A Seat of Learning by Jonah
More of the adventures of Simon and Garret and their boys. This is a loving story of good people. It features men looking after boys but do not expect to find any indecency here. Only genuine love. Not one of the characters in this story is a real person or is, in any way, based on a real person. At least one character, however, is the creation of another author. I wish to thank Jacob Lion, in the USA, for his permission to use his characters in my stories.
I hope you will enjoy this story, and I'm grateful to Nifty for enabling me to bring it to you. Nifty does not charge either me or you for doing so, but it does cost money to do it. Please consider donating to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ to help keep this site going.
Chapter 1
"So, Garret," Jean breathed, sitting back in her chair, " is this going to work?"
It occurred to me that what I said was not the thing that would give Jean her answer. I had known Jean Moffat ever since I had come to St. Martin's Primary School, now incongruously dubbed a "primary academy" - whatever one of those was supposed to be. Jean listened to everybody, but not just to the words. She would learn just as much by watching the body language, listening to the intonation, and noting how long a person hesitated before giving an answer. Oops!
"I'm confident of it Jean," I hurriedly replied. "You know they're both sensible boys, and they're in the class they deserve to be in. If I had any doubts, I'd have told you last term."
"You know I could veto it," she persisted. "Every teacher knows it's bad practice and I'd be well within my rights to insist that either you or they changed forms."
"Is that what you want to do?"
"No - and, if it was, I'd have done it before the start of term. I have to take your views into account, even if the final decision is mine. I've gone along with you so far, but I wanted to have this little chat to be sure that you understand what an unusual thing it is that you're doing. At the first hint of a problem, I want you to come and see me and we'll get it sorted. Is that clear?"
"Yes Headmistress."
I wondered if I'd gone too far as soon as I said that. In company - particularly in the presence of outsiders - I'd definitely have called her "headmistress", but in private a Christian name would have been more usual, the title being reserved for a facetious response to pomposity. I was well aware that my boss was not being pompous. Jean looked after everybody and, at that moment, she was looking after me.
"Do me a favour Garret"
I was back in the room instantly.
"Of course Jean."
"Annabel's on playground duty. I could do with a word with her before the next session starts. Can you relieve her and ask her to come and see me?"
I quickly checked my pocket to make sure my trusty Acme Thunderer was in there. The whistle, on its ribbon was present.
"Yes, of course," I said as I left the room.
Five minutes later, having cleared the playground of children, I strode along the South corridor to my classroom. My own class, having had PE during the first session, were waiting patiently outside. I pushed the door open.
"In you go 5GI," I told them. "Sit down straight away and essay books on your desks please."
Normally a class entering a classroom were expected to stand by their desks until the teacher told them to sit, but I had never liked that much formality. In this instance I had already prepared the room before I reported to Jean's office during break. Any child who was particularly observant would have got out their book and then noticed that the word, "DIALOGUE" was written on the whiteboard.
When the last child had entered the classroom I cast a glance round to check that the corridor was now clear of children. The other classes, whose teachers had not been on playground duty, had all gone in so any child remaining in the corridor either had a problem, or was up to no good.
The coast was clear so I followed my class in and closed the door. I sat at my desk for a few moments to allow them to sort themselves out, then rose and walked to the whiteboard.
"Carol, read that word out loud please." I had selected a girl who I knew was a good reader, not wishing to embarrass any of them on the first day of the new term.
"Dialogue," she read perfectly.
"Thank you,"" I replied. "Know what it means?"
She had gone all shy, so I added, "anybody?"
Several hands went up. This was the point at which I remembered all Jean's warnings and cautions. Quick count reveals eight hands in the air. Select one, quickly, but it mustn't be Lloyd or Philip. Not this early in the term.
"Paul?"
"It means talking."
"Yes, it does Paul. It means things that are spoken. You can put your hands down now, because we're going to look at a few different ways of writing dialogue, then you're going to write some examples."
I was talking at them for about ten minutes, which is pretty nigh the extent to which you can expect them to just listen, even when you punctuate it with questions, as I always do.
It was a group of children with whom I was familiar. Taking 5th year primary students had that advantage. By the time they got to me, most of them had been in the school for five years and I've had the chance to at least make their aquaintance. My two sons, of course, I knew well enough, and the few boys who they counted as friends, Barry Close, for instance, and Paul and Patrick Prentice, but I knew most of the others as well. Deana Turpin was the one with the maternal instinct. Carol Greaves was the brainbox of the class - and knew it. Fred Sharpe was the extrovert and Brenda Coull was the shrinking violet. Tanya Rudge was the tomboy - if "Tanya" could have been abbreviated to a male Christian name, she would have done so. Oh, and then there was the school bully. Denzil Thorpe thought that was him. Sadly, we had never advertised a vacancy for the post because we didn't want it filling, but Denzil was convinced that it was his place in life. Certainly he had never shown any aptitude for anything else. Because we watched him like hawks, and ensured that he couldn't pick on other children, he set about making life hard for his teachers instead. That backfired too. After the third occasion on which teachers were confronted with Denzil's large and overbearing father, because Denzil had taken exception to being disciplined, Thorpe senior began to smell a rat. On the next occasion that Denzil took home a tale of woe, instead of sympathy from his pater familias, he got a good wopping. Next morning, when Denzil turned up with a black eye, Annabel had alerted Jean who had read the riot act to Thorpe senior, threatening to involve the police if it happened again.
To me, they were a remarkable group of people, even though you could have found the same mix of personalities in any class in any school in the Kingdom.
"Mr Ito," said a voice at my elbow.
"Yes, Deana"
"I think Patrick needs the toilet,"
"Do you Pat?"
A shy nod.
"Thank you Deana. Off you go Pat, but next time it should be you that tells me, not Deana."
Ah, it was good to be back. Summer holidays are always welcome when they come along but, six weeks is a long time. I loved my job.
5GI was supposedly the 5th year class in the top ability bracket. To avoid advertising that to the children, or to other people, the rest of the class title was simply the teacher's initials. In consequence of that, in theory at least, there was no reason why Lloyd and Philip couldn't have gone into 5SMT where Sean Talbot would have looked after them, but that's only the theory. In practice they would have been the most academically accomplished in Sean's class and would generally not have fitted in. They would have learned hardly anything and would have become unpopular as quickly as I hoped they were not going to become in my class.
Child-watching is what good teachers do while their charges are doing written work. It is the one time when the children are not focussed on their teacher, so it affords an opportunity to learn about them. Simple observation shows which children are struggling with a concept, which ones don't care, which ones are far too interested in the other children and which ones are having difficulty concentrating for one reason or another.
Barry fell into the last category, which was strange. He had performed good work in the past, or he wouldn't have been in my form in the first place, but the expression on his face was that of somebody who is concentrating till it hurts, but is getting nowhere by it. In otherwords the boy was, for some reason, so uncomfortable that his concentration was achieving nothing. I needed to keep an eye on that one and, perhaps, have a word with him later on. In the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to give him a break.
"Barry, come here for a moment please."
His expression changed to one of guilt. Had I caught him doing something he shouldn't, and if so what. Was it the knowledge of some misdemeanour that was distracting him? Not likely.
"Barry, can you pop down to the office and ask Mrs. Harper if the two packs of exercise books that I ordered at the end of last term are in the store and, if so, can you bring one of them back with you?"
I had been going to do that myself at dinner-time, but at least this would put Barry out of his agony for ten minutes. It would also stop him finishing his work, but I was sure he wouldn't have achieved that anyway. Ten minutes later he was back and resumed his seat.
"Right, close your books now 5GI. In a minute or so the bell will go. If you have finished your essay, leave your book on my desk as you go out. If you need more time, you can take your book home with you tonight. You can leave it in your desk for now."
The bell rang, initiating a stampede. I had to raise my voice.
"Barry, can I have a word before you go? Lloyd, Philip, I'll see you in the dining hall."
In seconds it was just Barry and me. I left my desk and walked over to sit at the desk next to his. I was sitting next to a smallish lad with tousled brown hair and a scared expression.
"Cor, they make these desks small," I commented, eliciting a brief smile. "What's the problem Barry?"
A small shrug.
"Are you going to pretend there isn't a problem?"
Another shrug.
"Who was King of England in 1886?"
"Don't know, I wasn't born."
Well at least we had achieved the spoken word.
"Neither was I, so I don't either," I returned. "Are you taking your essay book home tonight?"
"What?" the change of subject had taken him unawares.
"Barry, I know that a lot of children in the class will need extra time to finish it. In your case, you've written a title and nothing else - I know because I was watching you. Something is worrying you so much that you couldn't think of anything else. If that's the case, you need help with it. I'll help if I can."
"Nobody can help."
"Not if we don't know what it is we can't. "
Another shrug. We were back to that. There were tears not far beneath the surface. I didn't think I would achieve much by badgering him until he cried.
"Go and get your dinner Barry, and try not to worry too much. You've got a big worry that you need to talk to somebody about. It doesn't have to be me. Mrs. Moffat will listen to you, or find somebody who doesn't know you to talk with you about it. Any of the teachers who you think you could talk to. If you'd rather it wasn't a grown-up, talk to Philip or Lloyd. I won't promise they won't tell me, but they wouldn't tell me more than I have to know."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Why do I want to know about what?" Well it was worth a try.
"Very funny!"
"Dinner, if you think you can eat it. If you can't - come and see me. I'll find something you can eat. I'll be in the hall."
The hall was set out for dinners, which had been served up by the time I got there. A brief survey of the room showed me that Barry was surveying a plate of stew at Sean's table. I looked around and located Annabel Hutchins. She had been Barry's class teacher last year. I wondered if she knew anything. Her plate of stew was about finished so I wandered over.
"Can I have a word, Miss Hutchins, when you're finished?" Formality because of the six children seated at her table.
"Of course you can Mr. Ito. I'm about done here," she said pushing back her chair.
We moved to the corner of the stage so as to be away from all the children. The hall was always noisy at dinner times so there was no danger of being overheard.
"Annabel, I've got a boy who is so worried and distracted that he can't concentrate, but he'll not say what is worrying him. Whether it's at home or at school I can't tell. If I ask, I'm met with a wall of silence and, if I persist, tears. It's clearly a big worry to elicit that sort of response."
She let out a deep breath slowly while she thought of her response to that. Finally she said,
"Do you know if his parents are still going to that new Church over at Castle Rise?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Maybe nothing, but if you can't get through to him, I doubt whether a chat with his parents will achieve anything positive."
"O Hell!"
She patted me on the arm.
"Luck!" she said as she returned to her table. Only then did I realise that she hadn't even asked which child I was referring to.