I caught Martin A’s eye. He frowned. I could see he was wondering how a language could fall down. He was a bright lad as I found when taking the top class. But Mr Brand swept on regally.
‘...and worshipped the image which Nebuchadnezzar the--King had set up.’
But then trouble loomed. There were three servants of the Lord named Shadrack, Meshach and Abednego....the children were as impressed with those superb sounding names as I had been as a child. Years later I was not surprised to hear them become the subject of a particularly lively pop song even though a couple of letters were swopped round in the last one.
Mr Brand didn’t have to explain why Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego weren’t going to bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image. The children knew the Ten Commandments thoroughly, of course, because these were regularly taught in Scripture lessons. Thou shaft not make unto thee any graven image ...thou shall not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them.... Many knew the words by heart.
They also knew what happened to the Children of Israel when they disobeyed and worshipped the Golden Calf. So they didn’t need to be told that these chaps, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego had a problem. It came in the guise of some Chaldeans who sneaked to Nebuchadnezzar.
‘0 king, live for ever. Thee, 0 king, hast made a decree that every man shall hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery and dulcimer, and all kinds of music...’
A pin dropped in the hall would have made everyone jumpy. The children gazed in awed silence at Mr Brand and even we were immobile on our strange seats.
‘There are certain Jews whom thou hast set over the affairs of the province of Babylon, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego; these men, 0 king, have not regarded thee; they serve-not thy gods nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.’
Mr Brand pressed on relentlessly. There was to be no escape.
‘Then Nebuchadnezzar in his rage and fury commanded to bring Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego...’ I could see some of the girls clenching their fists willing the men to give in to the king’s last warning.
‘Now if ye be ready that at what time ye hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer, and all kinds of music, ye fall down and worship the image which I have made, well: but if ye worship not, ye shall be cast the same hour into the midst of a burning fiery furnace.’
But Shadrach and company were made of sterner stuff - besides, they had a potent Ally.
‘....our God, whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace....’ then, to add insult to injury, ‘but, if not, be it known unto thee, 0 king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up’.
Consternation rippled gently through the young crowd, now standing firmly in Babylon, watching intently for Mr Nebuchadnezzar’s reaction to this outrageous challenge to his authority.
‘Then was Nebuchadnezzar full of fury and the form of his visage was changed against Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego...’ Plainly it was so, as the children could see!
‘Therefore he spake, and commanded that they should heat the furnace seven times more than it was wont to be heated, and he commanded the most mighty men that were in his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and to cast them-into the burning fiery furnace. Then these men were bound in their coats, their hosen and their hats, and their other garments, and were cast into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.’
There were quiet gasps from the most sensitive girls and a hint of ghoulish grins from a few boys, just to show they were tough and could take this sort of thing in their stride. Nevertheless, matters looked exceedingly grim.
‘Therefore because the king’s command was urgent, and the furnace exceeding hot, the flame of the fire slew those that took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. And these men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego...’ Mr Brand paused dramatically, and dropped his voice in despair....’ fell down in the midst of the burning...fiery.....furnace.’
There was an audible gasp amongst the crowd. The pause seemed endless. Then suddenly Mr Brand raised his bushy eyebrows and his voice became incredulous.
‘Then Nebuchadnezzar the King was astonished, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, “Did not we cast three men into the midst of the fire?” They answered and said unto the king, “True, 0 king.” He answered and said, “Lo, I see four men loose, and walking - in - the - midst - of - the - fire, and they...have...no...hurt...
Another pause, and more gasps
‘...and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.”
Perfect silence. Then, at last, came the happy ending, to the obvious relief of all the children.
‘Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the mouth of the burning fiery furnace, and spoke and said, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, ye servants of the most high God, come forth and come hither. Then Nebuchadnezzar spoke, and said, “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who hath sent his angel, and delivered his servants that trusted in him, and have changed the king’s word, and yielded their bodies, that they might not serve nor worship any god except their own God.”
There was no need for Mr Brand to make any explanatory comments. The result was absolutely plain to every child. Do what God wants and all will be well. At their age they were happily unaware of the complication that some person has to decide what he or she thinks that is and tell them about it.
They filed out of the hall in complete silence. Mentally they remained on the plains of Babylon marvelling at the miracle they had just witnessed through Mr Brand’s masterly performance.
After that, Arithmetic was an unfair trial for everyone, including the staff.
Chapter 27
I soon began to look forward to lunch time each day and blessed my good fortune that the seating regime at the staff table had fallen out so propitiously for me. Although the table was small and no one could possibly have a private conversation, nevertheless it was natural to talk to the person next to one. That, for me, was Miss Rockliffe, who was very close to my left elbow.
Once or twice when I contrived to get our heads fairly close together in an animated conversation, Miss Rees would do her best to break it up.
‘Mr Flaxton, did you manage to finish percentages with Class Two today?’ she would ask suddenly, and I would have to jerk myself away from contemplating Miss Rockliffe’s schoolgirl complexion and pretend to be intelligent about the teaching of Arithmetic. But Miss Rees didn’t follow the School cricket team in its evening and Saturday morning matches, whilst Miss Rockliffe did. So I soon attached myself to it as well, having already been invited to do so by Taff Hughes. After two or three weeks I began to look forward to these matches very much indeed. The boys were extremely keen and often won their matches. It wasn’t always through great skill, but rather sheer determination. They slogged, ran, chased and hurled themselves around the field and were encouraged, shouted at, cajoled and sympathised with by Taff and Rocky. I soon realised their personalities were being transmitted to the boys and the latter responded by giving one hundred percent. There was a keen and warm feeling amongst the group in which I was encouraged to share.
Soon, to my great delight, I found that when I arrived at whichever field the match was due to take place the boys waved and dashed over to me as well as to the other two.
‘Allo, Mr Flaxton. Are you umpirin’ tonight? Michael ‘int ‘ere yet.and ‘e wus bringin’ the bag.’
‘Whatever’ll we do if ‘e doan come, Sir?’
‘Look, there’s the St. Thomas’s lot. They’ve got their stuff. Do you fink they’ll let us borrer some o’ thern?’
I began to enjoy myself by taking charge in such moments and allaying their fears.
‘Don’t worry lads, Michael will turn up, I’m sure. I expect he missed the bus. There’s plenty of ti
me.’
I soon learnt that nine times out of ten the crisis did not materialise. The tenth occasion provided a problem, of course, and solving it was a matter of experience. In the early days I left that sort of thing to Taff and Rocky who had a wealth of experience compared with me. Two and a half terms to be precise.
Rocky’s presence also contributed to my interest in these matches. She exuded enthusiasm which made her all the more attractive. I wondered if there was a boy friend in Wales or whether there was anything between her and Taff Hughes.
One evening after the match the sun was still shining and the weather was delightfully warm. We travelled with the boys on a bus which took us back to the School’s area, disembarked and saw them all safely on their way home. Taff wasn’t with us, because he had gone directly from the playing field to an evening class he taught.
‘Are you taking a bus back to your digs?’ I asked.
‘No, I think I’ll walk. There’s not much to do when I’m there, and it’s such a nice evening’.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all.’
Suddenly the evening was positively glowing. I murmured my thanks and we set off along the road. Unaccountably I was lost for words but after a long silence, I struck out.
‘Have you always been called Rocky - it seems rather masculine. Don’t you object?’
‘Not at all. I rather like it. I’ve two older brothers who were both called Rocky at school and it got passed on to me.’
‘I’d never have believed you’re Welsh. You haven’t a trace of an accent.’
‘You mean like Taff? He’s from the Valleys, you can’t escape it there.’
‘Are you glad you’re not easily recognised as Welsh?’
‘No,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’m very proud of being Welsh.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve always loved Wales. My father took me there as a boy, and now I do some hill walking and a spot of rock climbing.’
‘Yes, I love the mountains,’ she said wistfully.
‘You’re from Newport aren’t you?
‘You have been doing your homework,’ she quipped.
I laughed. ‘Yes, Taff told me. I’ve not been there, though I’ve flown over it from an RAF station near Hereford when I was in the ATC.
‘Mm, I’d love to see it from the air. What did it look like?’
‘Like most towns, rather dirty and covered in a bluish brown haze. However, I’ve also flown over this place, and I have to admit that it was worse.’
‘Were you a pilot?
Good Lord, no. I was groundcrew.’
‘Then how did you do so much flying?’
‘Simple, whenever you did any work on an aircraft they sent you up with it on the air test afterwards. It was a foolproof way of making sure you did your job properly.’
‘Were you just an AC plonk?’
‘I was for a time then I was retrained as a Sergeant Instructor. I finished up at St. Athan teaching in an RAF School for Apprentices. Found myself in charge of a sort of hobbies hour for all the lads because I did Craft at college. Quite cushy actually because our leave was the equivalent of school holidays.’
‘You sound the sort of character who lands on his feet.’
‘That’s what my Mother always says,’ I laughed.
We wandered on in the sultry evening air along what was normally a very busy road. There were houses on one side, and a stretch of grass surrounding a small reservoir on the other. Suddenly I jumped. A bicycle shot passed me ridden far too close to the kerb.
‘Heck, he nearly hit me.’
I glared at the retreating figure. It was a boy whose age I couldn’t guess.
‘Oh - it’s him again,’ said Rocky.... ‘and with him will be....’
Before she could finish, or before either of us could turn, another cyclist tore by similarly close.
‘Allo, Miss Rock Bottom,’ the rider called out rudely in mock-posh tones. I turned to her angrily.
‘Who are those brats?’
‘They’re two from the secondary school most of our youngsters go to.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘No, they left Dayton Road three years ago, so I’ve never taught them. But they’ve done this kind of thing before.’
‘Cheeky young wretches,’ I said indignantly.
The cyclists turned some distance ahead and sped back past us on the other side of the road.
‘You’ve got another boy friend tonight, then,’ yelled one.
‘My stars, if I get my hands on him,’ I snapped.
‘I suppose they think we’re good for a lark„ said Rocky. ‘When they were at Dayton Road there weren’t any teachers of our age.’
‘No, I can’t imagine them doing this to Miss Rees, or any of the others for that matter, which makes it all the more infuriating.’
‘Come on, let’s forget it. They’ll go home now they’ve had their fun.’
But Rocky was wrong. Unseen by us they turned again for a second run. The first rider zoomed past as before, narrowly missing my shoulder.
‘Yah, ole’ Rock bum,’ he yelled.
Incensed I turned just as the second was riding up to us along the gutter.
‘Rocky bott...’
Without thinking, I grabbed the handlebars. He wasn’t travelling very quickly so he didn’t pull me over and I stopped the bicycle very effectively. But I failed to grab the rider who was flung off the bike and crashed to the ground, sprawling into the road. For a split second I stood absolutely immobile, whilst my thoughts raced like a torrent....
...busy main road...lorries, buses, cars speed along...many accidents, no, road’s empty...he’s lying still...oh God, skull fractured, hell, what have I done...?
Suddenly the prostrate figure rolled over and leapt to its feet.
‘That was a bloody stupid thing to do,’ he yelled at me. ‘Gimme me bike.’
He wrenched it from my grasp and jumped on to it Relief at the obvious fact that nothing was damaged but his pride flooded over me. The cyclists wheeled round again in front of us, then rode by on the other side with furious looks. Stupidly I tried to salvage my pride.
‘Don’t try being so rude in future,’ I called pompously.
‘Yah,’ yelled the first boy and spat ineffectively in my direction.
‘You could ‘ave killed me,’ called the other. We watched them ride into the distance.
‘I’m afraid he’s right,’ said Rocky quietly.
‘Yes - I know.’ I felt cold sweat trickly down my back. ‘But he made me so mad. How dare he be so rude and cheeky?’
‘But he’s still only a boy and you mustn’t let temper get the better of you when dealing with kids.’ She paused, and looked at me. ‘Suppose there’d been a bus behind you... can’t you imagine what the newspaper headlines would have said tomorrow?’ I turned even colder despite the warmth of the summer evening. Rocky slipped her hand round my arm.
‘Put it down to experience. Anyway, thanks for coming to my defence.’
I opened my mouth to reply, but decided against it. I caught her eye and she smiled sympathetically. For the remainder of our walk she considerately managed to stop me feeling embarrassed at my dangerous thoughtlessness. But for a long time afterwards the lesson seared into my consciousness.
After a few weeks the summer holidays came and the staff dispersed. The three older women were going abroad, a comparatively adventurous undertaking so soon after the war. Taff and Rocky returned to South Wales, whilst I visited the Lakeland hills for the first time in my life. Hill walking and rock climbing cast their fascination upon me whilst I was at St. Andrew’s and I managed to spend some of my RAF leaves in the hills of North Wales. Then, earlier in the ye
ar I had spent my Easter leave on a Beginners Course of the new Mountaineering Association.
This had been a very enjoyable event, only the second they had organised since the War. We had an excellent tutor who, in employment, was a steeplejack. He was rather amused by the teaching manual he’d been supplied with. Obviously the authors felt beginners needed explanations from the very beginning - or were assumed to have very low IQs.
Students should be instructed in basic rope techniques. We agreed.
On a rope with three climbers, the first is known as the leader. Wow, we said.
The second climber is known as the second, or the middleman. The third is known as last man, or number three. We’d never have guessed, we said.
There is no rope above the leader....
There is no greater strain on the second than the falling leader...
Fortunately the practical tuition far outstripped the manual. On the last day of term Rocky said, ‘Don’t forget to send me a postcard,’ to which I readily agreed and asked for one in return. I felt elated because I seemed to be getting on well with her, but I was not as enthusiastic about the six weeks holiday as I expected to be. I was going to miss the School and the children. After all, I had only just begun and had taught for only a few weeks. I was impatient to have my own class as well.
When I arrived in the Lake District it was raining and it continued to do so for days on end. The wettest August for thirty-two years, the locals said. I didn’t contradict them. I sent a ridiculously sunny card to Rocky and wrote that it wasn’t like that at all. Soon one came back showing Newport looking remarkably clean and tidy. It wasn’t all like that, wrote Rocky. She also mentioned that she had repaired my tie.
I was highly pleased with this item of news because the repair of this garment seemed to carry some significance. It was, for those early post-war years, a highly flamboyant Paisley design. Opponents objected if I wore it when playing table tennis matches. It put them off their stroke, they said. Kim had given it to me as a birthday present when I was at St. Andrew’s. I liked it immensely and wore it frequently. It was silk with an inner lining to stiffen it. Regular use made it dirty and I had washed it myself. The result was a hopelessly twisted lining. Every time I wore it afterwards it dangled from my neck like a corkscrew.
Greetings Noble Sir Page 31