Miss Carter's War by Sheila Hancock

Author:Sheila Hancock
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2014-09-07T16:00:00+00:00

The one that walked into the middle of Marguerite’s English lesson was a cadaverous man, wearing metal-rimmed glasses and a grey three-piece suit. Councillor Jackson stood at the door, looming over the class, saying nothing, until Marguerite invited him to sit down, and listen to the poems that four of her pupils had chosen to learn. It was an eclectic mix of a brave attempt at a Shakespeare sonnet, a few words from the Beatles song, ‘Love Me Do’, and Timothy Barker, who was mentally slow, managed ‘Old Macdonald Had A Farm’, encouraged by animal noises from the class, who knew what a mighty effort it was for him to participate. It was hard to believe, when she remembered what they were like in the early days, how they now loved these performances. There was much laughter and enthusiastic chatter. Marguerite sneaked a look at the inspector to see if he too was having fun. He was not. His only comment as he left was an incredulous, ‘You did say that was an English lesson, didn’t you, Miss Carter?’

After Councillor Jackson’s frosty reaction, it was no surprise to hear from Duane that the overall report was bad. He had been given a list of criticisms. ‘The children do not hold authority in awe, and friendliness often degenerates into informality’ being one of them. Were it not for the word ‘degenerate’ Marguerite would have considered the comment was meant as a compliment. The inspector was particularly offended by the CND symbol painted on the playground wall. Mr Duane pointed out that all schoolchildren wrote on walls; he even understood that carving names on wood was not unknown at Eton, but of course they were sometimes famous and successful names, so that was all right.

Duane was doing his best to put on a brave face in public. Staying late one night with a troubled student, Marguerite had passed his open door as she left, and saw him slumped at his desk, a glass of whisky in his hand.

She went in.

‘Mike, its serious, isn’t it? Are we really in danger of being closed down?’

He looked bewildered.

‘No, I can’t believe that. It’s absurd. Surely no enlightened education authority could be influenced by the predilection of one or two officials. Because that’s what it is. Most of them have never been near the school. They couldn’t close it on the evidence of a lot of tittle-tattle, could they?’

‘We must stand up to them.’

Duane looked exhausted.

‘I’ll try. But the opposers are as fanatical as I am. They are deeply religious and puritanical, and I am anathema to them, with my humanist assemblies, and sex-education lessons, and, in their eyes, lack of discipline. They mean well. They think I am dangerous. Perhaps I am. People with a mission often are.’ He looked at her. ‘I recognise the same reforming zeal in you, Marguerite.’

‘Tony calls it my Messiah complex.’

‘It’s a sort of conceit, really. We think we are right, and want to change things to our way. That can lead to terrible things.

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