6 down in the pool

as usual the girls settled down very quickly for the new term. the summer term was always such a lovely one. there were so many things to do—and for those who liked swimming, the magnificent pool, that lay in a great, hollow of a rock down below on the shore, was a source of the greatest delight.

those who wished could go to bathe before breakfast, and every morning, once the pool had been declared warm enough for swimming, girls ran down the steep cliff path to the swimming-pool. they wore their bathing costumes with a wrap round them.

most of the girls loved the pool. a few didn’t. those who hadn’t learnt to swim were afraid. those who didn’t like cold water hated the pool. gwen, of course, was one of these, and so was maureen.

the new french girl also hated the very idea of the pool. she went to watch the girls there once, and squealed in fright if a splash of water so much as reached her toes!

“suzanne! don’t be an idiot!” said miss potts, who happened to be in charge of the swimming that day. “if you squeal like a silly first-former i shall make you strip off your clothes and go in. i can’t think why mam’zelle doesn’t make you.”

mam’zelle, of course, never would make anyone go into the pool if they didn’t want to. she detested it herself, and so did the second french teacher, mam’zelle rougier, suzanne’s aunt. neither of them understood the craze for games and sports of all kinds that they found in english schools.

“i go back,” announced suzanne, at the next splash, and she turned to go up the sloping way to the cliff on which the school was built.

“oh no, you don’t,” said miss potts. “you stay here. even if you can’t be persuaded to learn to swim, you can watch the others!”

“police?” said suzanne, with a blank expression on her face. miss potts wished fervently she had suzanne in the first form under her for just one day. she was quite certain that suzanne would never utter that infuriating word again!

gwendoline and maureen were made to swim, of course, though it still took them ages to make up their minds to get into the cold, clear water. they waited till everyone else was in, because it was simply extraordinary how many accidental pushes happened to them when alicia or moira or betty came by. if there was one thing gwen hated it was to enter the pool suddenly without warning!

the pool was always beautiful on blue sunny days. it shone a deeper blue than the sky, and after a few weeks of summer got really deliciously warm—till the tide came in, swamped the pool, and left cooler water there! darrell loved the pool. even when she was not bathing she used to take her books down beside it and dream there, looking over the brilliant blue water.

moira was a very good swimmer. so was sally. darrell always had been. but the new girl, amanda, surpassed them all!

she was a most magnificent swimmer. the first time she entered the water, everyone gasped. she streaked across the pool with the most powerful over-arm stroke the girls had ever seen.

“gosh—what a swimmer!” said darrell. “i never saw anything like it. she is good enough for the olympic games. she could beat us hollow, sally.”

amanda was not content with the pool, big and deep though it was. she looked out to sea. “i shall go and swim in the sea,” she said.

“you’re not allowed to,” said darrell, who was nearby, drying herself. “there’s a very dangerous current out there at high tide.”

“currents aren’t dangerous to a strong swimmer like me,” said amanda, and flexed her arms to show darrell her enormous muscles. she had great strong legs too. she was heavy in her walk, and not at all graceful in ordinary life—but when she was playing games or swimming, she had the strong grace of some big animal, and was most fascinating to watch. the lower forms gaped at her, and often came down to the pool when the word went round that amanda was there—just to stand and stare!

“would you like to give some of these youngsters a bit of coaching, amanda?” sally said one day. as head of school games, she was always on the look-out for likely youngsters to coach.

“i might,” said amanda, looking bored. “so long as it’s not a waste of time.”

“oh well, if you feel like that!” said moira indignantly. she was nearby, listening. moira was not very likeable, but at least she did try to help the lower forms in their games, and was a great help to sally.

“we never had to bother with the young ones at trenigan towers,” said amanda, drying herself so vigorously that her skin came up bright red. “we had plenty of coaches there. they looked after the youngsters. you seem to have too few games mistresses here.”

darrell fumed inwardly at this criticism of malory towers. there were plenty of teachers for everything! just because malory towers didn’t make a religion of sport as trenigan had, this great lump of an amanda dared to look down her nose at it!

sally saw darrell’s face, and nudged her. “it’s no good saying anything,” she said, as amanda walked off. “she’s so thick-skinned, and so sure of herself and her future, that nothing we can say will make any impression. she must have been very upset when trenigan went up in smoke—and she probably hates malory towers because it’s new to her, and doesn’t go in for the sport she adores as much as she’d like it to!”

“she’s jolly lucky to come here,” snorted darrell, still looking furious. sally laughed. it was a long time since she had seen darrell near to losing her famous temper. once upon a time darrell had lost her temper practically every term and had shocked the school by her rages—but now it very seldom showed, for darrell had it well under control.

“don’t let her get under your skin,” said sally, “believe me, she’s much more likely to get under mine! she’s infuriating over tennis—doesn’t seem to think it’s worth while even to have a game with us! she’s got under moira’s skin all right—there’ll be high words there soon.”

the second-formers came running down to the pool for their bathe. the bigger girls heard the soft thud-thud of the rubber-shoed feet coming along, and turned. there was a yell from felicity.

“hallo, darrell! had a bathe? what’s the water like? doesn’t it look heavenly?”

“wizard,” said susan, her friend, and tried it with her toe as soon as she had taken off her shoes. “gosh, it’s warming up already. buck up, felicity. the sooner we’re in, the longer we’ll have!”

darrell had a few minutes to spare, and she stayed with sally and moira to watch the younger ones. now that darrell was so soon leaving, she felt an intense desire to make sure that there were others who would carry on worthily the great traditions of malory towers—and in particular she wanted to be sure that felicity, her sister, would.

she watched felicity with pride. she and susan dived in quickly, and with strong, graceful strokes swam across the great pool and back.

“that sister of yours is coming on,” said moira to darrell. “she was good last year—she’s going to be even better this. i think if she improves her back stroke, we might try her in one of the teams.”

“i hope so,” said darrell, longing for felicity to shine. “susan’s good too—but not nearly so fast. hallo—who’s this porpoise?”

a fat and ungainly girl stood shivering on the brink of the pool. she was yelled at by some of the second-formers already in the water.

“get in, jo! come on, fatty! if you don’t buck up, you’ll have exactly two minutes in the water, and that’s all!”

even two minutes was too much for the fat and cowardly jo. bumptious and brazen in everything else, she was a coward over cold water. she had begged her father to get her excused from swimming, and he had rung up miss grayling and informed her that he didn’t wish his daughter jo to go in for swimming if she didn’t want to.

“why not?” asked miss grayling, coldly. “has the doctor forbidden it for her?”

“no. but i have,” said the loud-voiced mr. jones, bellowing down the telephone. “that’s good enough, isn’t it?”

“i’m afraid not,” said miss grayling, in her firm, decisive voice. “girls sent to malory towers follow the ordinary routine of the school, unless it is against doctor’s orders. there is nothing wrong about swimming for jo—she is merely afraid of cold water, so the games mistress tells me. i think you will agree with me that josephine should conquer the cold water rather than that the cold water should defeat josephine?”

mr. jones had been about to say that he had always detested cold water, and he didn’t see why jo shouldn’t do what he had done, and not go near it; but he suddenly thought better of it. there was something in miss grayling’s cool voice that warned him. he put down the telephone abruptly. miss grayling might find there was no room for jo at malory towers, if he persisted!

and so jo, to her annoyance and surprise, had been told by her father that she’d got to put up with the swimming and get on with it. every day she had to come down to the pool and shiver in dread on the brink, till she was inevitably pushed in or dragged in by a scornful second-former. even the first-formers had been known to push jo in!

felicity gave jo an enormous shove

today it was felicity who crept up behind, gave jo an enormous shove, and landed her in the pool with a colossal splash! jo came up, gasping and spluttering, furiously angry. when she had got the water out of her mouth, she turned on the laughing felicity.

“you beast! that’s the second time you’ve done that. just you wait, i’ll pay you out. you’re as bad as your father!”

“what’s my father done?” asked felicity, amused.

“he was rude to mine,” said jo. “about pushing your car into the hedge. i heard him!”

“oh well—he pushed our car into the hedge—and now i’ve pushed you into the water!” cried felicity. “tit for tat! we’re quits! look out—i’m coming to duck you!”

she dived under the water to get jo’s legs. jo screamed and kicked. her legs slid away from her and she disappeared under the water again. she came up, furious. she struggled to the side and called to sally.

“sally! can’t you stop felicity playing the fool in the water? she’s always going for my legs.”

“learn to swim then,” said sally. “get some coaching! you always slip out of any coaching. look out—here comes somebody else after your legs!”

poor jo! however much she swaggered and boasted and blew her own trumpet out of the water, she was of less account than the youngest first-former when she was in the pool!