“Now then, Brown, according to the note I have in front of me, you, my girl, as per usual, failed to turn up at class with the necessary equipment, namely sheep’s eyes. And all this is in spite of being reminded by your teacher last Friday before leaving the school to go home. Speak up, girl. Is this true?” he roared as he began to confront her over this latest gross misdemeanor.
“Yes, sir. It’s all true,” a now squirming Polly mumbled under her breath, lowering her eyelids at the same time so as not to give any further reasons for him to take offense.
“Hmm, I have to say that it’s quite…quite…remarkable just how many times you are sent down to my office for failing to turn up at lessons without the correct equipment on your person. Isn’t that true, Brown?”
Polly did the only thing she could do, and that was to nod her head in complete agreement and mumble a “yes, sir.”
Mr. Batty drew a deep and very soul-destroying breath of despair before once more picking up his personalized pen. Without wasting any further time, he then proceeded to dip the brass nib into the ink pot, all the time muttering under his breath as he reached over for his black book.
With the book now open at a fresh page, he gave another deeply depressing sigh.
“Reason for Brown’s latest detention: no jolly eyeballs,” he said in a loud and very determined fashion as, rolling his eyes to the heavens to express his complete exasperation, he then accurately scribbled this latest very relevant piece of information into the correctly marked-out column of the incidents page. Having done this, he then went on to pen the day of the week, followed by the month and year. Satisfied that this latest diabolical offense was now safely logged for the whole of eternity, he exhaustedly pushed the book to one side, and after exhaling another of his loud and deeply depressing sighs, he reluctantly pulled himself up from his seat to stand with his eyes firmly shut for what seemed like an eternity.
“Hmm. All this does not sit well with me,” he muttered as he walked toward the window and began staring into the distance.
As usual, Polly found the deafening silence very intimidating as she pondered what might happen next, so she began to make loud, nervous coughing noises, not because a mischievous tickle had found its way to the back of her throat but because she presumed that he had completely forgotten that she was in the same room.
Finally, like a man holding the burdens of the entire world on his shoulders alone, he moved away from the window and headed toward her. It was at this specific point in the meeting that Polly began to tremble from head to toe.
Closing his eyes, he then took yet another painfully deep breath as though preparing to invoke the power required to further discipline her. Picking up his thin cane, which had in its time been swiped over many a trouser pant of a rebellious insubordinate pupil, he then courageously edged forward toward her, tapping the stick gently across the palm of his hands as, inching nearer, he continued to intimidate her. Soon he stood just a matter of feet away from her. Bending over toward her, he began to stare directly into her face, their noses almost touching, and for the next few minutes he said not a word but continued to give young Polly his infamous evil eye that had most pupils quivering and shaking in their boots, they were so filled with fear.
Eventually he gave a loud snort and began. “Hmm. I fear for you, Brown, truly I do,” he murmured, grinding his teeth as he approached her. “Yes, you are indeed one monster mistake, that’s for sure,” he stated in his usual abrasive manner as he rubbed his chin and continued to contemplate what punishment he should mete out. “Yes, what, if anything, are we to do with you? Personally speaking, I very much believe you to be thoroughly beyond all hope of redemption,” he sighed.
“Now, I know that all of this means diddly-squat to you, my dear girl, for you are way beyond hope, but it all leaves me wondering as to what more, if anything, we can do to help you.”
Polly remained with her head stooped and her eyes firmly shut as she tried to stop shaking.
“Right, Brown. Kindly remind me, which hand is it that you write with?”
“My right hand, sir,” Polly mumbled.
“Good, then stretch out your left hand immediately. Come on, girl, show me your palm.”
Mr. Batty raised the thin cane high into the air and brought it down swiftly.
Polly let out a tiny yelp as her open hand then automatically sprung to a close. She struggled to endure the intensely excruciating pain. Her eyes quickly filled up with tears as, embracing the painfully throbbing palm, she clenched her teeth as tightly as her closed fist, but still she was unable to prevent a strangled sob from escaping.
That bitterly anguished whimpering momentarily gave renewed hope and purpose to Mr. Batty.
“Good. I hope it hurts for days to come, for I believe corporal punishment is the only thing that gets your undivided attention,” he sternly remonstrated.
Placing his cane to one side, the freshly energized headmaster stood up straight, and after inhaling deeply through his nose, he launched headfirst into his usual monotone rhetoric that, like an old and stuck gramophone record, could and probably would go on for hours. Polly was fully conversant with this excruciatingly painful scenario, for Uncle Boritz used the selfsame harrowing and mind-numbing method of torture, which was clearly designed to so wear the guilty party down they would eventually find themselves begging forgiveness for all crimes past and present—oh, as well as all those to come.
Luckily for Polly, she knew his time was nearly up when his long-winded, turgid speech got to the bit about her being one of the worst troublemakers who had ever crossed the doorway of this otherwise exemplary, high-achieving school. As usual, she remained compliant as she tried her best to look remorseful and listen intently to all he had to say. To answer back or even try to explain why she had come to school without the stupid eyeballs would only have served to make things far worse for her.
Finally and much to her relief, Polly, still clutching her stinging hand, found herself being dismissed from his presence.
“Girl, you are dismissed to go to lunch, and when you get back to class, you must try your hardest to do the right thing for once. However, from tomorrow onward you will attend lunchtime detention classes until I state otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. Loud and clear,” a very relieved Polly muttered as she tried hard to forget her stinging hand.
“Any further acts of defiance will be dealt with immediately, for you, my girl, need to know that you are only a hare’s whisker away from being indefinitely suspended, if not altogether expelled from this school.”
Polly would not hang around too long to become the recipient of any further menacing looks or remonstrations. She quickly swung around, and with her good hand she hurriedly reached for the doorknob, with the full intention of getting out of his office as fast as her legs would allow. But as she turned the door knob, she once again rather stupidly felt compelled to open her mouth, which in hindsight was her second very unwise move of the day and one that she would live to deeply regret.
“Mr. Batty, sir,” she said as rather stupidly she turned to walk the few paces back toward his desk. “Please, may I be granted permission to speak, for I cannot leave your office without telling you that I really loved everything, yes everything, you had to say in assembly today regarding dear, sweet Stanley. He was, as you so rightly suggested, such a lovely man, and your touching words really went a long way in expressing and capturing this fact, making it such a wonderfully positive speech. Yes, it was lovely, really it was,” she said dreamily, as she continued to pay absolutely no notice to the increasingly sour look on her headmaster’s now very contorted face.
“But I also need to confess to feeling very troubled by all this profound sadness and grief surrounding his departure, so allow me to share with you that over the weekend—and as unbelievable as all this might seem—I briefly had the great privilege of bumping into dear Stanley in Piadora.”
“Pia–what?” he st
ammered, lurching forward toward her face.
“Yes, Piadora, and I have to say that I’ve never seen him so terribly happy and pain free. I actually watched him play skittles as well as hopscotch with a group of friends,” Polly casually informed him in her normal, very matter-of-fact manner while caressing her painful fingers. “And then would you believe it? He did a number of very impressive cartwheels as he made his way across a poppy field before the silly man decided it was time to climb a sky-high tree.”
Sad as all this may seem, a very unversed Polly cheerfully and naively carried on with her appraisal, foolishly believing his silence meant that like a dried-up sponge he was not only drinking in but also thoroughly appreciating her. Polly—being Polly—brightly chirped on and on while remaining completely oblivious to the mounting tension that was fast growing in his study.
“I am telling you all this because I really don’t think Stanley would want any of us to feel sad or unhappy now that he has gone. So Mr. Batty, don’t hold back. Please tell me now. What do you think?”
A fuming Mr. Batty stood in a stupefied silence, his arms sanctimoniously folded and pressed hard into his chest as he struggled to remain fully composed and in full control, all the while searching his mind in the forlorn hope of finding suitably charitable words with which to respond. There were none to be found.
His heart began to pound erratically, and his tongue remained in perpetual spasm as it forcibly cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Try as he may, no words, kind or otherwise, would come forth. None whatsoever! For here, this day, in his office, he had been forced against his will to listen while this scruffy, illiterate, insufferable, and downright impertinent pupil thought it her God-given duty to tell him the most plainly fanciful and ridiculous stories he had ever heard regarding his school’s dearly departed cleaner, stories that had this aged and severely pain-racked former school caretaker now playing childish school yard games in some hocus-pocus place called Piadora! How dare she!
Finally, and against all odds, he found his tongue.
“Brown, you recalcitrant misfit! You, girl, have successfully managed to rattle my cage, for how dare you presume to have the right to address me with such preposterously hideous and despicably outrageous ramblings? You foolish and most insolent girl!” he spluttered.
“Never in my life have I heard such utter balderdash! Get out of here immediately before I am forced to give you another hard stroke of the cane,” he thundered as he continued to gnash his teeth. “And what’s more, Brown, if you have even the teeniest modicum of decency hiding away in there”—he stretched out his hand to give her head a hard knock with his closed fist—“well then, you will not breathe one word of this hysterically offensive twaddle to any of his relatives. Answer me now, girl. Do you hear me?” he chokingly continued to splutter.
“Yes, Mr. Batty,” Polly muttered, moving her head to one side just in time to escape one of his famous hard and malicious thumps.
Mr. Batty chose to completely ignore the bell as he continued on in his tedious, old-fashioned way to try and instill some sense into the grey matter that he could only presume lodged somewhere between both ears of this insanely stupid girl’s head. Finally when he had completely run out of rhetoric, he looked down at his watch and sniffed.
“Oh, and one more thing, Brown. You can be very certain that I will be contacting your guardians concerning this latest piece of inexcusable, unwarranted, and unruly behavior. Do you hear me?” he raged.
“I’m truly sorry, sir, for I wasn’t trying to be rude or to offend you. I know it sounds pretty daft, but I really did see Stanley, and he’s so terribly happy, really he—”
“Silence! I order you to be silent, you ridiculously impudent child,” he roared as, foaming from the mouth, his hand spontaneously hit the desk top. For the first time ever he failed most abysmally to curb his rage.
“Yes, sir,” Polly replied, rather desperately placing a hand over her mouth.
“Brown, mark my words. If I hear even one more word spew forth from your runaway mouth, you will, I assure you, be in serious trouble. Do you hear me, you treacherous and uncouth little madam? Now get out of my office immediately!” he roared as he then marched most determinedly toward the door of his office. Then with the office door wide open, he then overdramatically and officiously gesticulated with a sweep of his right arm to suggest that she instantly leave his presence.
Polly didn’t hesitate. She turned on her heels, and with her head hung low as usual and still rubbing her hand, she made haste to leave his office. “I’m not lying, I’m telling you the truth. Stanley is happier now than he’s ever been,” she mumbled loudly as she made haste to quickly exit his office.
The now very distraught headmaster thrust his head around the door and shouted down the corridor after her. “And Brown, don’t even think of attending the funeral service. Do you hear me?” he ferociously barked.
Slamming the office door, he shakily headed over toward his desk, still feeling ridiculously overemotional. He was left with little choice but to admit that he felt stretched to his very limit. He was extremely angry to be feeling this way. He was, after all, the headmaster of a large school, and so to be consumed by such deep runaway feelings seemed unacceptably wrong. As he continued to experience the deepest sense of despair and agitation, he knew he had to do something, and quick, for he felt utterly spent. So, placing his outstretched hands on the desk in front of him, he took several deep breaths before audibly commanding his tattered nerves to calm down. It took a further three gulps of water from his glass before enough peace and tranquility entered his body and began restoring his deeply distressed mind, thus enabling him to pick up the telephone and begin dialing.
As he agitatedly stood by his desk listening to the ringing tone, he took further deep breaths, all the time pondering how this young, meddlesome upstart who went by the name Polly Brown could get so deeply under his skin and in doing so trouble him so very, very much. Finally, he heard a click, followed by a voice on the other end of the line.
“Good afternoon, do I have the castle?…I do. Well, that’s wonderful.… Yes, I need to speak to my good friend.…Yes, yes. Is dear Boritz available?…Yes.…Yes.…As per usual it is regarding Polly Brown’s latest dreadful and downright insensitive behavior.…Oh, he’s unavailable at present?…Well, do please do me the consideration of asking him to contact me at his earliest convenience.…Oh, you want me to hold on?…You say he’s coming to the phone right now? Well, thank you so very much. I appreciate your help.
“Good morning, Boritz, old chap. It’s Batty here.…Thank you for asking.…I am indeed in splendid health.…Yes, I can confirm I am free for a round of golf this weekend.…Just say a time, and I will be there.…I do hope old Ebenezer Glumchops will be joining us.…You say the old codger can make it? Well, splendid news, old chap. Now, while I’m on the line, don’t forget to remind Mildred that Agnes has gone ahead and booked a table for four at the Toad in the Hole for eight o’clock next Wednesday evening. No, wait. What am I thinking? It’s gone from the four of us to a table for six. I hope you don’t mind, old boy, but I’ve taken the liberty of inviting dear Egor Treblinka and his wife, Ethel, to join us all. He’s assured me that he will not discuss teeth, dentures, crowns, orthodontics, or any other related subject, and so I hope you don’t mind, old sport. For as the saying goes, the more the merrier, eh? Oh, and please do try to remember that it’s meant to be formal evening wear.
“Now then, as you specifically requested, I am also phoning to give you an update on the Brown girl.…Yes, I have had an absolute belly full of her insolence. I do believe she’s becoming more socially unacceptable by the minute, and therefore her ludicrous behavior almost certainly requires heavy monitoring, for she has me on the verge of doing things that the law most certainly prohibits me from carrying out.…
“Yes, I know you too find her quite impossible. In fact, I have no idea how you and Mildred cope with her at all! As far as I am concerned both
of you are indeed angels on assignment. It is true to say that we too have her at this school under some sufferance, Boritz, let me assure you now.…Hmm…well, if something isn’t done, and soon, then quite frankly I am of the growing opinion that in no time she will be beyond any form of suitable rehabilitation. Polly Brown is indeed a very disturbed and troubled mite.…Hmm…hmm…
“Quite. I am therefore more than happy to write a report from an educational standpoint expressing my deepest concerns as to the poor girl’s mental health. If I am to believe all you are saying with regard to her unruly behavior back at the castle, then I am of the opinion that some form of institutionalization appears to be the only alternative and safe solution for this highly problematic child. Trust me when I say I will give you all the support you require.…Yes, absolutely, old chap, and it goes without saying, you scratch my back, and I’ll definitely scratch yours.…And you too.…So I bid you good day and look forward most expectantly to a pleasant round of golf with Glumchops and your good self this coming Saturday. Agnes would also wish for me to send her kindest regards to Mildred.”
Mr. Batty placed the phone back down on the receiver and then called out to his secretary, Miss Eva Beava, to come into his office, as he was in dire need of a strong cup of tea to restore his sense of wellbeing. He also needed to dictate a most urgent and important letter to his dear friend Mr. Scumberry showing his support and therefore adding his voice to the growing number of professionals who were known to be very concerned with Polly Brown’s unruly behavior. His dear friend also required that a copy of this letter be sent to another friend and colleague, who went by the name of Dr. Nick Ninkumpoop, head of the Bureau for Mental Health Resources and Child Psychiatric Disorders.
The Trouble with Polly Brown Page 8