This may be a bit long-winded, but please bear with me. I recently wrote about an incident at school which involved the drinking of Sherry. This separate incident took place just a few weeks before, and was..... well, you'll see!
I was sitting in my study, brushing-up for a forthcoming A level exam, when I was summoned to see the Headmaster.
He bellowed at me, told me that I'd always been a nasty disturbing influence (we didn't like each other), and ranted about a phone call that he'd just received. I listened patiently as his regular vermilion face turned puce, then he finally declared that I'd been sacked (expelled). All he added was that he would be phoning my father forthwith and that I'd better pack my things, ready to catch the London train in the morning.
I returned to my study where everyone was intrigued to learn about what he'd wanted.
"I've been sacked" I told them.
"What for?" they asked.
"No idea" I replied. "He didn't say".
"What are you going to do about it?" the three others asked in unison.
"Nothing; I'll just ignore the silly old buffer".
About half an hour later, our fifth study member 'G' arrived back, and slumped down at his desk. "Cro's been sacked" they all informed him excitedly.
G stood up, looked serious (actually, he always looked serious), and muttered something about having to see the headmaster. About half an hour later he returned to the study and said that the headmaster wanted to see me; yet AGAIN.
This time I really didn't know what to expect, and I remember nervously hesitating outside his door. Eventually I very reluctantly knocked; and entered.
"Sit down, Magnon" he said in a much calmer and friendlier tone than an hour before. "There seems to have been a misunderstanding; why did you not say something before?"
"I'm afraid I had no idea what you were talking about, Sir" I replied. "And, frankly, I still don't". Then, in front of me, he lifted his telephone and spoke to my father; explaining that it had all been some terrible mistake, before passing the phone over to me.
After a few father/son pleasantries, father told me to make him apologise; and the call was over.
"What did he say?" asked the Headmaster.
"He suggested that you may like to apologise to me" I said blankly (feeling extremely smug).
He did apologise, but he also accused me of having aggravated the situation by not having asked why I'd been sacked. After a short while I returned to my study where 'G' explained that he'd given MY NAME when he'd been caught returning his girlfriend to her school, after an illicit evening out. The girl's headmistress had phoned our headmaster, and the result had been predictable.
'G' had, of course now been sacked in my stead, and I offered him a sharp right jab to his chin as a souvenir of his unacceptable behaviour. No doubt I also celebrated with a glass of cheap British Sherry.
Sacked, then re-admitted, all in the space of less than two hours had been exhausting, and was well worth celebrating. When I returned home that Summer (for the final time), my father didn't mention a single word about the incident; it was if it had never happened. Maybe he'd not mentioned it to my mother.
You'll be pleased to hear that I shall NOT be posting any more school-boy tales; this final one is enough!
No, not pleased. I have enjoyed the schoolboy stories. Have a nice Sunday.ReplyDelete
A very frosty one, but we'll do our best; thank you.Delete
Yes! I mean no! Don't stop. They are interesting.ReplyDelete
PS re. your real identity; did you know that a magnon is:ReplyDelete
'The collective excitation of the electrons' spin structure in a crystal lattice. In the equivalent wave picture of quantum mechanics, a magnon can be viewed as a quantized spin wave." - wiki.
I got as far as 'The collective..... ' After that my failure at Quantum Physics O level became understandable. Thank goodness it's not my 'real' name, I could be asked to open fêtes.ReplyDelete
Why the heck DIDN'T you ask him why you were sacked? Hey...don't stop writing about your school days...please....it's from a different country and experience for me...I enjoy reading about it.ReplyDelete
It's all a long time ago, but I think I must have realised it was all a big mistake, and just played along.Delete
Please keep telling us about your school days. They have both made me smile whilst reading and enjoying a cup of coffee in the morning.ReplyDelete
You hit G? After he had taken the wrap for you?ReplyDelete
A good story, Cro. I echo the others, continue telling us these school yard tales.ReplyDelete
I will add my name to the list - please keep them coming. As a retired teacher I love to hear of misdemeanours over which I had absolutely no worries!ReplyDelete
Incidentally Cro, on the subject of pheasants and our freezer (your comment on my blog), the farmer no longer plucks them, he just skins them and we freeze the breasts and legs - much easier and less messy.
I used to do the same with my bag of Pigeons.Delete
More please. Very entertaining. I think it was great that you did not ask why you were being booted out. I love that insouciant rather disdainful approach...it made the headmaster look like a complete twerp. I am sure you have a lot more interesting autobiographical gems in your bag apart from the pigeons:)ReplyDelete
I was gob smacked when I read all that - glad that G got the beating he deserved. But I bet it was like nectar having the master to apologise. I bet he never got over it.ReplyDelete
I left school after that term, and the Headmaster also retired. Unfortunately he died in the train on the way down to his new life in Devon. I hope it wasn't my fault.Delete
what a varied life we all live. More stories pleaseReplyDelete
You were remarkably unflappable, weren't you? I suppose you still are...ReplyDelete
I don't mind the schoolboy stories. What you paint so clearly is the absolute authority headmasters and those of their ilk had, reminding me why it so often chafed.ReplyDelete
Ah, school days!!ReplyDelete
Thought you might be interested in this quote from Auberon Waugh's autobiography.ReplyDelete
" The presence of my children affects me with deep weariness and depression. I do not see them until luncheon, as I have my breakfast alone in the library, and they are in fact well trained to avoid my part of the house, but I am aware of them from the moment I wake. Luncheon is very painful.... Bron is clumsy and
dishevelled, sly, without intellectual, aesthetic or spiritual interest..."
Auberon Waugh was only seven at the time.
From Evelyn Waugh's published letters and diaries
23 December 1946