Whizz for Atomms

by Ronald Searle

  This is only one side of a horse

  This is only one side of a horse so it hav only two legs, one ear and one eye. However, most horses are aproximately the same on the other side and if they are not it is not safe to hav a fluter on them.

  Every horse is said to hav POINTS which is pritty dificult for any animal which is not a hedgehog or comon porcupine. In racing, however, there are only two POINTS about the horse which need concern the eager student – the ears and the tail. If the horse is going to try the ears should be so far back and the tail so far up that they almost meet. When it trot up to the post like that the backer can be sure it is trying, which is something with a horse. It is something with a boy, too, but no one can kno from his ears otherwise we mite get something like this in klass –

  MOLESWORTH 1 stare at a problem in algy scratching his hoary head.

  SIGISMUND THE MAD MATHS MASTER regard him anxiously through his racing glasses.

  SIGISMUND: there go the galant molesworth upon whom i hav put my shirt (heaven forbid). He is a cert for this algy problem. But wot is this? His ears do not twitch. He sweateth at the mere look of x+y. He screws his pen into his ear he is in a lather. Quick quick i must lay this off on peason who hav an answer book but it will be O.K. unless there is an objektion.

  (He rushes out. molesworth gets the answer from gilibrand and so foils the plot.)

  That is all about horses. Now the q. is how to put your money on. You do this with a bookie or the tote as even a fule kno. Wot every fule do not kno however is which horse to put the money on and bring back a dividend.

  To kno this you hav to study form e.g. buy all the papers which say:

  The Dope’s Nap – 3.30. BEES KNEES.

  3.30. FATTY IS A CONFIDENT SELEKTION.

  COARSE WIRE. 3.30. BUMBLE PUPY.

  NEWMARKET. TOOTHBRUSH.*******

  This leave you pritty much where you were but it is better than buying a midday edition when all the tipsters agree:

  RACING SUMARY. 3.30.

  PREPOSTEROUS (Daily Plug) DANDRUFF

  MENDAX (The Smugg) DANDRUFF****

  ON THE BALL (Daily Shame) DANDRUFF

  ALCESTES (Farmer’s Joy) DANDRUFF

  ect.

  Every horse is said to have POINTS

  Everything is right. DANDRUFF hav won over the distance, it hav two ancestors from the national stud, a french owner, trained on meat, sits up in its stable, lest … pig … up … firm going THE LOT. BASH ON THE WINE GUMS. As you are sitting nonchalantly in your club drinking a last pepsi cola you carelessly pick up the ticker tape.

  3.30. SPONGER’S PARK. 1. BEES KNEES. 2. CLOT. 3. MORBID. ALSO RAN – DANDRUFF. SKOOL CHEESE. 5 RAN. DANDRUFF 51/1 ON (FAVRITE)

  ‘Hogsnorton.’

  ‘Yes. sir?’

  ‘Bring me another pepsi cola.’

  ‘The ’37, sir, or the Club?’

  ‘Wot do it matter? There is only 6d in it.’

  Let us stroll over to the padock where the horses are parading. All around is the clamour and bustle of the race-coarse full of gipsies, oafs, cads, snekes tipsters, bullies in fakt it mite just as well be a half-hol at st. custards. See who strolls among them it is ickle-pritty fotherington-Tomas the wonky wet of the skool!

  PLATE IX PICK THE WINNER – to face page p. 100076.

  FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: Hullo clouds hullo sky! How colourful the scene! the colours so gay so alive. But, woe, here is the headmaster GRIMES!

  HEADMASTER: Want to buy some jellied eels? Lovely jellied eels, (he starteth) Discovered! it is fotherington-tomas!

  FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: Oh wot, sir, can hav brought you to this pass?

  GRIMES: the skool doesn’t pay all hard work nothing out of it. The boys hav got to be fed and as for the masters they fair eat you out of house and home, (fotherington-tomas begin to blub) And then look at the rates on the old place – and the taxes. Can’t blame me if i try to make an honest penny down here, there’s no disgrace –

  FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS (blubing harder than ever) don’t go on, sir. Take my money. Here.

  GRIMES: don’t you want no jellied eels?

  FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: no, no.

  GRIMES: Bless you, sonny, you hav a kind face.

  As fotherington-Tomas skip away a thick wad of banknotes fall from GRIMES poket. He pick them up agane and begin to GLOAT!

  GRIMES: there is one born every minit.

  And now we hav aktually got to the padock where the horses are walking round and round and people are looking at them. This is yore first chance to make sure yore selektion is in racing trim. Even at this stage it may be lathering and foaming at the mouth. If, however, its eyes are brite pinpoints, it is dancing lite-hartedly on its horseshoes and neighing to itself – it is safe to assume that the stable hav decided to hav a go.

  BASH ON MORE WINE GUMS and return, for the START.

  This is the most exciting moment and fotherington-Tomas jump up and down.

  ‘Hurrah hurrah how good it is to be alive and the horse is the frend of man!’

  At this moment a beer bottle fall on his head from the roof of a motor coach and he is borne away. Cheers cheers we can watch the race in peace. THEY’RE OFF! Everyone go mad men shout, gurls fante, molesworth 2 shout ta-ran-ta-ra. Everyone shout and point at each other, IT’S BEES KNEES. DANDRUFF A STREET. FATTY WALKS IT ECT. The race only last ten sees before it is over. And wot hav hapened to the chokolate hoops, raspbery hoops and suede gloves of yore fancy? Alas, it is almost always down the COARSE.

  Boys, keep away from race coarses. Wot is the fun of them. They are crooked and you do not stand a chance. Open the paper and see how grave the world situation is. Look at the H-bombs and disasters and find how you can give yore services to the cause. Open the paper i sa – and wot is the first thing that catch yore eye?

  4.00. COARSE WIRE. NANKIE-POO CAN’T MISS.

  BASH ON THE WINE GUMS!!!!!!!!!

  THE MOLESWORTH MASTER METER

  Chiz moan drone they are everywhere. Masters i mean. Beaks. Thin ones fat ones little ones tall ones some with cranky cars others with posh ties, some you can rag and others who strike mortal fear into our tiny harts it is cruelty to expose us to such monsters. Everywhere a boy goes at skool there is liable to be a master chiz chiz seeking you out with his fierce burning eyes. It was becos of the pressing need hem-hem for some such instrument that the molesworth Cave-Counter or master meter (patent pending) was invented. See below.

  prof molesworth and his batty assistant peason had the geiger counter in mind in creating their famous master meter. The principle is the same. When a master is in the offing dreaming of BEER and LUV the meter throb and the needle come up to the CAVE position on the dial. Increasing danger makes the needle creep up until it reach the maximum spot ie. When a master rush you with a kane held in his hary hand and his eyes bulging with fury the needle show BOOST and the whole gadget zoom up and down like a skool blancmange. That is the time to scram quickly leaving a heavy pall of cig smoke hem-hem behind, safe and sound with trousis still full of dust thanks to yore Cave-counter. In fakt in generations to come the name of molesworth will be venerrated among skoolboys as we are suposed to venerrate the chap who discovered chloroform and other pane savers.

  But enuff. Charge ta-ranta-rah for the masters comon room. Leave yore Cave-counter behind or it will go mad at so many masters, such a pong poo-gosh of pipes and cig ends you would almost think they all go around picking up ours.

  Any boy kno wot a masters comon room is like. It smell of beetles and the ceiling is suported by ex. books. It is a place where you take yore lines, impots and corections

  e.g.

  A stitch in time saves nine

  A Stick in save tim

  A ssave is nine

  A stitch in time sav

  A stick in tim save

  on the table. The master look up from the chair at the fruits of yore toil and sa languidly All right molesworth you can go away now. Then he go to slepe agane while below the slaves
are toiling in the salt mines.

  Here then the masters gather in their gowns and discuss the problems of their existence i.e. the brave noble and fearless boys whom they persecute. When the HEADMASTER is around this is how it goes.

  you kno HEADMASTER that thanks to the brilliance of my tuition, the care i hav lavished, the hours i hav spent molesworth hav improved in lat out of all knoledge.

  HEADMASTER (thinks) Wot is all this leading up to? i must go carefully.

  Of corse 3B were v. backward when they came to me. i am not saing a word aganst popplewell – a sound teacher within his limmits but it took my genius, my inspiration to make molesworth put 3 konsecutive subjects in the nomm.

  HEADMASTER: Grand work Grand work.

  MASTER: HOW about a quid until next thursday?

  HEADMASTER: (quickly) I’m out. Haven’t a nicker.

  MASTER: Make it arf a crown.

  HEADMASTER: Very well. The ushual rates. And i foreclose next week.

  Otherwise you can guess wot go on. Every evening a commando course taken by the Sarnt-major and an open space for unarmed combat.

  SARNT-MAJOR: O.K. now. Get fell in. Two ranks. By the right – DRESS. (Shuffle Shuffle As you were ect the old gag.) Now. We all kno the Hobjekt of our hinstruction i.e. that is how to do the boys proper. No knives no knuckeledusters only a ruler alowed. All right. Fall out number 6, arbuthnot, sigismund, maths master, mad. HIFF you were required to do a job on a boy how would you go about HIT? i see. Very hinteresting but scaracely fare pla. hi do not think as ow we need to go that far. Hact haccording to the manual.

  ORRIGHT?

  (Fancy asking a lot of MASTERS if they are orright. Haddress the q. to the boys. They’ll give you the right answer.)

  SARNT puffs out manly chest and continue humidement: ‘Hon the word One Hobserve the boy or pupil who is busy on hillicit hactiivity i.e. has it mite be drawing tadpoles on the blotch. Hon the word TWO – draw hin the hibrows, making sure that the rest of the klass hobserve and hapreciate the umor of the situation.

  ORRIGHT?

  (Enuff said.)

  Hon the word THREE – grasp the ruler and stand behind the boy or pupil with the hands lightly hupon the ips. Wait for the larff. (Hit is never difficult for a master to hobtane a larff.) Hon the Word FOUR bring the ruler down promptly and smartly on the victim’s swede. A howl of pane his the signal that the hobjektive hav been attained.

  And so it go on for Masters kno that if they once relax their vigilance the DAY IS OURS. JUICE! GLOAT! i can hardly wate for their shrieks for mercy.

  So far we hav dealt only with masters who are english e.g. sir jones, sir arbuthnot, sir phipps-potts BA sir higgs-hake, sir muggs f.r.g.s. ect. But, felow suferers, remember this. There are skoolmasters all over the world, even bulgarian skoolmasters which take a bit of doing gosh chiz. But before you think it is hard cheddar on the bulgarian boys remember this is the atomm age and masters are exchanged like stamp swaps from country to country.

  WE MITE GET A RUSIAN MASTER AT ST. CUSTARDS!

  gosh golly you can pikture it.

  We mite get a Rusian master

  Into 3B stump sir petrovitch who not only hav a face like a squished tomato (as all masters do) but hav hary wiskers.

  THE KLASS: Good morning, sir petrovitch.

  SIR P: good morning, little children. (He burst out blubbing) o woe o grief the HEADMASTER makes me teach lat. geog, algy, arith, fr, eng, some carpentry, musick, the organ and asist with criket it is worse than the salt mines. Wot is the lesson, little children?

  THE KLASS: peotry, sir petrovitch. (They recite)

  Harkski harkski the larkski

  At heavenskis gates singski

  (sir petrovitch cry more and more)

  THE KLASS: Give him Boots that will slay him.

  FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: o goody!

  THE KLASS: Bootskis, bootskis, bootskis movin’ up and down agane (ect)

  SIR P: Good show good show. Give it the rhythm. Definitely give it the rhythm, dogs.

  (He jumps on the desk with his boots shouting Oi Oi Oi and struming on a balal – well you kno. The whole klass join in – ink wells fly threw the air, the uprore is immense.)

  HEADMASTER look up from the desk in his study where he is counting the GOLD in his moneybox: ‘Comrade petrovitch can certanely instil an unwonted enthusiasm into 3B tho his methods are a little – er – unorthodox. Now shall i raise the fees or hav i got enuff? Beter be on the safe side.’ He taketh up his gold plume et commence a ecrire: Dere parent, Owing to the cost of living and death-watch beetle in the bell tower i regret ect ect … The tears fall in pools from his eyes, smudging the encre. But that is nothing to wot hapen when the parents receive it. You should hear the WORDS yore pater use when he cancel the order for a rolls-royce and make do with an A90 instead.

  So much for comrade petrovitch and the 89 ickle pritty capitalists of st custards.

  Now we come to another swap. This is ed. hickenhopper from the U.S.A. of america i.e. he is wot we vulgar boys hem-hem call a YANK. He is very tall and wear specs hem-hem and we awate his appearance with interest i.e. where do he keep his gat?

  ‘Now, boys,’ he sa, ‘this morning it is lat. We will comence with translation.’

  ‘O.K. Stranger. Hep-hep and get cracking.’

  ‘Do you, molesworth, consider yourself equal to attempting sentence one?’

  ‘Sure don’t, pardner. Never was no good at book larnin. Try one of these other critturs who are hog-snoring in the desks around me.’

  ‘Now come,’ sa sir hickenhopper. ‘Balbus admires the clear voices of the girls – surely now – ?’

  ‘Now listen, i ain’t aiming to make no trouble. You’re the sheriff around here. But if the mean coyote who wrote that latin book come into this saloon i’ll riddle him full of daylight. And the same goes for Balbus.’

  And so it go on it is only after a long time that you find out that all YANKS are not cowboys and while you are still reeling with disapointment you learn too that they are not all gangsters. Well, of corse, my dear, that remove their last attraction for me but i expect they hav found it quieter to live at home if they can watch the television instead of shooting all the time. A pity.

  Akrually, yank masters are diferent from ours. If sigismund arbuthnot the mad maths master were to organise us into a task force to solve a quadratick equation we would think him mader than ever. But that is wot ed. hickenhopper did. And we rather enjoyed it – wot am i saing ENJOYED it? CURSES CURSES. Re-shake this cocktail, peason, and don’t drown the gin.

  A Wizard Wheeze

  Why be down-troden? Is this a free country? Why should the beaks escape? Fill out the molesworth end-of-term Report on Masters e.g.

  4

  HO FOR THE HOLS

  GOODBY TO SKOOL

  (for a bit.)

  ‘Boys,’ sa headmaster GRIMES, smiling horibly, ‘st. custard’s hav come to the end of another term.’

  Can there be a note of relief in his craked voice? There can be no doubt of the feelings of the little pupils. CHEERS! HURRAH! WHIZZ-O! CHARGE! TA-RAN-TA-RA! The little chaps raise the roof of big skool, which do not take much doing as most of it is coming off already.

  ‘Ah, molesworth,’ bellow GRIMES to molesworth 2, who is dancing a hornpipe on a desk, ‘not too much excitement. We hav not broken up yet, dere boy.’

  ‘Wot, sir?’

  ‘Not too much excite – ’

  ‘Speak up, sir.’

  ‘GET DOWN OFF THAT FLIPPING DESK OR YOU WILL GET 6!’

  At last, order is restored and end of term marks are read chiz chiz chiz. Another loud cheer greet the fakt that i am botom in eng. fr. geom. geog. div. algy and hist. When grabber get his ushaul prize i.e. the mrs joyful prize for rafia work there are boos and catcalls nothing can stop the mitey upsurge of popular feeling.

  ‘SILENCE!’ below GRIMES. ‘You are unfare. You kno how he won this prize.’

  ‘Sure!’ we roar, ‘£5 to you, £1 all round to t
he staff and a botle of beer for the olde matronne. The same story.’

  ‘SILENCE OR I WILL KANE THE LOT!’

  Methinks his unatural benevolence is waring as thin as peason’s second-best pare of trousis. The mob is hushed by this thort.

  ‘Now see here,’ sa GRIMES, ‘see here, scum. We gives you edducation here, see? We gives you maners and disscipline, don’t we? Don’t forget them when you gets ’ome. Do not forget to sa “pardon” at some breach of etikette and tuck the old serviet into the colar firmly. Should egg be droped upon the tie remove same quietly with the thumb as you ’av seen me do. Be a credit to St. custards! DISMISS!’

  With one mad yell the mob, armed with stumps and bits torn from desks, surge away down the pasage, trampling the masters under foot. A buket of water fall on GRIMES and the term end in a series of wizard rags and japes. Cars arive, driven by parents with drawn, white faces. The rolls for grabber, a bentley for peason and a cranky old grid for fotherington-tomas. For the rest it is the old skool bus for the station.

  ‘Six quid,’ hiss the driver to GRIMES, ‘and i’ll put the lot over a cliff.’

  ‘And deprive me of my living?’

  ‘You hav yore jellied eels and the whelk stall in the new cross road, not to mention other enterprises.’

  ‘Begone, tempter!’

  With a roar the skool bus drive off. Goodby, sir, goodby, skool, goodby, matronne, goodby, skool dog ect. No more lat. no more French. Wave wave and we are free.

  Cheers for home and the maison molesworth! All are pleased to see us, dogs charge, cats miaouw and parot whistle poly wolly doodle. Wipe mud on carpet, change clothes, eat super cream buns and relax. So far only 62 people hav said we are taller, 96 that we are like mum, 107 that we are like pater and all hav asked if we had a good term. It is the same old story. Soon we are lying back in pater’s chair, eating bullseyes.