by Mike Kent
As the bridge lowered again, renewed interest was shown in what remained of the packed lunches and the children settled back down on their seats. The two Susans were sent to fetch two more cups of coffee, while Dorothy and I sat watching the children amuse themselves by running along the towpath, examining the cannons, or asking the Beefeater on the nearest gate some questions they hadn’t thought of earlier. I had taken a few sips of my coffee when Badger suddenly appeared at my elbow, puffing with the exertion of running. He jerked my sleeve, slopping the coffee out of the cup and down my trouser leg. Susan Davis looked at my leg with interest and awaited further developments.
‘Sir,’ gasped Badger, ‘there’s a bloke over there…’
‘For heaven’s sake stand still for a moment and calm down,’ said Dorothy.
‘But Miss,’ he urged, ‘there’s this bloke, Miss. ‘E’s got Rousey with ‘im and they’ve gone off down the path…’
He pointed earnestly among the lunchtime crowds moving along the towpath and as I realised what Badger could be implying, I felt an icy finger of fear tense my stomach. Dorothy stood up swiftly and looked in the direction Badger was pointing.
‘It’s alright,’ I said, more calmly than I felt, ‘I’ll go with him and find Rouse. You stay with the rest. I’ll be back in a moment.’ She nodded with concern and I followed Badger, half walking, half running ahead of me.
‘Where exactly did he go?’ I shouted.
‘Along ‘ere, Sir. I dunno where ‘e is now, though. I ‘ope we find ‘im, Sir.’
‘Of course we’ll find him. Was he on his own?’
‘’E was at first. ‘E was lookin’ for things on the path. Then I saw ‘im talkin’ to this fat bloke, and then this bloke walked off with ‘im an’ some of the boys followed. Tommy, David, Paul, they was all with ‘im, Sir. P’raps they’ve bin kidnapped.’
‘What did the man look like?’
‘I just told yer. A fat bloke.’
I found that I was now being accompanied by six of the boys, who didn’t want to miss out on any drama that was unfolding. I felt a little like the Pied Piper, and distinctly uncomfortable as my clammy trouser leg flapped coldly around my calf.
‘Sorry about spillin’ yer drink, Sir,’ Badger said brightly. ‘I didn’t see you ‘ad yer tea in yer ‘and, and… look, Sir, look! There ‘e is.’
Near the side entrance of the Tower I saw Rouse and the other missing boys standing with a middle aged, expensively dressed couple who were arranging the boys in a group with a Beefeater beside the gate. With an intense feeling of relief, immediately followed by anger at being so panicked by Badger’s story, I realised the boys were simply having their photographs taken by a tourist. Rouse confirmed this happily as he spotted me.
‘‘Ello, Sir,’ he called, waving his hand. ‘This bloke comes from Texas, Sir. We’re ‘avin’ our photos took. ‘E’d do yours if you want. Come and stand over ‘ere with us.’ The man took his camera from his eye, and walked over to me.
‘E’s our teacher,’ Rouse explained proudly. ‘Cor, Sir, yer leg’s all wet!’
The visitor shook my hand in a vice-like grip and explained that he’d asked Rouse to take a picture of his wife and himself. Then he’d offered to take one of Rouse and his friends, and Rouse had demanded that a Beefeater should be in the photo.
‘I hope you didn’t mind? They said it would be okay. I guess I never thought you might be worried. They’re such friendly kids, though.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said lamely, still annoyed with Rouse but relieved that all was well. ‘If you just send them back when you’ve finished. We’re sitting over there…’
‘Sure, sure. Thank you.’
‘And John,’ I added, ‘if you ever wander off like that again I’ll eat all the sweets in your packed lunch. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Sir. I ‘adn’t gone far, though. I was just…’
‘You were just nothing. You should have told us. And next time,’ I warned Badger, ‘Kindly tell me without making me spill my coffee. And make sure somebody really is missing first.’
Badger looked decidedly hurt.
‘I only thought I ‘ort to let you know,’ he said in an injured voice. ‘Only this kid I know, ‘e was playin’ in the road and this bloke come along in a car and…’
‘Have you had enough to eat?’ Dorothy interrupted quickly.
‘Yes thank you, Miss. Anyway, this bloke says to this kid I know, if you come for a ride with me…’
‘Well, it’s turned out to be a lovely sunny day after all,’ I said brightly. ‘Fancy that. Who would have thought…’
‘Aw, sshh, Sir,’ Susan Davis interrupted, ‘‘E was tellin’ us about this kid ‘e knows.’
‘I don’t really think we want to know,’ said Dorothy. ‘I think we can do without his happy little story, thank you.’
‘It ain’t an ‘appy story, Miss,’ Badger objected indignantly.
‘Nevertheless, I would suggest you go and play on the cannons for a while with Jamie.’
Turning my face into the sun, I gazed out across the river. ‘Do you think you’ll stick with the young ones when you start teaching?’ asked Dorothy. ‘Or do you think teenagers might be easier after this little lot?’
‘It seems everybody asks me that,’ I smiled. ‘I shall definitely stay with the smaller variety.’
‘That’s good. There are too few men teaching Juniors and Infants. Infants especially. You’ve got to give a lot, especially to these children. You’ve really got to enjoy it, otherwise it could get you down very quickly. You’d be surprised at how many don’t.’
‘What, teachers, you mean?’
‘Mmm. A lot turn out the same old stuff every year and actually get to dislike children. I reckon you can spend three minutes in a strange classroom and know by then whether the teacher’s any good or not. The children take in everything you say, especially at this age. If they trust you, your word counts above anybody else’s. Even their parents, sometimes. You don’t realise how much you influence them. They reflect your manner, your attitude, even your sense of humour.’
‘They seem lucky with the staff at Briar Road, though.’
‘Yes, they are. We do an awful lot at the school. It compensates for some of the affection they miss out on at home. Look at little Julie. She’s really got a lot of ability with writing. Her stories are lovely, full of expression and style. Unfortunately her mum’s on the game and she doesn’t give Julie any time at all. I don’t moralise about what people do, but the effect on their children is much greater than you’d think.’
‘They seem so lively and friendly though.’
‘Yes, they are. Sometimes these children fight the real world by using their humour. Rousey, for instance. He can really be very amusing at times. And they’re very generous. Adams’ mother keeps chickens in her little garden and often sends half a dozen wonderfully fresh eggs. And then I think of these children growing up. Some of them really haven’t got much of a chance. Look at Fred, there. Not a clever boy, and that’s an understatement, but marvellous with animals. Someone suggested he ought to be a vet. Honestly, what chance has he got of ever being a vet?’
‘You never know. From what I’ve seen, you achieve far more with them than I’d have thought possible.’
‘Maybe. But it’s not much really. And whatever you do, it’s never quite enough.’ She sighed and was quiet for a moment. ‘Anyway, we won’t set the education system to rights in our lunch hour so we’d better get them together and move on. I see good old Fred has started to make paper aeroplanes out of his sandwich wrapper.’
She called the children into lines and checked the numbers once more. When everybody was ready, the class moved off towards the vault containing the Crown Jewels. The sun was very hot now, and coats were slung over tired arms as they walked.
‘I’m really enj
oyin’ this, Sir,’ said Adams happily, walking quickly to keep up with me. ‘We had a great time on them cannons. Can we go on another visit soon?’
‘Yes Sir,’ agreed Dudmish, ‘You and Miss could take us out again in a couple of weeks time.’
‘I won’t be able to do that Jamie,’ I replied. ‘I’m afraid I’m leaving Briar Road on Friday.’
Susan Davis turned to me in disbelief.
‘Friday? But you’ve only bin ‘ere for a few weeks, Sir. What are you goin’ for?’
‘Don’t you like us?’ asked Badger.
‘Not when you spill a cup of coffee down my leg!’
‘That was an accident, Sir. I didn’t mean to spill it. You ain’t leavin’ ‘cos of that, are yer?’
‘No, of course not. But I only came for a short while. Of course I like you. I like you all very much, and I wish I could stay.’
‘Aw Sir,’ said Susan Davis, ‘why don’t you stay, then? I’ll look after you, won’t we Sue?’
Heads nodded earnestly, and the children’s faces showed their disappointment.
‘If you can’t stay, you will come back and see us won’t you?’ asked Susan Brennan anxiously.
‘You can come any time,’ Rouse offered generously, like a wealthy hotelier offering free accommodation. ‘We’ll always be pleased to see yer. Oh look, here’s the jewel place.’
Now that I had only a handful of days left with the class, I felt saddened at the thought of leaving the children I had come to know so well and who had come to accept me as part of their daily lives. It was touching to know that they’d actually miss me after such a short period of time with them.
Dorothy stopped the children outside the Jewel House, reminded them once more about behaving properly once they were inside, and then lined them up along the entrance lanes. Eventually, an attendant started to move the group inside.
‘Keep ‘em under strict supervision, please gov’nor’, he said to me, patting Rouse on the head and pointing the way down to the Jewels.
The children perspired in the heat of the room, but any discomfort they felt was put aside as they gazed in wonder at the beauty of the crowns. The attendant asked the other visitors if they would mind moving back a little so that the children could stand next to the glass and have a better view.
‘Are they real, Sir,’ asked Rouse in a soft, awed voice.
‘Of course they are,’ said the attendant.
‘Cor, they’re lovely, ain’t they?’ He pressed his face to the glass, steaming it up slightly.
‘See if you can identify the crowns from the postcard you bought,’ Dorothy suggested.
‘Come and have a look round here, Miss’, called Dudmish, lowering his voice as he caught the attendant’s eyes. ‘Look at some of these golden plates.’
‘You know, Sir,’ said Badger, poking his head up under my elbow, ‘you’d only ‘ave to cut through a couple of layers of glass to get at the crown jewels. Don’t seem much protection, does it?’
‘Well, if you’re going to try, I should keep your voice down so that the attendant doesn’t hear you.’
‘No, don’t be daft, Sir. I wasn’t goin’ to try. But I reckon you could get at ‘em quite easily really. ‘Cept for those things,’ He gazed at the enormous steel doors that guarded the entrance to the Jewel House. ‘‘Ow much are they worth?’ he asked suddenly.
‘They’re priceless.’
‘Yeah, but ‘ow much are they worth?’
‘You can’t put a price on them like that.’
‘Well they must be worth somethin’ . I mean, are they worth ‘undreds, or millions, or what?’
‘I saw this film once,’ said Adams in a loud voice. ‘What they did was, this bloke in a gang knocked out this Beefeater what looked just like ‘im, and then ‘e took ‘is place. The gang got the other bloke to nick the jewels and put these others that wasn’t real in the case instead. Then this bloke flings the real jewels over the wall at the dead of night and…’
‘Yeah,’ said Fred, enthusiastically, ‘I saw that on the telly.’
‘No you never,’ Adams retorted. ‘It ain’t bin on the telly.’
‘Well I saw it anyway,’ Fred said, not to be outdone.
‘I think they’ve all seen ‘em now, guv’nor,’ said the attendant firmly, ignoring Badger who was feeling the steel doors. ‘I should move ‘em upstairs again now.’
‘Thanks very much, Mister,’ said Rouse gratefully.
‘That’s all right, son. Enjoyed it, have you?’
‘Yeah, smashin’.’
The children were very tired, but reluctant to leave the Tower altogether. Once they were outside in the fresh air, Dorothy suggested it might be best to go now to avoid the crowds on the train.
‘But we ain’t seen the Bloody Tower yet,’ Fred protested.
‘Yes, Miss,’ Susan Brennan agreed. ‘Let’s go and see the Bloody Tower.’
‘What time will we be getting home, Miss?’ asked Julie anxiously. ‘I’ve got to bring fish and chips in with me on the way ‘ome, that’s all. Me mum’ll kill me if I forget.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll be home in time to do that.’
‘Yeah, I’m gettin’ quite ‘ungry again,’ agreed Rouse. ‘Can I finish off me sandwiches, Miss?’
‘Not if you want to see the Bloody Tower, you can’t.’
Because the Bloody Tower was small, the children were forced to huddle together inside. Their interest in this part of the building was not as easily sustained, and Badger stated that he couldn’t really see what everybody found so fascinating about ‘a couple of old chairs an’ a bed.’
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘Me mum’s ain’t that much different. They could stick ‘ers in ‘ere; and it ‘ud be just as int’restin’.’
‘Come on then,’ said Dorothy. ‘Let’s go outside and I’ll buy you all an ice cream.’
After making sure every child had one, we led the class slowly back to the station. The children were tired but contented, clutching crumpled notebooks, the remains of tattered carrier bags, and souvenirs of the visit hastily stuffed into coat pockets.
The train was hot and stuffy, and the class had to split between two compartments. They flopped wearily onto the seats, proudly waving their postcards for the benefit of passengers and leaving nobody in doubt about where they’d spent the day. I sat down beside Susan Davis and gazed round the carriage in contentment, until I noticed Badger offering some bread pudding to a priest sitting opposite. I turned to study the blackness of the train tunnel until the moment had passed.
‘Well, have you enjoyed the visit?’ I asked Susan, who sat strangely still on her seat, not speaking to anybody.
‘Yes, Sir,’ she said limply. ‘Sir…’
‘Yes Susan?’
‘I feel sick, Sir.’
My mind froze. The train was crowded, and my first reaction was to thrust her towards Dorothy. She’d know how to cope with this sort of situation. After all, I was only a student on teaching practice. Then I realised that Dorothy was in the next carriage.
‘Can you wait?’ I gulped.
‘No Sir,’ she groaned.
‘I see.’ I surprised myself at how calm I sounded.
The train lurched into the station and Susan’s face turned the colour of chalk. Clearly, a decision had to be made in seconds.
‘Tell Mrs Bridgewood I’ll explain when we get back,’ I shouted at Fred.
‘Eh?’ Fred replied, gazing at me as if I had gone completely insane. I partly shoved, partly carried Susan through the doors and rushed her to the nearest firebucket. By the time she had recovered enough to speak, the train had sped off into the tunnel and we sat down on a wooden bench to wait for the next one.
‘You’re a fine one,’ I said sympathetically. ‘I told you not to bring so much food, didn’t I? What have you
eaten?’
For one dreadful moment, I thought she was going to check with the firebucket, but she leaned back on the seat and grinned weakly while the colour gradually drained back into her face. ‘Nothin’ much really, Sir. I only ‘ad two bottles of lemonade, a bar of chocolate, me pickle sandwiches, a roll, some ‘am, the ice cream wot Miss brought us and a cream slice and…’
She paused and thought carefully for a moment.
‘You know what, though,’ she said, like a judge summing up the evidence. ‘I reckon it must’ve bin the two pork pies what done it.’
(iii)
It was my last day at Briar Road Primary.
The teaching practice had passed quickly and enjoyably and I was becoming very used to the routine of a school week. Since the class had visited the Tower of London, we’d filled a wall with writing, art work and models about it. Each day, the children had taken pieces of work home to finish and their extraordinary enthusiasm had impressed me enormously.
After showing their parents the postcards and booklets they had bought, the children had surrendered the pictures of the Crown Jewels, so that they could be incorporated into the display. Rouse and his friends had been to the local supermarket early in the morning, salvaging some large cardboard boxes to build a model of the White Tower. Susan Brennan and Susan Davis had painted a huge Beefeater each, one to put each side of the display, and Fred had made three crowns from pieces of cardboard and scraps of felt taken from the bag Julie’s mother had sent in. Adams and Badger had spent a day making a Tudor newspaper, filled with dark deeds and doubtful goings on that merited suitable punishments, which they described in authentic detail.
Mr Reed had hardly bothered me at all, although he’d found an excuse to come into the classroom after finding Rouse sneaking out of a stock cupboard carrying two large jars of paste. Although Rouse had explained that he’d done a great deal of work which would therefore need a great deal of paste, Mr Reed had informed him testily that two jars constituted an entire year’s paste allowance for one class.
‘Well, it all looks pretty impressive,’ said Dorothy, climbing down from a pair of steps and standing back to admire the work as the children filed out for lunch. ‘They’ve really enjoyed doing this. Do you want to take any of this back to college?’