by Arthur James
It was all rather mysterious. A few months ago Miss MacBride had applied for the post of English mistress at a shabby but genteel boys' preparatory school. There were three other applicants, all older than she was. She had gathered that the post involved not only teaching English but a great deal of pastoral care. In effect, if selected, she would be an assistant housemistress to Mr Parry who ran one of the four houses at the school. As far as experience went she had only two years teaching at a boys' preparatory school although for a year and a half she had been engaged as a tutor for two mischievous young boys. Neither of them had been very keen on hard work to begin with but after the judicious and regular application of a light school cane to their bare bottoms they found that they possessed a great deal of enthusiasm for hard work after all. Miss MacBride was an extremely competent young woman but she felt just a little nervous as she entered the headmaster's study.
The headmaster, Mr Deverell, a short plump man with ears that stuck out at a peculiar angle, conducted the interview and she quickly formed a strong impression that he was a snob of the very worst kind. He had made an off the cuff remark about how unfortunate it was that in order to make ends meet the school had to accept boys whose fathers were in 'trade'. As if it were a disease that one caught from mixing with one's social inferiors. It had made the small fine hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention and before she could stop herself, she found herself speaking as if she were admonishing a small boy for a lapse in his table manners.
"There is nothing at all wrong with being in trade, as you call it, headmaster. My father was a bus driver for thirty-five years before he retired."
She imagined that her eyes were flashing as if she were a spirited heroine in a romantic novel. She was so unbelievably angry that she could have happily reached over and boxed his rather oversized ears. Of course the headmaster had held up his hands with a pained expression on his face. He had apologised profusely but she had known then with utter certainty that she had no chance of getting the job. So it had proved, a brief letter expressing regret that she had not gained the appointment duly arrived. Then six weeks later an urgent telephone call from the headmaster himself. Apparently, he had been very impressed with her at the interview: would she be immediately available still to take up the post as the school had been let down very badly indeed.
She couldn't help speculate about just how the school had been let down but as she had no offers of employment there was only one possible answer she could give.
"That is very kind of you, Mr Deverell. Tomorrow afternoon then. I believe the train gets in about two thirty."
She had been the sole occupant of the railway carriage on the journey to the school. The winter sun had shone gently through the window as she had lit her first cigarette of the day. She regularly promised herself she would give them up but never quite seemed to manage it. She tried in vain to read her newspaper but kept on being distracted by recollections of her childhood. It seemed to her she had come a long way from those neat rows of terraced houses. She always thought about the same things. For instance, she remembered her mother holding her hand and taking her to school for the first time. She had been a thin, rather ugly child but some magical transformation had taken place and she had grown into a woman who was undeniably beautiful. At one time when she was young and naive she had imagined she would marry a charming man, perhaps a little older than herself. Now she was nearly thirty she had decided in all likelihood she would never marry at all. Still with her slender figure and well-rounded bottom, she turned heads wherever she went.
It had been two weeks since she had received that unexpected telephone call and here she found herself on a Friday evening in front of a glowing log fire toasting her toes, her only company being Mr Parry, who was a very different sort of man from the headmaster. He was an amiable widower in his early sixties who reminded her of a particularly jolly uncle of hers that used to perform inept conjuring tricks at children's birthday parties. It didn't take her very long to realise that it was the only house at the school where discipline was relaxed. In fact it wasn't as much relaxed as non-existent. Undeniably it was a reasonably happy place with the boys allowed to do pretty much as they pleased. Some of the more adventurous spirits had even been known to booby trap their genial housemaster's study. That first week she had witnessed several heavy Latin dictionaries nearly crash down on his head as he opened his study door.
"Boys will be boys my dear. Not to worry," he had muttered absentmindedly, whilst nimbly stepping over the piles of fallen volumes.
She had heard from one of the other housemasters that Mr Parry occasionally caned the boys, usually only when directly ordered to by the headmaster. Apparently, the last time he had administered six of the best, the strokes had been so feeble the boy had been unable to restrain his amusement and had burst out laughing. Mr Parry had afterwards apologised profusely after mistaking the boy's laughter for sounds of distress. She had no idea if it were true or not but the story had caused much laughter in the staff room when it was told. In fact it made her feel rather a traitor that she had laughed too. Despite the fact he obviously viewed the boys through a pair of rose-tinted glasses she had already developed a fondness for the man, although she was determined to improve discipline. Yes, she was a great believer in the benefits of discipline especially for small boys. In her view, the more often the boys were caned the better. They might not enjoy it but it improved their characters enormously.
Mr Parry, his bald head shining, was about to pour them both a drink as he believed it was the only civilised way to end the day. There was no doubt that the housemaster was greatly relieved that Miss MacBride wasn't in favour of abstinence. A little convivial companionship at the end of the day was an absolute must in Mr Parry's opinion.
"What can I get you, Miss MacBride? Surely you will appreciate a wee dram, after all you are the proud possessor of a very fine Scottish name." he chuckled.
"My father was Scots, Mr Parry, but I was born in England. Nevertheless, I will have a wee dram with just a little water please." She brushed a strand of dark hair away from her eyes as she spoke. The fire was making her feel a little drowsy, and in ten minutes or so it would be time for her to do the rounds and check all the boys were behaving themselves. After that, she was planning to go to bed with a good book.
"Whisky with a little water, that was exactly what your predecessor, Mr Bryant, used to enjoy," he exclaimed whilst pouring a generous measure of whisky into a glass.
"Ah yes. The gentleman who let everyone down very badly! What on earth did he do I wonder? Was he caught dropping his 'aitches'?"
"No, no, it wasn't quite as bad as that! The only thing he dropped was his trousers. He was caught one lunchtime in one of the laundry cupboards with the assistant matron. An extremely nice girl she was too. So sorry to see them both depart under a cloud so quickly, but the headmaster is very much against that sort of thing. He never married you see!"
She couldn't stop laughing. It was too priceless for words. What made things worse, Mr Parry explained, was the fact that the headmaster had actually stumbled across the perspiring lovers himself. It was just fortunate that none of the boys had seen such a dreadful thing the headmaster had insisted afterwards. Well, at least it had turned out alright for her. She would just have to make doubly sure she wasn't caught in any laundry cupboards with anyone.
After they had finished their drinks they did the rounds of the three house dormitories together. Already they had developed a sort of double act where Mr Parry would gently cajole and Miss MacBride would look very stern indeed. It wouldn't have any appreciable effect on the noise levels but at least they could check that the boys were not climbing out of the windows or actually swinging from the rafters. If it had been up to Miss MacBride she would have taken a cane with her, and thoroughly warmed a few bottoms. She very much doubted that any boy would burst out laughing after she had administered six of the best.
They were just heading back to Mr Parry's study (Mr Parry having successfully persuaded Miss MacBride to have yet another nightcap) when they caught a pyjama-clad boy creeping silently down a corridor far away from his own dormitory. It was Matthews - she had noticed the boy before as he was an exceptionally pretty child.
"Come, come my boy it is well past your bedtime and you should be safely tucked up in bed," advised Mr Parry, whilst amiably wagging a plump finger. The elderly housemaster was no doubt deeply anxious to return to his blazing log fire and his bottle of single malt whisky. Miss MacBride, who missed very little of what went on, noticed at once that the boy wasn't wearing his dressing gown despite the fact that it was a freezing cold evening. The boy looked impossibly angelic; a picture of innocent youth with what looked like a smear of chocolate across his cheek.
"What do you think we should do with this fellow, Miss MacBride?" asked Mr Parry, beaming good naturedly, his bushy eyebrows twitching like cats' whiskers.
"If it was up to me I should award him a good hard caning," she replied rather less good naturedly. If she was not mistaken he was clutching something in his left hand.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr Parry, as if Miss MacBride had just made an amusing joke. Matthews, though, could clearly see she wasn't joking, and began to look decidedly nervous.
"Matthews has been eating chocolate and I shouldn't be in the least bit surprised if he hasn't still got the remains of a bar of chocolate in his hand, Mr Parry."
"Chocolate! Surely not! Now hold out your hand, Matthews, there is a good fellow." Mr Parry blinked owl-like through his round spectacles. He liked to think of himself as a wily old bird who missed nothing. Maybe the cold had temporarily dulled his senses.
Matthews held out his small hands and the remains of a bar of chocolate still adhered to one of them. It was a bar of Fry's chocolate cream. Miss MacBride's suspicions were alerted at once. Surely Matthews hadn't possessed the nerve to break into the tuck cupboard. It was not far from where the boy had been caught. It took only a moment for her to check. The cupboard was unlocked. Most probably Mr Parry had forgotten to lock it. The contents had been obviously rifled; several cartons of crisps and dozens of chocolate bars were all missing! It was theft! Grand larceny! In her opinion no punishment could be too severe for such an outrage.
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