* * *
I remember a friend of mine being exceedingly glum one day
when the object of his affection – nay, fixation would be more accurate – was
observed studiously avoiding him. It seemed to me that her failure to
reciprocate his advances had a lot to do with his hairstyle, the set of his
ears and the shape of his nose. And he wasn’t very good looking either. I
didn’t have the heart to tell him, just muttered something crass about the sea
and bigger fish.
* * *
And then there was the time when one of the girls was sick
in the classroom. I watched fascinated as a whole sprout rolled under my desk.
Well, if you will go swallowing whole sprouts…
* * *
Wednesday afternoons featured both rugby training and
orchestra rehearsal, and I was the only one in the school who did both. Can you
believe that? It’s true, and you can’t be in two places at once. The teachers
decided: music. I lost my place in the rugby team, and I swear it would have
changed my life for the worse if I hadn’t been allowed to alternate and regain my place in the team the following year.
* * *
As well as being head prefect, I was also Head Boy in my
final year, and one of my duties was to present the Chairman of the Education
Committee with a painted portrait of himself. The English mistress had written
the speech, and it included the phrase ‘…a portrait executed in the school art
room.’ Even at that age I realised that ‘executed’ was a bit pretentious, and so
I asked her to change it to simply ‘painted.’ She was very small and very
fierce, and so I lost.
* * *
When it came to the Big Exam at the end of it all, I found I’d
been awarded a Grade 7 for History. Grade 7 was a fail, which surprised me because
I’d answered the same five questions in the same way that I’d answered them in
the mock and been awarded a Grade 1. I pointed this out to the Head of History
and asked him to have the result reviewed. He declined on the grounds that ‘they
never make mistakes.’ And so I lost again.
4 comments:
Ha, ha...lovely
... and all true. I even forgot to include the one about the science master's little daughter and the fossils. Maybe next time.
Hi, Della.
You really should write your memoirs. One day.
And call it 'Portrait of a Nobody as a Young Man.' I don't think my ego would quite manage it, Della. But thanks for the confidence.
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