Shirley opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock. The
hands pointed to seven forty five .
It was her first day at school. Although it seemed strange, for Shirley was
twenty two years old and had completed her original school years over five
years ago, Shirley was returning to teach, but the little butterflies were
still fluttering in her stomach just like they had done seventeen years ago.
That day, Dad and Mum had walked her to school and waited until the primary one
infants were lined up and marched into their classroom.
She had excelled at her lessons coming top of her class in
all the subjects. When she reached secondary, Shirley sailed through her exams
as easily as she had in the primary class tests. At University she read
Mathematics, specialising in Complex Numbers and Differential Calculus. After
gaining her Honours degree, she decided to train to be a primary school teacher
feeling that this would allow her to pass on the knowledge gained in ‘Varsity’
to children with open and inquiring minds.
“Toast, love?” her mother shouted up the stairs.
“No, nothing Mum, thanks,” replied Shirley. “Her gibley
stomach was doing cartwheels and the thought of food made her feel sick.
“You must have something. You’ll be starving by lunchtime.
Her mother had made sandwiches for Shirley’s lunch and packed a thermos of hot
coffee.
“Ok, Mum, but only two bits of toast please.”
Arriving at Parkhouse primary school in her little Morris
Mini, Shirley stopped at the zebra crossing to let some little girls and boys
cross. One little girl dressed in a pink dress gave her a friendly wave which
Shirley returned.
Pulling into the playground, she carefully drove over to
where other cars were parked. These had to be the other teachers’ cars, Shirley
thought as she got out of her car and made her way over the playground towards
the main door.
She was passing an open window when she heard her name
mentioned by someone inside the room. “Oh, Miss Shirley Wilson will be coming
in this morning. She is a real whiz kid. Did you read her CV? Well she’s in for
a shock when she arrives!” said the person inside the room.
What sort of shock? thought Shirley as she pushed the main
door open and entered into a reception area where a woman sat behind a glass
fronted office. The woman looked up and seeing Shirley slid the glass partition
open. “Can I help you?” she asked kindly.
“I am Shirley Wilson. I am to be a teacher here at
Parkhouse,” explained Shirley.
“I’ll get the headmistress,” said the lady and went out
through a door at the back of her office.
As Shirley stood waiting she wondered who she had overheard
speaking about her. I suppose all new teachers are an unknown quantity until
they display their talents. Making friends had always been easy for Shirley and
she felt that once she met her colleagues, lasting friendships would be forged.
“Miss Wilson?” a voice boomed out from behind Shirley and
turning she found herself facing an elderly, very stern faced lady wearing a
black gown.
“Yes, that’s me,” replied Shirley with a smile on her face.
“I am Miss Brittlewood, the headmistress of Parkhouse,” the
woman said looking at Shirley if she was a specimen under a microscope.
“Pleased to meet you Miss Brittlewood,” said Shirley holding
her hand out to shake with the headmistress, but Miss Brittlewood made no
attempt to return the gesture and Shirley found herself standing with her hand
held out as the headmistress swept out of the reception area. “I’ll take you to
meet the other teachers,” said Miss Brittlewood. “Then we can get down to
showing you what you will be required to do.”
The headmistress led Shirley into the Teacher’s Staff Room
where she introduced Shirley to several men and woman who were preparing
lessons, drinking coffee or just gossiping. The names flowed over Shirley’s
head as the introductions were made, but none stuck in her memory. I’ll meet
them all socially later on and I can learn their names then, thought Shirley as
she looked round at the faces.
“Right, Miss Wilson,” snapped Miss Brittlewood. “If you come
along to my office I will explain what your remit will be.”
As Shirley said an ‘au revoir’ to the other teachers she
noticed that the Common Room window was open and looking round she wondered who
had been discussing her as she arrived.
Shirley stood in front of the headmistress’ desk as Miss Brittlewood
sat and went through Shirley’s C.V. “You are very clever to have been able to
attain all these education certificates as well as your Honour’s degree and
teaching certificate. With all these academic achievements why did you apply to
teach primary school children, may I ask?” asked the headmistress snappily.
“I felt that I wanted to share some of my knowledge with the
young and maybe help them aspire to succeed …” Shirley started to say, but was
interrupted by Miss Brittlewood.
“This is a struggling school, Miss Wilson. Our pass rates in
school tests are abysmally low. Oh, it would be easy to blame the teachers, but
they try their best with…ah, poor material.”
Shirley felt annoyed. “But surely not all the children are,
as you say, poor material? At this age they have minds like sponges, eager to
soak up information.”
“Well, that is as is maybe,” grunted the headmistress. “I
have decided that your youthful vigour and determination would be best suited
with our remedial class, Miss Wilson.”
“But, I thought you would put me to teaching the ordinary
classes, Miss Brittlewood,” said Shirley. “I have no real training with
children in remedial classes.”
“Well, I am afraid that is what you will do,” said the
headmistress. “Just give them paper and pencils and let them draw. No one
expects much from them anyway.”
Leading the way down long dark corridors, Miss Brittlewood
eventually arrived at a badly scarred door which hadn’t seen a lick of paint
for many years. The noise coming out of the room was deafening. Screaming,
shouting and things bouncing off walls were the components of the cacophony
that greeted Shirley. Throwing the door open the headmistress stormed in
shouting at the top of her voice. “You, Green, sit down and be quiet! Miss
Smith, you will be in trouble if I see you doing that again! Dawson , come down off that desk, right away!”
If Shirley thought that the occupants of the remedial class
were infants, she was wrong. None in the ten children now sitting reasonably
quiet behind their desks were below twelve years old.
Shirley shook her head in astonishment. “Miss Brittlewood,
these are children who are about to go into secondary.”
“Yes, I think of this class as the ‘Last Chance Saloon’,”
the headmistress said dryly. “None of them have a chance of passing any sort of
exam. They’ll all be expelled or excluded by next year, so as I say, give them
paper and pencils, but keep them quiet!”
The classroom door shut with a bang and Shirley found
herself looking into ten pairs of eyes. “Good morning class,” she said with a
slight waver in her voice. “I am Miss Wilson, your new teacher.”
You could have heard a pin drop for all of five minutes and
then all hell broke loose again. Girls hitting boys; boys hitting girls; boys
throwing books at each other; girls standing on their desks shrieking. Shirley
couldn’t believe her eyes. “Right!” she suddenly shouted. “Sit down, the lot of
you!”
After ten minutes, Shirley had some sort of semblance of
order in the classroom. The majority of the children were sitting down, but one
boy was standing looking out of the window. Shirley went across to him and
taking him by the arm turned him round and sat him down. He looked at her with
hostility in his eyes.
Going back to her desk at the front, Shirley opened the
class register. There were fourteen names on the list. Looking up she spotted
one of the boys lean over and tug the pigtail of the girl in front of him.
Glaring, Shirley pointed at him, “You! Stop that!” Seeing some sort of calm
Shirley began calling out the children’s names. “Alan Acherson?” A voice said
present. “Jenny Brown?” This was followed by shouts of derision. “She’s here
Miss!” Looking about her Shirley realised that all the confirmations of
presence were being made by one person, a tall boy in the front row.
“What is your name?” Shirley asked the boy.
“I’m Brian Farry, Miss.”
“And why,” asked Shirley “are you calling out every time?”
“Because I know
everybody here Miss,” was the retort.
“Well, Mr Farry, I would be grateful if you would allow a
person to call out themselves. Ok?”
So the morning went on. Shirley tried them with a few sums,
but hardly anyone got them right. Next she gave them some writing practice, but
the attempts handed in were totally illegible. Just before lunch, she asked
them to draw a scene from their last holiday. For half an hour the ten heads
were bowed over their work and when the bell rang for the lunch break, Shirley
asked them to leave the pictures on her desk. A mad stampede left the room
leaving a little pile of paper behind them. Shirley sorted through them
carefully and found that although her pupils were not academic the majority of
them could draw well.
One child had drawn a cow grazing next to an old barn in the
country. The picture was well executed and showed promise.
Another had drawn a seaside scene with a figure sitting on a
deck chair in the foreground. Once again it was skilfully drawn. As Shirley
made her way to the Staff Room, she felt a little heartened.
The Staff Room was full of her colleagues when Shirley got
there. One of the men got up from his seat to let her sit down. As she ate she
tuned into the conversations that were circulating.
“Old Brittlewood was on the war path this morning,” said one
of the lady teachers. “She caught a couple of late arrivals climbing over the
back fence.”
“They’ll get punished. The old girl doesn’t like people
climbing over that fence.” A man replied with a laugh.
Having finished her sandwiches, Shirley poured herself a cup
of coffee. She was just about to take a sip when someone spoke to her. “Well,
how did you like meeting your class this morning?”
Shirley turned her head and saw that it was a fair haired
man who had spoken.
“They’re a little unruly, but given time I think I may sort
them out.”
A woman who had been sitting at the back of the room got to
her feet and after giving a big guffaw said, “It won’t be like university you
know. Some of the children you have to teach are hooligans. It’ll be a little
stressful for you I’m sure.”
“Aw, leave her alone Catherine,” said the fair haired man.
“Give her a chance to find her feet!”
Shirley regarded the redoubtable Catherine and wondered if this
was her adversary that she had heard speaking in the Staff Room as she arrived.
Just at that moment the bell rang for the afternoon session
and when some wit called, “Back on your heads!” all the teachers began to leave
the room.
The afternoon with the remedial class was very much like the
morning. The general standard of education was sadly lacking in her class, thought
Shirley.
She did a bit of geography, but no one seemed to know much
about Britain ,
and even less about the World.
Next Shirley tried them with history. She read stories of
heroic deeds by knights in battle and for about half an hour the class hung on
her every word.
Just before they broke for the afternoon, Shirley handed out
sheets of paper with two sums on them. “This is your homework,” she shouted as
the class made ready to leave. “Bring it back tomorrow and I will mark it.”
With a crash the last of the ten children left the classroom
and Shirley sat holding her head in her hands. Is this what I wanted? she
thought. “I was expecting to be teaching, really teaching and not looking after
a kindergarten.
The next week, Shirley decided to tell the group a few home
truths. She marched into the class on Tuesday morning and instructed them to
sit down and be quiet. She said it so loudly that even Billy Slater sat down in
astonishment and he was the number 1 pain.
“Now, listen you lot, I have taken a week from you of
wrecked furniture, fighting and no homework returned. Do you want to be
unemployable when you leave school?” Shirley was so angry that she was almost
in tears.
“Does that mean we don’t have to work, Miss?” chirped up
little Annie Huxton.
“No, it means that you are considered unable to be
employed,” answered Shirley.
“Why, Miss?” asked Dave Kenton.
“Because you won’t have any educational certificates,
because you are not going to be able to pass your exams!” wailed Shirley.
“Don’t you understand?”
Louis Wheeler stood up. He was a big lad for his age and
would make a great rugby player a few years down the road. “But, isn’t it
because we’re stupid, Miss” he asked.
“No,” said Shirley loudly. “You are not stupid. It is just
that you have never been given the chance.”
A girl sitting at the back raised her hand. “Yes, Mary. What
do you want?” asked Shirley.
“Would you give us a chance Miss?” she asked plaintively.
Conditions improved considerably in the Remedial Class.
Shirley was able to come into an attentive class, in the morning, rather than
an unruly mob. Her lessons were listened to and gradually a lot of the
hostility that the children felt for any member of the teaching staff reduced.
Shirley prepared work for the children and delivered it the following day. Jotters
began to show neater writing and after a few hiccups the class managed to learn
their ‘times tables’ right up to 9.
Geography was aided by coloured pictures that Shirley found
in magazines and cut out to make wall displays.
History as it had proved on the first day to be an all round
favourite. The class would sit silently as Shirley recounted tales of the
Crusades, the battles between the Scots and the English and the invasion of England by the Normans .
The mathematics was the weakest point and Shirley struggled
with trying to find ways to supplement the teaching aids that they had
available. It was just that the children did not have that sort of brain, but
Shirley hoped that when the ethos of school work became more ingrained in them,
a mathematical bent might follow.
Shirley tended to avoid the Staff Room for anything but
having her lunch as she knew that Miss Brittlewood did not allow food or drink
in the classroom. She would sit hunched up over some magazine or other while
she ate her sandwiches. Often the fair haired man who was called Bob Rose,
would talk to her and ask her about her progress with her class.
“Oh, it’s coming along Bob,” said Shirley. “They are really
a load of rough diamonds and they are slowly accepting me.”
“Oh and how is the teaching going?” A voice sounded from
across the room. It was Catherine Bane. “Have you had to send any of the little
‘dearies’ to the headmistress yet?”
“No,” said Shirley. “Their behaviour seems to have
improved.”
“Well, hooray for you Miss Einstein!” said Catherine
cruelly. “You are a real treasure!” and with that retort she left the room.
Shirley turned to Bob. “Why doesn’t she like me Bob? What
have I ever done to annoy her?”
Bob looked down at the ground. “Actually you got the job that
her sister was after. The Education Board considered that you were head and
shoulders better than Catherine’s sister and gave you the post. I wouldn’t let
it bother you, she’ll get over it.”
When Shirley had decided to set a few class tests to find
out how much of the information she was imparting was actually being retained
by the children.
“There will be ten questions in each test. Different sets of
tests will cover all the subjects that I have been teaching you,” said Shirley
to the class.
“Oh, Miss,” wailed Chae Davidson. “I never do well in
tests.”
This led to a murmur of agreement from the rest of Chae’s
peers and a lot of worried faces as the children left for the afternoon.
There was a staff meeting for the teachers with the
headmistress that evening and Shirley looked forward to tell Miss Brittlewood
all about the improvement of her class with behaviour and attentiveness.
The meeting began with a reading of the minutes covering
items that Shirley, being a new teacher, had nothing to do with, so she sat
quietly and listened as a catalogue of problems and solutions were read out.
Then, after the document had been agreed upon and seconded, new items on the
agenda were discussed.
Shirley listened and commented when she was asked if she had
anything to add. Often it was just to confirm a choice or a decision and the
meeting rolled on as they approached the inevitable A.O.C.B. ‘Any other
competent business’.
Shirley raised her hand and Miss Brittlewood invited her to
stand and deliver her information. “I would just like to say how much improved
the remedial class have become in the last few weeks,” said Shirley, a little
breathlessly. She heard a whispered ‘Whoopey doo’ from Catherine Bane, but went
on regardless. “I intend to give them a series of class tests next week, which
I hope will prove that progress is being made.”
“Is that all?” asked Miss Brittlewood, a trifle brusquely.
She looked stern as Shirley resumed her seat. “You should have come and seen me
to discuss the setting of the tests. You have no right to assess the children
without my say-so!”
“But… I thought that you would have been pleased,” Shirley
said in a surprised voice. “How else are we to discover how they are doing?”
“That is my decision, Miss Wilson, not yours. Now, it is two
weeks till the Summer Holidays, so till then, I suggest you carry on doing what
you have been doing and forget about any tests!”
Shirley sat in a daze for the rest of the meeting and only
came to when everyone suddenly rose as one and left the room. She walked down
the corridor in silence until a familiar voice piped up behind her.
“Penny for your thoughts, or maybe their worth much more?”
It was Bob Rose, he caught up with Shirley and walked with her to the door out.
“Sorry I couldn’t come to your defence, he said with a laugh. “I’m not popular
with old Brittlewood since I broke one of the windows in the Science block. An
experiment that went wrong!”
“Why am I so unpopular with the headmistress, Bob? You would
think that I had proposed something unsavoury when I mentioned class tests,”
said Shirley sadly.
“Don’t take it to heart, old girl, just think about the
summer hols. Endless weeks in the sun,” Bob said as he went off towards his
car. “You don’t fancy a quick drink, do you?”
Shirley was sorely tempted, but decided that consorting
between teachers might be considered wrong by Miss Brittlewood and felt that
there was no need give the headmistress ammunition. “Not tonight, Bob, I am
truly whacked. Think I’ll have an early night with a good book. Thanks anyway.”
It was a week till the holidays began and the atmosphere in
the class had lightened after Shirley’s announcement that the test idea had
been scrapped. She had increased the amount of maths that she had given them,
but it seemed as if this really was not a subject for them. Their
multiplication and dividing were very poor and adding and subtracting wasn’t
much better.
There was a faint knock at the door and it opened to reveal
Miss Brittlewood.
“I thought that I would just visit your class and see how
things were progressing,” she said as she entered the room.
Shirley had instructed the class to stand if a member of
staff entered the room and she was encouraged to see that all the children were
standing silently.
“Oh please, children sit down and listen, I have something
to tell you,” said Miss Brittlewood, then remembering her manners she turned to
Shirley, “if it is alright with you, Miss Wilson?”
After the youngsters had resumed their seats, the
headmistress looked over them benignly. “How many of you are going away for the
summer/” she asked.
No hands rose and a general air of gloom descended on the
class as they contemplated the coming weeks of indolence, exciting at the
beginning, but descending into boredom as the time progressed.
“No one going away, then?” Miss Brittlewood confirmed.
“Well, how many of you would like to go to a holiday resort for a few weeks
during the holidays?”
It was suddenly pandemonium with the children jumping up and
down in excitement, their arms held up in the air.
“Now! Now!” shouted the headmistress. “You all can go, as
long as your parents agree!”
The rest of the week was devoted to handing out permission forms
for the respective child’s parents to sign, getting them back completed and
organising for the area school bus to carry the children to the resort. All the
parents had consented that their kids could go on the trip. Shirley imagined
the relief of not having to find babysitters over the summer break for their
children would have been immense.
After it had all been done, the children were left in an
unsettled, excited mood, so Shirley toned the maths work down and the class
finished the week either colouring pictures or listening to stories read by her.
On Monday the first day of the holidays, Shirley arrived
early at the school. The bus had been organised to be there at nine o’clock , so the children would be
arriving soon with their suitcases and no doubt, I pods, mobile phones and
other hand held electronics equipment.
A bus turned into the playground and Shirley was surprised
to see that it was the twenty seater and not the larger fifty seater. Surely,
she thought, it is not only my class that has had the opportunity to go to this
resort? It must have been offered to the whole school.
As if in confirmation, by nine o’clock there were only Shirley’s class waiting
excitedly to board the bus. They surged forward when the bus doors swung open
and swarmed on board. The bus driver had all the permission slips and as
Shirley checked the children present against their forms, she realised that
what she had thought, was indeed true, no other pupil from Parkhouse, save her
class, were going to the resort.
With a toot from his horn, the bus driver drove away from
the school and vanished off down the road.
Going back into the school, Shirley met the janitor who was
taking the chance of the holidays to paint the netball court lines. “Hello Miss
Wilson, has your class got off alright?” he asked good humouredly.
“Yes, Mr Branks, that’s them off, but didn’t any other class
get the chance to go to the resort?”
“No, I think Miss Brittlewood decided that invitation to the
resort should only be for your class. You can imagine the moaning that went on
amongst the kids!”
Shirley had decided on a holiday in Spain , so for
the following two months she lay in the sun, swam and generally enjoyed the
pleasures offered on a foreign holiday.
Too soon it was time to return and leaving blue skies and
temperatures in the high thirties, Shirley returned to grey skies and the high
twenties. Welcome home.
After paying the taxi fare and carrying her case into her
flat she collapsed into an armchair she realised she was back and after a quick
weekend trying to catch up on her housework, it was back ‘to same, old same
old’ Parkhouse. She hoped the children had had a good time and would have lots
of experiences to recount.
Shirley drove into the playground and parked her car.
Picking up her briefcase from the back seat she made her way into the school.
As she approached her classroom she was surprised to hear an
absolute silence from within the room. Turning the handle of the door she
pushed the door open to be confronted by her whole class sitting facing her.
Instantly they jumped to their feet and in chorus said. “Good morning Miss
Wilson.” In a dead pan voice.
“Good morning children,” Shirley replied and stood watching
them resume their seats. “Did you all have a good time at the resort?” she
asked when the noise of scraping chairs had subsided.
“Yes, Miss,” said Annie Huxton with a smile on her face.
“We had a super time, Miss,” said Alan Acherson. “Lots of
ice cream and chocolate.”
“I hope you didn’t make yourselves sick,” Shirley replied.
As the morning progressed, a feeling of disquiet formed in
Shirley’s mind. Something was wrong, but every thing seemed so normal. The
children were colouring a picture of flowers that Shirley had photocopied for
them. As she walked amongst the desks and looked down on each child’s attempt,
she was amazed to see neat and perfectly coloured pictures. Before the
holidays, only a few of the class produced a tidy picure. Often the colour
would have been carelessly drawn outside the picture, but not today. Each
picture was perfect. Shirley returned to her desk at the front and gave herself
a mental shake. Alright, I haven’t seen them for a couple of months, so the
untidy ones have improved their skills, she thought, so what?
After the morning break, Shirley decided to try again to get
them all to understand addition and subtraction. “We’ll try multiplication and
division tomorrow, so just see if you can answer the questions I have put on
the board,” she said settling down to fill the pupil register in.
“After five minutes, a little voice piped up. “I’m finished
Miss,” it was Billy Slater.
“Now Billy, you should check them before I see them,” said
Shirley feeling quite surprised. Billy was one of the slowest mentally in the
class and he was admitting to have done five sums in five minutes! Walking down
to Billy’s desk Shirley was amazed to see that the boy had all five sums
correct and as she was about to return to her desk, other children began to put
up their hands with the cry, “Finished, Miss!”
As the children filed out of the classroom slowly, Shirley
felt as if she had stepped into the Twilight Zone. Each of the children had
completed three sets of questions correctly and in, for them, record time.
Shirley’s head was swimming as she made her way to the staff room to have her
lunch. She saw Bob Rose sitting by the table biting into a sandwich.
“Hi there, Shirley,” he said. “How did your summer go?”
“Oh fine, Bob,” she replied still in a dazed stupor. “My
class have got all their math’s questions right.”
“But, that’s good isn’t it?” said Bob in an astonished
voice.
“Yes, Bob, but…” she didn’t finish for the rest of the
teachers entered the room at that moment. “Could we go for a drink later,
please?” she asked.
The ‘Red Dragon’ pub was far enough away from Parkhouse to
be a certain place not to meet a colleague from the school. Bob found a table
by a roaring log fire and went to get drinks for them. Shirley went over the
afternoon in her mind. After lunch the children had returned to the class and
had sat down without any noise or trouble. Shirley had decided to read about the
different countries in Europe and gave the
names of their capital cities. After she had finished, she wrote a list of
countries and a list of capitals, both lists jumbled up. She then asked the
children to marry up the countries with their capitals. Each child got every
one correct. This was impossible in Shirley’s estimation. Some of them had to
have made a mistake, but no, one hundred percent correct! Bob returned with the
drinks, a gin and tonic for Shirley and a pint of local ale for himself.
“So,” asked Bob. “What caused your change of heart?”
“What? You mean in coming out for a drink with you?” Shirley
replied.
“Well, when I asked before you were too busy to accept my
invitation.”
“I needed someone sensible to bounce a crazy idea off of!”
Shirley said with a worried look on her face.
“Well fire away,” said Bob. “I’m your sensible audience.”
Over the next two hours Shirley and Bob talked over the
strange improvement in the remedial class. Bob played the devil’s advocate and
suggested that the trip to the resort had been beneficial to the children and
had helped them to work harder.
“But all of them achieving 100% in class tests?” Shirley
asked incredulously.
“I think that you better keep quiet about this radical
change that your class has undergone until you can substantiate your claim with
more tests,” said Bob reasonably.
Later that evening Bob dropped Shirley off at her flat. She
was tired and didn’t invite Bob up for a coffee.
“Remember what I said,” Bob shouted to her before pulling
away in his car. “Get more evidence.”
The next day Shirley decided to give the class lessons in
multiplication and division of numbers. They had always had problems with these
mathematical operations and Shirley expected nothing different this time.
As before she taught the children for two hours then set
them a test of ten questions. They all got every question right! Then she wrote
out ten addition and subtraction sums on the board. By the time that she had
handed a sheet of paper to the tenth member of the class, the first pupil Brian
Farry had his hand up. “Yes?” she asked Brian. “I’m finished Miss,” was Brian’s
reply. Within five minutes the class had completed the task. Shirley collected
in the bits of paper and laid them on her desk. Taking the class’s jotters she
handed them out and walking back to her desk, she announced, “I want you all to
write a bit about your trip to the resort during your summer break.” Ten heads
went down and ten hands began writing quietly. Shirley returned to her desk and
after sitting down began to mark the maths questions.
After twenty minutes she looked up from the maths tests and
looked at the class who were still industriously writing. They had got full
marks again. Surely this can’t be right, thought Shirley.
Jenny Brown’s hand went up. “Please, Miss?” she said.
“Yes, Jenny?” Shirley asked patiently.
“I’ve done two sides of the paper. Do you want any more? If
you do, I’ll need some more paper please?”
“No,” said Shirley. “Two sides will be enough. The bell is
due to ring in five minutes and you can all go home.”
As the last five minutes ticked away, one by one the members
of the class finished their essays and sat quietly awaiting the bell.
Eventually it rang and the children filed quietly out of the
classroom leaving their work in a neat pile on the front desk.
Feeling a little stupefied, Shirley put the ten sheets of
paper into her case and made ready to go home herself.
“Finishing early, Miss Wilson?” came a cold voice from the
open door. Miss Brittlewood had seen the children emerge from the classroom and
had decided to catch Shirley unaware.
“No, Miss Brittlewood, just decided to do my day’s marking
at home,” said Shirley forcing a smile onto her face. “I was sure you would not
mind me doing that.”
“Not at all, Miss Wilson,” said the headmistress in a
condoning voice. “I know you have been working hard with your class. How have
you found them after the summer recess?”
“I was going to come and see you to talk over the remarkable
change that has occurred in the class,” said Shirley. “They understand the
lessons and are able to answer all the questions I set them.”
Miss Brittlewood laughed to herself. “That is so good to
hear. Thank you Miss Wilson.” And with a little nod to Shirley, the
headmistress left the room.
When Shirley arrived home she made herself a drink of whisky
and lemonade and drank it down in one gulp. It had been a ‘hell’ of a day, she
thought, that feels better, now what will I have for tea?
Sticking some bread in the toaster and cutting up some
cheese, she prepared her favourite meal – toasted cheese. After waiting for the
kettle to boil she made herself a cup of coffee. Placing the components of her
tea on a tray, Shirley carried it through to the lounge and sat down in her
comfy armchair. Outside it was getting dark and she switched on a lamp which
gave the room a real ‘cosy’ feel to it.
Having finished her tea Shirley took her tray through to the
kitchen and then returned to assess the contents of the compositions regarding
the resort that the class had visited in the summer. She picked the top one up
and began to read. It began by mentioning the trip by bus, the excitement that
was felt by all the pupils and of the singing of songs which had taken place on
route. The arrival at the resort had happened after dark and all the children
were put in separate bedrooms and advised to get into bed and sleep, as there
was a full day of fun arranged for the next day. Then the lines were filled
with trips on various fairground attractions, seeing animals and eating
countless numbers of ice creams, candy floss and drinking fizzy drinks.
Shirley yawned and stretched herself. It seemed as if they
had had a ‘ball’ and wished in a way that she had gone with them. Although Spain had been
nice, Shirley felt that the resort might have offered a more attractive
prospect. Still, she thought, as long as they had a good time.
Reaching for the next sheet on the pile, Shirley was amused
to see that this essay was almost word for word like the last one. She looked
at the previous one and true enough, it was almost identical. The same
descriptions, the same list of treats and the same order of entertainments
experienced. Surely one child had copied off the other? Shirley rationalised.
Picking up the third attempt, Shirley found that she once
again was looking at a duplicate of the previous two essays. Quickly she read
through the rest of the ten compositions and her worst dread was realised –
they were, apart from a few nuances of spelling and grammar, identical!
What was going on? She asked herself. There had to be an
answer, but what?
Quickly she ripped all the essays up and stuck them into the
bin. Shirley realised that it was a case of having to do some investigation.
First, she had to find out about the ‘resort’. Where was it and what had
happened to the children there? And then she had to discover if there was a way
to reverse the process.
Next day when she returned to school all the pupils in her
class sat quietly as Shirley complimented them on their essays. “They were very
well written and the spelling was perfect,” she gushed enthusiastically.
Next she asked if Catherine Bane could take her class
temporarily until she had run an errand. Catherine had a free period that day
and although she was still upset with Shirley, her professionalism won through
and she accepted the duty grudgingly. “I hope you won’t be gone long,” she
said. “I have marking to do.”
Shirley drove down to the garage where the buses were
garaged and went to see the foreman. He was an old man called Bill Hope and
liked the ladies, so fell for Shirley’s flattering and allowed her to see the
driver’s log sheet for the trip to and from the resort that the children had
visited.
The log sheet recorded a round trip of twenty miles for each
of the trips. No notification had been made as to the destination of the
journey, so Shirley realised that if she was to get a location it was to be by
obtaining a map of the district and inscribing a ten mile circle to see what
lay within its perimeter.
On the way back she picked up a box of chocolates and
presented them to Catherine by way of a ‘thank you’ for minding the class. Some
of the frostiness was lost from Catherine’s demeanour upon receipt of the gift
and before leaving she whispered to Shirley, “Are they always this well
behaved? When I had them in my class, they were terrors.”
That night Shirley checked a map of the area around
Parkhouse. She traced roads within the circle she had drawn and marked places
she thought might be interesting.
The next day was Saturday and she had decided she would
drive out and investigate some of these areas.
Saturday arrived, grey and wet. A strong wind was blowing as
Shirley pulled away from the house in her car and her windscreen wipers clicked
to and fro. Stopping at a junction, she gave the map a quick check and decided
to head out towards the north.
All day she drove round and round finding nothing in the ten
mile radius. Eventually, she stopped at a roadside restaurant and ordered a
coffee and a bacon roll. The waitress a stout, matronly looking lady took her
order, put it into the kitchen, then came back to chat. The restaurant was
partially empty and the waitress felt she could relax for a few minutes.
“You’re not from round here are you?” she asked kindly.
“No, I am originally from London , but I am a teacher at Parkhouse,”
replied Shirley, glad of the company.
“And what, if I may ask, are you doing out here in the
‘sticks’?”
“Well, you maybe able to help me,” Shirley said with a
smile. “Over the summer recess a bus load of my pupils were taken to a resort
for a couple of weeks and I am trying to find it.”
The waitress looked puzzled and going over to the kitchen
area spoke to the chef. “Hey, Charlie. You don’t know of a resort for kids
round this way, do you?”
There was a grunt from beyond the counter and after a couple
of minutes the waitress returned to Shirley’s table. “He says he doesn’t know
of any resort for kids within fifty miles, so I am afraid we can’t help you.”
Shirley carried on driving down any roads that were within
the allotted distance, but as the late afternoon arrived, she thought that she
had better just give up and turned for the road to Parkhouse.
Just as she turned she noticed an old lodge house, with
boarded up windows, standing at the entrance to a driveway that vanished off
into dense forest. Oh well, thought Shirley, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’
and drove passed the lodge house and up the drive.
The road seemed endless, but all at once Shirley turned a
corner and found herself at a set of high security gates which were festooned
with barbed wire. An equally high metal fence ran either way from the gates and
disappeared into the trees. A large notice hung on the gate and the inscription
read. “NO ENTRY . CRONDYLE
RESEARCH CENTRE. H.M. GOVERNMENT”. Shirley’s heart sank, could this have
been where the children had been taken?
On Monday morning, Shirley decided to give her class a
series of tests in the subjects that she had learnt over the previous weeks
before and after the summer recess. Strictly speaking their performance on
aspects of their studies before the summer should not be as good as those after
the summer. When she walked into the classroom, the children stood and greeted
her with. “Good morning, Miss.”
“Good morning class,” she replied. “We are going to have a
few tests today.”
She expected a few moans and whispered complaints, but the
children all sat down and awaited patiently for the paper that Shirley handed
out.
By the morning break, three subjects had been covered and as
the children filed out to enjoy their playtime, Shirley looked over the written
answers. Once again each one of the class had the right answers, even for
material Shirley had given them before the summer recess.
The bell rang for the class to return to the classroom and
little Jenny Brown came in crying. Shirley called the girl to her desk and
asked what was wrong. “A football hit me on the head, Miss,” replied Jenny.
“But it’s ok now.” She went and sat down at her desk.
The second half of the morning concluded with three more
tests carried out and as the class left for lunch, Shirley once again checked
through the test papers. Once again the answers were all right, but suddenly
something caught her eye. Jenny Brown’s history answers were mostly wrong.
Checking the other two subjects, Shirley found that the majority of her answers
there were wrong, also.
That evening the school opened its doors to parents of the
pupils. They got a chance to meet and ask the teachers about the progress of
their child. Shirley knew that not all of her class’ parents would attend, for
some of them worked night shift or had no transport. Others just felt that due
to their children being in remedial class, that there was nothing to discuss.
In short, they were just not interested.
But, by five minutes to seven Shirley could see seven adults
waiting outside her classroom. She opened the door and ushered the first two
parents into the room. They were Chae Dawson’s mum and dad.
“What’s come over Chae?” asked Mrs Dawson, in a worried
tone. “He seems to be much more…switched on like.”
“What do you mean?” asked Shirley.
“Well,” began Chae’s father, “he was never interested in
what I did for a living. I’m a lorry driver, work for a haulier firm. Chae
suddenly wants to look at the lorry’s engine and gets me to tell him how it
works.”
“Yes, and his tongue never stops when were having our meal,”
Chae’s mother said, “all about what you’ve been giving him at school.”
The rest of the parent teacher interviews went in a similar
manner with a mixture of wonderment, pleasure and a touch of fear as to how
this transformation had occurred.. That was until Jenny Brown’s mother entered
the room. Mrs Brown’s husband had left her just after Jenny had been born. He
was supposedly living in Brampton
with his girlfriend. Jenny’s mother worked at the local supermarket to make
ends meet.
“Oh, Miss Wilson,” wailed Mrs Brown as soon as she had sat
down. “I am so worried about Jenny. After she returned from the trip in the
summer, she has no time to help me about the house. She got a computer for her
birthday last year, but couldn’t understand how to use it. But after the trip
she is never off it. Spends most of her time reading up scientific stuff and
doing research. As you know we are on our own and I expect her to help, but I
have to really scold her before she does anything. Then, last week she came home
with a sore head. Said someone had hit her with a football or something, but my
old Jenny’s back! She’s never given the computer a second look since and she’s really
been a great help around the house. Do you think she was ill or something?”
As Shirley lay in bed that night, she went over the day’s
events. Something had definitely been done to the children and it was up to her
to find out what it was.
Next morning before lessons began Shirley entered the staff
room and found Caroline and Bob sitting at one of the tables talking. When he
saw Shirley, Bob stood up and offered his chair to her. “Come on Shirley, sit
down and tell us what your parent’s night was like. Our nights were ghastly,
but I wish that more of the parents would make the effort to come in and speak
to us.”
“Yes,” said Caroline. “I only had a handful and was finished
by eight thirty .”
Shirley looked at Caroline and Bob and wondered if she
should voice her worries regarding the pupils of the remedial class or not. In
the cold light of day her thoughts and theories seemed nonsense. “Oh, I had a
few myself, but yes I do wish we could get more support from the parents,” she
said, making the decision to keep quiet till she had done more investigation.
On the way to her classroom, Shirley decided to carry out a
little experiment. As she was about to leave University, she had worked out a
mathematical theory based on binary numbers. Her professor and instructors had
praised her for this work and it had been submitted to the ‘Mathematical
Quarterly’, a journal published for mathematicians and statisticians. Shirley
knew that the work would be right out of ordinary folk’s understanding, but it
would possibly give her more ammunition to take to Miss Brittlewood.
“Good morning, Miss Wilson,” chanted the class as Shirley
entered the classroom.
“Good morning everyone,” she replied. “Today I am going to
give you a lesson then we’ll see what you remember.”
Shirley handed out pieces of paper for the children’s
answers before she began to tell them all about ‘the Binary Elements of
Quadrall’s Theory’. All the children listened attentively as she showed them
the construction of equations and paradigms related to the theory; which was
everyone except for Jenny Brown. Her eyes got bigger and bigger as the lesson
continued and then began to fill with tears.
“What’s wrong Jenny,” asked Shirley as she completed her
talk. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, Miss,” Jenny sniffled and lowered her head.
At the end of the lesson, Shirley handed out paper for the
test. As she laid the paper down at Jenny’s place she noticed that the child
looked pale and absolutely crushed.
“Right, I have written ten questions based on our lesson, on
the board. You have until the morning recess bell to finish the test. Off you
go!” Shirley looked over the class as all of them, except Jenny, looked at the
questions and began to write. Jenny just looked more and more confused until
suddenly she gave out a loud ‘Aiee!’ and fainted.
There was a sudden deathly hush as all the pupils stopped
what they were doing and looked over to where Jenny lay slumped on her desk.
“Right,” said Shirley, “all of you, take an early break.
Leave the classroom quietly.”
This left Shirley alone with Jenny and as she approached the
girl’s desk, she raised her head and gave a groan. “Sorry, Miss, I felt a pain
in my ear.”
Shirley looked into Jenny’s right ear and was horrified to
see a very thin silver wire protruding from the orifice, that lead into the
skull. It wasn’t connected to anything and where it had lain against the skin
of the ear, there was a burn mark.
“What is this in your ear, Jenny?” Shirley cried out.
“I don’t know, Miss. Is my ear bleeding or something?”
“No, it’s alright,” said Shirley quickly, not wanting to
frighten the girl. “Just sit quietly for a few minutes. I’m sure you’ll feel
better then.”
“But, Miss…” began the girl. “The lesson you gave…I didn’t
understand any of it.”
Shirley quickly looked round at the other children’s papers.
Some had answered four or five of the questions – correctly! Shirley felt that
if the test had not been interrupted by Jenny’s faint, that they would have
answered all the questions correctly.
The bell rang for the children to return to the class. As
they silently filed in, Shirley watched them intently. When they had all sat
down, they almost automatically went back to answering the questions on the
board. Shirley made out she was checking their answers and walked amongst the
desks. This gave her a chance to check each of the children surreptitiously.
After a circuit of the room, Shirley returned to her desk
feeling as if she had been knocked down by a car. All the children had a piece
of silver wire in their right ear, but unlike Jenny’s theirs ran to a small
connection in the fleshy shell of the ear.
Something had been done to these children, she thought
angrily. This was an outrage!
Leaving Catherine to oversee the children as they completed
the test, Shirley made her way up to Miss Brittlewood’s apartment, which was
situated over the main school hall. She knew that today was the headmistress’
day off, but felt that this was an emergency that needed attending to,
immediately.
She stepped up to Miss Brittlewood’s door and knocked.
Shirley heard some movement beyond the door and suddenly it was flung open to
reveal the headmistress clad in a dressing gown and slippers.
“Miss Wilson!” exclaimed the headmistress. “It is my day
off. I am just about to take a bath. Could this not wait till later?”
“No, Miss Brittlewood, I must speak to you now!” said
Shirley and pushed by the woman.
“I am just drawing a bath…Will this take long?” stuttered
the headmistress.
“The children have been…experimented on!” began Shirley
realising that she sounded hysterical.
“What do you mean ‘experimented on’?”
“They have silver wires in their ears. They…are answering
questions that they should know nothing about! What happened at that resort
they went to in the summer? Was it the Crondyle Research Centre they went to?”
At the mention of Crondyle, Miss Brittlewood stepped back in
shock. “What do you know about Crondyle?”
Shirley turned away from the headmistress. “I think it is
time we brought the police in,” Shirley said as she made her way to the door.
Then, something hard smashed down on her head and she lost consciousness.
When Shirley came to she felt something being injected into
her arm. Miss Brittlewood stood next to Shirley and she had a hypodermic in her
hand. “This will calm you down my dear and you won’t remember anything about
today’s confusion.”
Shirley felt the drug take effect. She felt as if her head
was full of cotton wool and when she tried to speak, she slurred badly.
“Attention school!” Miss Brittlewood spoke into a microphone
connected to the school’s PA system. “I want all the school to assemble in the
hall immediately!”
Turning to Shirley she said: “Ok, Miss Wilson. Now we will
get rid of you once and for all!”
Dragging Shirley behind her, Miss Brittlewood descended the
stairs to the hall. By the time she got there the whole school was there.
“Right everyone, I just want you see Miss Wilson as she is!
Drunk! And it’s only eleven o’clock !”
the headmistress shouted, pointing at where Shirley crouched on the floor.
Everything was going hazy for her and she couldn’t do anything about it!
“You will leave this school and never darken its doors
again!” continued Miss Brittlewood dramatically. “You are a disgrace….”
The headmistress never completed her sentence as the ceiling
of the hall crashed in and gallons of water followed it landing directly on
Miss Brittlewood. The headmistress had failed to turn off the water running
into her bath and the ensuing flood had broken its way down into the hall.
The drenched figure of Miss Brittlewood stood looking
pathetic as the torrent continued to descend on her. Then with a bright flash,
smoke began to escape from the headmistress. Soon she started moving
erratically and ended up running into a wall and falling on her side where she
continued to emit smoke and move her legs and arms like a turtle on its back.
When Shirley opened her eyes she found herself in a hospital
bed. The sun was shining through the window and although she tried, she could
remember nothing of the previous twenty four hours. Why was she in hospital?
Had she been in an accident?
Just at that moment two people entered her room. It was Bob
and Catherine. “How are you feeling Shirl’?” asked Bob. “You had us all worried
for a time.”
Catherine produced a large bunch of flowers and said: “Yes,
we thought that you had been injected with poison by that old bat!”
Gradually Shirley was able to piece together what had
happened, although her memory of the episode had been forgotten.
The children from the remedial class had been sent to
Condyle Research Centre under the pretence of going to a summer resort.
Arriving at night they were too tired to realise the duplicity. After receiving
a warm drink and something to eat, both suitably laced with a drug, the
children were put to bed. Kept under an anaesthetic for the duration of the
fortnight, they had been operated on to implant the silver wire in their ears
and then the children were given a form of ‘brainwashing’ where they were told
what they were supposedly experiencing during their ‘holiday’.
“But where did Miss Brittlewood fit in?” asked Shirley
shaking her head to clear it.
“You mean Crondyle’s Mark Three Humanoid, do you?” laughed
Catherine. “She was a robot, albeit a very real looking person, but powered by
electricity and as long as she wasn’t hit by Niagara Falls , would have kept up a very
presentable representation of a human.”
“But how many children have been sent to Crondyle before?”
Shirley asked. “Are there more altered children?”
“When the police obtained a warrant to enter Crondyle, they
were amazed at what they found. Hundreds of cages containing monkeys and apes,
all had been experimented on. Some had crude prototypes of the ‘silver wire’
that the children had in their ears,” Bob said in disgust. “The whole
establishment has been shut down and arrests have been made. The Government has
been left with ‘egg on their faces’ and have assured everyone that this sort of
research has been concluded for good.”
Shirley lay quietly observing her two friends. “And, what of
my children. Can the process be reversed?” she said with hope in her voice.
“See what you think?” said Catherine with a laugh and
suddenly the room was full of children.
“Come on Miss, you’ve got to get better soon,” said Chae
Dawson. “We want to learn what happens at the end of the story about the
elephant and the kangaroo.”
Bob’s eyebrows rose. “The elephant and the kangaroo? I don’t
think I’ve heard that one. You’ll have to tell me all about it when I take you
out for a celebratory meal.”
Catherine and Shirley smiled to each other and then listened
to the sound of ten laughing, boisterous, normal children enjoying themselves.
