "You wouldn't expect Jack to leave Minette out to freeze to death, would you?" she exclaimed hotly, "Jack's a decent sort!"

"OK, OK," Marjorie calmed her, "keep your wool on!  We didn't meanJack wasn't decent, just that they have all got a bit holier than thou and forgotten what it is like to be a Middle.  I say" she added to her chums in a conspiratorial tone, "that's a good idea!"

"What  is?" they all clamoured.

"Hush, dummies," Marjorie retorted rudely, "you'll have someone down on us if you're so noisy." She laughed, as they all glared at her.

"Don't look so fierce - the wind'll change and you'll stay like that! My idea is quite simple - they seem to have forgotten all about their less than perfect pasts, what say we remind them?"

"What on earth do you mean?" queried Louette van Buren - no relation to Renata, but the daughter of an Old Girl -  "If you expect me to march up to one of the prees and tell her she's not as good as she shouldbe, you must be crackers!"

"No, of course not.  What I was thinking was this.  Most of us know lots of the pranks and stuff that they all got up to when they were our age, and some of us have relatives that were Old Girls. What say we find out as much as we can, then write it all up onto piecesof paper and stick it all up somewhere - Hall or something."

"Not Hall," said Susan quickly, shaking her head so that her dark curls flew, "the Head will see it there and I'd rather be excused a scarifying from her, if you don't mind.  I'm quite attached to my skin!"

Marjorie was not daunted. "Well, what about getting up at midnight and creeping in to the Prefects room and doing it there?  That way only the prees will see it and hopefully they'll learn a lesson."

So it was agreed and the little girls went off to find out - discreetly - what they could.  Meta Gordon, not having any Old Girl relations,was despatched to the Library as soon as she could manage it, to look up a certain volume called Legends which faithfully recorded many episodes from the long history of the School.

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The Middles were completing their arrangements. With an effort worthy of a better cause, they had considered, researched, collated and edited as many stories and pranks as they could manage about those unsuspecting young damsels, the Prefects. A large proportion of the Prefects had been at the School for many years, so what with their own memories and also those of some of their relatives, from whom they made discreet - or what they considered to be discreet - enquiries, the Middles were not "shortfor choice" as Marjorie Graves put it to her partners in crime when they were discussing the collection.

Unfortunately for them however, their enquiries to their various mothers, cousins and, in Felicity's case, sisters, were not as subtle as they imagined. Len came up with one or two innocuous stories by way of camouflage, butwas instantly agog to know what the Middles were up to. Not that she told Felicity that she had guessed, however.  After comparing notes with sundry others, who seemed to her likely candidates, she realised that the enquiries were centred on the Prefects.

That evening, ensconced in the Staffroom, sipping her coffee, she announced casually, "Well, I know the Middles' latest. Anybody else as clued up as me?"

The Staff as a body stared at her. Nancy Wilmot, who happened to be passing, having just collected her coffee, stopped and placed her hand on Len's forehead, an expression of carefully feigned concern on her face.

"No temperature," she murmured, shaking her head sorrowfully. "Can't be a fever. Must be cracking up under the stress. So sad, in one so young."

Still shaking her head, she went back to her seat. Len laughed.  "I can't help it if I'm more up to date with the happenings than you, now can I?  Must be the benefit of my younger, more agile brain!"

There were gasps of outrage at this and various exclamations from the Staff. Over them all, Mlle made herself heard, saying, "Mais chérie - think of the wealth of experience we have to make up for our decrepit state!"

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