A New Term By Jonah
We're once more at the Norwich City Technology College with Simon. Not that there is any such place. None of the people in any of my stories are real. Many of the places are, though the people attached to them aren't, but none of the schools are real either. There are some things you don't want to inflict on real people or institutions by writing stories about them. Although I invented most of the people in this story, one of them - Garret - is the invention of another author - of Jacob Lion in the United States - as are some characters that only get a mention. I want to thank Jacob for his kind permission to use his characters in my story. If you've enjoyed my previous stories from 'A Letter from America', to 'On Sea and Sand', I hope you'll enjoy this one. if you do enjoy it, please spare a thought for the kind man who published it for you. Nifty doesn't charge you to read these stories, and he doesn't charge us authors either, but it does cost money to publish them. He bears this cost from his own pocket and from donations via https://donate.nifty.org/ . Please consider donating.
Chapter 10
Richard Nottingham waited by the fence as I turned into the staff car-park. As soon as Barry left the car, the two of them walked together to the playground. I had been surprised that we were still allowed to call it that. Since the school had become a city technology college, I would have expected it to become a parade ground, or an exercise yard. I think the moderating influence was Grev Kennedy. He had never been keen to be a principal, instead of a headmaster, and he would certainly prefer us still to be a school (he still called it that, depending on who he was talking to). He would have preferred to set a curriculum based on physical and spiritual well-being, rather than the new-fangled 'National Curriculum' set by the employers who we were supposed to supply with factory fodder while they supplied our output with jobs. We kept our side of the bargain, I'm afraid, but they didn't often see fit to keep theirs.
The day went more or less to plan, insofar as any day in a school can be said to be planned. Certainly students kept turning up to be educated when the timetable said they should. 3SI seemed more cheerful after my little speech on Monday. I even got a request from Barry, at dinnertime, to invite Richard Nottingham home for tea. I told him to wait until the weekend, since I was tied up with Shawn Peters during the week. There was also a note in my cubby Hole from Ken Clifford, Barry's form-tutor.
Apparently he had arranged to take two first-year forms on a visit to the cathedral on the following Wednesday afternoon. Both form tutors were accompanying, as was the vice-principal, but he wondered if I would make up a fourth, given that 1KJC was one of my RE groups. A quick check of Wednesday's timetable revealed that I should get 1KJC for English followed by a double free period. It was a no-brainer. I wouldn't even need to arrange cover for my lessons. I scribbled a reply and put it in Ken's cubbyhole.
Metalwork took up most of the afternoon. When the final bell went I discovered that Barry wasn't alone.
"Rickie wants to know if we can give him a lift 'cos his mum can't pick him up and he doesn't want to walk back to Horsham".
I was not pleased, and couldn't believe that Rickie's mum would abandon her son like that. If Grev had discovered that, he would have called the police.
However,
"Get in", I told him.
The boy complied without a word.
I drove to Horsham St. Faith and parked up outside the Nottingham abode. When Rickie got out, so did I. I needed a word with the woman anyway.
A well-to-do looking lady in a pastel-coloured trouser suit met me at the front door. She didn't invite me in so we stayed outside. Rickie dived past her and disappeared from view.
"The thing is, Mr .... er ... Eaton..?" she drawled.
"Ito", I supplied.
"Ah, yes, Ito. I've seen it on Richard's school reports. We always thought it funny."
If she'd seen it on any of Ricky's reports, it would have been Garret's signature. I didn't go there.
"Yes, we often chuckle about it. It's Japanese".
"Ah, you don't look Japanese".
"I'm not, Mrs. Nottingham. You were going to tell me what the point was".
"Was I? Ah yes. The point is that I'm expecting a parcel".
"I rather think the point is that, if my son hadn't told me that Richard needed a lift, but had spoken to the Principal instead, it would have been a couple of policemen standing here talking to you, and Richard would have been going to live somewhere else".
"Yes, I do see that. Thank you for bringing him home".
She turned to the door, the interview apparently over.
"Mrs. Nottingham".
I didn't think it was over.
"Yeeeeees?"
The drawl, with the sort of exaggerated patience that is really its opposite, seemed to have elevated her to at least a dowager duchess - certainly not somebody who needed to notice a mere schoolteacher.
"Mrs. Nottingham, my son asked if he could invite Richard to have tea with us on Saturday. Would that be convenient?"
"Perfectly. Thank you so much".
I was looking at a closed front door. Now the interview really was over. I shrugged and rejoined Barry in the car.
"What does Ricky's father do?" I asked.
Barry didn't hesitate.
"I don't know", he replied. "I know he travels a lot".
"Hmm! Figures", I grunted as I drove off.
It was my turn to cook dinner but I arrived home to discover that Garret had, with Lloyd's help, prepared steak pie, baked beans and chips for us all.
"It was my turn", I pointed out.
"I know, but I've finished work for the day and you haven't", he replied, giving me a fond peck on the cheek. Neither of us were shy of giving signs of affection in front of the boys. It was a part of our relationship and the boys were glad to be included in it. We firmly believed that, "not in front of the children" is a good way to make a child feel excluded and insecure.
Tuition time with Shawn followed the same pattern. Once more we faced each other across the table in his cell while PC Drew exchanged banter with either of us across the cell. Shawn recognised that we had established a comedy routine that was primarily for his entertainment. It was the spoonful of sugar that helped the medicine go down.
On this occasion I had brought with me a sketch block and a selection of soft and hard grade pencils. I placed the pencil-case on the table but said,
"All in good time Shawn. First of all there's the little matter of homework. Did you find out anything about conduction?"
""Molecules", he said.
""Language", said the comedian across the cell.
He glanced across at the policeman on his bench but then decided that he wanted to be serious so he pressed on.
"Each molecule that is heated passes heat to the next molecule. Heat can pass through solids or liquids like that.
"What about gases?" I queried.
"It has other ways of travelling through those".
This boy was good. I wondered why he never showed that in school.
"Convection?" I queried.
"Yes, and radiation as well. Convection works in liquids too. Heat makes a gas, or a liquid, less dense, so more dense gas can push underneath it and lift it up. In that way a hot gas will rise to the ceiling and be forced to travel along it. As it cools it becomes more dense again so it goes up, then along the ceiling then down and along the floor".
The best and most effectve way to teach is to allow oneself to be taught. Too often students won't go along with that but, it occurred to me, this boy not only vindicated the text-book - he could have written it.
"I expect you're going to tell me about radiation next", I said.
"Yes, well that's just rays travelling in straight lines from their source. They can be blocked, if something gets in their way, or they can be refracted or reflected. In the case of rays of heat, if they are blocked, they can still keep travelling by one of the other methods".
""And refraction can also concentrate them and start a fire", I put in, anxious to get a word in edgeways. "Shawn, how do you put out a fire?"
"Take away one side of the fire triangle", he replied immediately. "Which side will depand on the fuel, what other hazards are nearby, and what you have to hand".
"When did you last see your father?"
It happened, and I was astonished. Colin sitting on the other side of the cell, wouldn't have seen it (nor known what it meant if he had), but I was sure that I was meant to see the conspiratorial grin that flickered across his face. Shawn was not your average, educationally backward, disruptive bully. There was an intelligence here that was thorough and quick. That he was enjoying himself I could not doubt, but he was drawing on the resources of a well trained brain, and that, along with showing off his ability, was what he obviously enjoyed doing.
"Last Friday Sir".
The grin had returned. His words answered my question but his face said that we both knew that I had just quoted the title of a painting by William Yeames. I reminded myself that this was an eleven year old that I was talking to. Suddenly I thought I understood his problem. Could we be understretching him? Was the disruptivenes, and the bullying, simply because we were not teaching him anything that was worthy of his intellect? Intellectually, at least, he should have been in the sixth form, but his physical age precluded him.
I pushed the sketch-block across the table toward him.
"That's enough of science for today then", I told him. "Your medium this evening is graphite pencil and the title of the piece you are to produce is, "When did you last see your father?" It is not to be a copy, as far as you can remember it, of the famous painting by William Yeames, but an entirely new composition of your own, interpreting those words exactly how you think they would be best interpreted. If you think the English Civil War is the best period to set it in, fine, but you can choose any period you like".
I presumed that he was listening to me, but he had already started sketching-in lines on the pad. I walked across and sat with Colin so that Shawn didn't think I was watching him work. I could imagine one or two ways he might like to approach the subject but, for the final denouement, I would wait until he finished.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" muttered Colin quietly.
"That depends on what that is", I replied.
"That we've got a very smart boy here who misbehaves because he's bored".
"Bored, he may be", I whispered back, "but we know how nasty he was prepared to be. Boredom isn't an excuse for that".
Shawn put down his pencil.
"Is Neil going to be alright?" he asked.
"I don't know because I'm not allowed in to see him", I replied, "but it won't be any of your doing if he is".
His eyes dropped to the table.
"I know", he said. "I'm sorry".
"I think it's Neil who needs the apology", I replied. "You were pretty brutal with him. What did you try to set fire to his underwear for?"
"We needed a fire", he replied. "We were going to torture him".
"Why?"
"He was supposed to be my friend".
"You were supposed to be his friend. I don't think much of the way you treat your friends".
That was an understatement. I felt my flesh creep as the boy went on,
"He used to be my friend. He betrayed me. He deserved to have his feet burnt".
"Nobody deserves that," I snapped. "Not even you, and I don't recall meeting any much lower forms of life. Now get on with your work".
He surveyed my face for perhaps a couple of seconds, then shrugged and resumed his drawing.
"I think we're finished here", I muttered to Colin.
I was not sorry to get out of there that night. I felt dirty just from having associated with the boy. I didn't feel that I was fit company for my family so, instead of getting into my car, I walked into the city. Norwich at night is much like most cities at night. It is an old city but modern youth still demands night-life, and it gets it. I was not stupid enough to enter any of the bars. I would certainly not get away with drinking and then driving home - especially since my car was currently parked outside a police station. I just needed to walk. It was ten o' clock by the time I got back to my car and, sure enough there was a policeman standing guard over it.
"Do I need to breathalise you before I let you drive?" Colin enquired.
"You should have breathalised me before you let me walk", I told him. "I've never met with anything like that before".
"The CPS advise that, so long as the other boy recovers, we'll probably be told to caution him and let him go". He said glumly.
"They'll have to find a school that's prepared to take him", I grunted. "I'm through with him. If you have to find a prison tutor to take him on, they'll require a psychiatric report. He should be institutionalised for his own and everybody else's safety, but he's smart enough to fool a psychiatrist".
"I know. Why do you think we insisted on having an officer in the cell with you? We've got it all on tape".
"And I thought you were concerned for my safety", I said with a grin. "Can I offer you a lift anywhere?"
"My car's over there", Colin replied. "Goodnight Sir".