Chapter 10

“How are you finding our schools Mr Small?” Colonel Smike was on the education committee, he was probably more on the whack ‘em and smack ‘em educational theory group, but was happy to coast along doing little on the committee or indeed anywhere. He had a wife at home who provided him with an acceptable level of carnal delights and a more than acceptable level of culinary delights. For he was fond of food. He frequently wore his uniform, but it had been let out and had inserts put in to enable it to cover his corpulent form.

“I am finding them a fascinating mix of old and new, traditional and experimental. I think that, overall, they are a commendable set of schools”

“Good, good, capital! Listen, I have a small favour to ask.

My niece is interested in becoming a teacher. Personally I can’t see it. Teaching a load of mewling infants, or spotty herberts; hmpph, I’d rather face the Waziri tribes again than that! Still, there it is, she’s a modern young lady, oh, young woman, she tells me that ‘lady’ is a demeaning description. Do you understand this world? Because I dashed well do not.

Anyway, she wants to be a teacher and I wondered if you would take her as an observer to a couple of schools? She’d not get in the way I assure you”

Jack Small was imagining a female version of Colonel Smike, he couldn’t help it. A twenty stone woman with antediluvian views on education, yet still he responded “Of course, I plan to visit three primary schools to the north of the county, and Jackstraw Grammmar; would that be of interest? I’m afraid Jackstraw is a boys’ school, but I do feel it needs a visit”

“Capital, capital. Tell me when and I’ll put her in touch”

And so it was arranged, two weeks later, he stood on the platform of the station, awaiting the arrival of a female gorilla. He saw Colonel Smike and his wife – a lady of lesser proportions. He wondered how the woman coped with the colonel on top of her. He tried to stop thinking of that. There appeared to be no niece; Jack’s heart gave a little skip of pleasure and he imagined himself saying “Nevermind sir, another time, thank you so much for taking the trouble to come and tell me.” From behind the sun-blocking shape that was Colonel Smike, appeared a young lady of singular appearance. Her curvy shape was not produced by artificial means, she had a well-shaped bust, narrow waist and attractive hips. Her golden hair was complemented by her white muslin dress. She carried her own valise, and refused all offers of help “Thank you, but no, I am perfectly capable of carrying a small bag”

“Oh, you’ll find she has a mind of her own, my boy” the colonel caught the eye of wife and niece and hastily added “and a good thing too”

She was not above being handed up into the train. Mrs Smike gave Jack Small an appraising look, a look which clearly said ‘you take advantage of my niece and you’ll have me to deal with’. Jack was fairly sure Mrs Smike was another example of the monstrous regiment that one would not wish to face alone.

The journey across this large county was pleasant enough, though Miss Rosemary Turnbull (of the Turnblat Turnbulls, her aunt emphasised. Jack Small had no idea that the Turnblat Turnbulls were somehow a cut above the standard Turnbulls, but now he knew) started very quiet. He opined to himself that such quietness might be a problem for a teacher; that thought led on to some of the teachers he had had the pleasure to deal with so far, and a smile crept across his face.

“Something amuses you, Mr Small?”

“Oh, well, I was just thinking of the pleasurable visits I have had to make over the past months. I feel I am very lucky to have a post such as this”

They arrived at the small market town and quickly visited the first of the three primary schools. The pupils were polite, attentive, intelligent and well turned out. All in all a good introduction.

The second visit was not so enjoyable. The pupils were from a poorer part of the town and looked ill-fed and dirty. Some scratched at sores and some (all?) had fleas or headlice, or both. Miss Turnbull was appalled, and yet fascinated too. To her credit, she did not shy away from them, but talked as if they were normal children. The law had decreed these children had to attend classes, yet had made no effort to go beyond and ensure they benefited. It was as if the government thought they had done enough.

“But, they will not learn if they are not given the opportunity and the right conditions. How can we help?” She said. She was visibly upset. The teacher was trying her best, but with little enough support. “I know! We should be providing lunch for them. Some, I know had nothing for luncheon. We should find a way of identifying those that need it and help them maintain their attention by feeding them”

“It would encourage them to attend, I think.” Added Jack. He was warming to this young lady with bright ideas. “We shall write a report suggesting it”

That evening they found a small hostelry was all that was available in the town. That is to say, the hotel they had hoped to stay at had a drunk lying on the steps in his own vomit; they concluded that the place would not be suitable for refined guests. The hostelry was recommended by a parson who they spied, and proved eminently suitable. It was teetotal, but that was hardly something to which to object; and the food provided was basic but well-cooked and adequate.

The following day they made their way to Jackstraw Grammar; it was a small school of great vintage, having been established in 1567 by Sir Hugh Jackstraw and “diverse other merchants of this town” as the charter so proudly displayed in the entrance proclaimed.

“I assume the diverse merchants did not donate quite so much as Sir Hugh” opined Miss Turnbull.

“Just so!” said a voice behind them “Shaw, Archbald Shaw. Not, you’ll note, Archibald! That’s my brother!”

“You were named Archbald and your brother was called Archibald?” asked Mr Small.

“I know, silly eh? Still, I think the parents wanted to save money on name tags eh? What? Ha ha” Actually the parents, well, the father, was just a little cracked. “But, yes, Sir Hugh donated the land and a substantial part of the costs. It started in the centre of the town. Did you stay there? Yes? Notice the park just off the square? Oh, well there’s a small park, that used to be the school. It had been a slaughter house, the market in the square you see, then take the animals that didn’t sell round the corner and chop!

Anyway, Sir Hugh saw the school started, then made the mistake of joining the ‘Lang Dispute’ on the wrong side. Named after the Scottish lawyer, hence the lang instead of long, so I’m told.” He clearly thought they would know all about this “And when the King finally called a halt to the whole affair by removing the heads of a few people, poor old Sir Hugh was one of them. The school refused to change its name, lost some royal support there, but showed a bit of spunk eh?”

“Wasn’t Queen Elizabeth on the throne on 1567?” ask Miss Turnbull “So it couldn’t have been the king?”

“Was she? Probably right, I’m no historian, I’m a mathematician by training. I’ll get the head of history, Mr Brown, to check that.

Anyway welcome, welcome. BOY! STOP IDLING! Yes, welcome, come in to my study and we can discuss what you would like to see” The boy, who was about fifteen, had been staring at Rosemary Turnbull, at the head’s shout, he jumped and scuttled away.

As was becoming the norm, Jack Small negotiated a tour alone, or with a boy rather than a teacher. He explained that he obtained a better view of the school that way, no slight was intended. “None taken sir! Capital idea. We’ve nothing to hide eh?

And you, Miss Turnbull? Will you accompany Mr Small or would you similarly like a separate tour?”

“I would not wish to disrupt the school...”

“I’m afraid the mere presence of a pretty lady will already have done that; your perambulations will cause no more problem than my skin to this mosquito” He held out his arm to show a mosquito sucking on his arm. He did not kill it. “I’m a Buddhist, Oh, I’m a Christian too. But I will not kill anything if I can help it. We haven’t had meat in the school for five years now, and I think the boys are better for it”

“I thought good red meat was essential for a manly disposition?” Asked Miss Turnbull

“Well, our boxing team hold their own well, and ... if I’m honest, and not wishing to upset you miss, I saw enough human red meat in the wars so I’m content to let my charges be less violent if that is what it means.” He had been a Colonel, unlike the previous military types Jack Small had encountered, this one was content to leave the military bearing behind.

Rosemary Turnbull was allotted a polite young man who escorted her to the English lesson where they were reading one of Shakespeare’s sonnets ‘Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?’ The boys all looked at her as this was read, and she blushed; aware that she was an object of love or lust for this host of lads.

At French class, a boy said to her “Oh, Tu es tres belle, mademoiselle” which was not only forward, but he should not have used the ‘tu’ form to his elder and better. Also, it should of course be trés, not tres.

Art was the clincher, the boys had been forewarned that a female school visitor was to pay them a call. Their pictures of a bowl of fruit managed to arrange the fruit in what, even to Miss Turnbull’s inexperienced eyes, were suggestive poses. The teacher prevailed upon her to stay a while as they so rarely were able to draw live forms, and almost never female. She sat on a chair for forty minutes and allowed them to sketch her. The boys focussed closely on their work, she noted that they were entirely dedicated to getting their pictures correct.

So when the time was up and she walked round to see their etchings, she was more than taken aback to discover that she had been drawn naked from the waist up. “Forgive me, I should have explained” said the art teacher to a reddened and, looking at a particularly well-endowed drawing, somewhat flattered young woman “I teach them to draw from imagination. So in this case, they imagine the basic model and then, in time, will clothe her.”