Speaking of Jennings! by Anthony Buckeridge

Author:Anthony Buckeridge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

George III was still mounting guard over the congealed sludge outside the dining-hall windows an hour later as Mr. Pemberton-Oakes was showing his guests round the school.

The visit was not proceeding smoothly … Form 5b had taken advantage of Mr. Pemberton-Oakes’ absence from their Latin lesson to stage a medieval jousting tournament between the desks. They scurried to their places when the headmaster opened the door but, even so, it was too late to prevent a badly-aimed blackboard duster from striking the lintel above the doorway and showering the visitors with a spray of chalk-dust as they stood on the threshold. As the duster dropped down, it caught Mr. Pemberton-Oakes a glancing blow on the right shoulder.

After that the visitors were shown the Art Room, arriving at the very moment that Blotwell accidentally dropped a tray containing six jars of poster paint, spattering the boys around him in rainbow hues of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and mauve.

Mr. Pemberton-Oakes was tight-lipped with embarrassment as he led his visitors out through the side door on the next stage of their conducted tour. As he had feared, the prospective parents had turned out to be pernickety in the extreme, and it was clear from the look on their faces that from what they had seen so far of Linbury Court School, they didn’t think much of it.

The headmaster did his best to make light of the unfortunate incidents as his guests followed him out-of-doors.

“The dining-hall is along here in the new block,” he was saying as they headed towards the brick path. “Our catering at Linbury is first-rate. We make a point of seeing that the boys always start the day with a wholesome and appetising breakfast.”

So saying, he turned the corner and walked straight into the remains of seventy-nine wholesome and appetising breakfasts spread out along the path in congealed and unsightly clumps.

They were all in it up to the ankles before they could check their pace. Porridge and beans lapped the welts of their shoes: fried cinders of bread crunched and slithered underfoot.

The headmaster was speechless with mortification as his guests squelched their way out of the morass.

“Perhaps we should retrace our steps,” he began diffidently when speech returned: but the damage was irretrievable.

“Thank you, but we have seen enough.” The husband turned to his wife. “I think we had better be going. We have another school to see this morning.”

In silence, Mr. Pemberton-Oakes escorted them to their car, conscious, as he walked, of the piece of toast still impaled on the heel of his shoe.

The parting was polite, but not cordial: it would be stretching the facts to claim that the prospective parents had been impressed by their visit to Linbury Court.

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