Saturday's Story

Hello good readers! I thought that with my theme of publishing new short stories on the blog lately, a new special theme should be set up to upload them for as many people to read as possible - so here is Saturday's Story. For as many Saturday's as possible (so not every week, probably) will be a story. Nothing specific or linked, but just what it is. So here is my very latest today...

First Class

The man of wisdom is the man of years.

Edward Young, Night Thoughts

            And it was Mrs Peterson, to resolve any unnecessary perplexity. It always salves one’s thoughts if the small difficulties arising could be stamped out with a forthwith backhand. Mother always had the jolly good sense to hand her that ruler on completion of her studies and to think that she would have then had the thoughtlessness to have queried “Is this so I can underline today’s date?” Oh, how that little act of human error had since been concealed – even from Stanley. She’d expect that he was up there this morning, blotting out his haphazard handlings with the razor. He’ll miss his train if he’s up there, fussing as he always does.

            Ah…Here comes little Margaret. But they were all so grown up now – it was no matter. Mrs Peterson had dealt with many an adolescent in her time. Kelly Watson was approaching Margaret now. It always did well to have support in the class of the older sort.

            “ere, what’s tha’ Felicity up to now. Playin’ teacher, I see. Oh, how she ge’ tha’ ruler again?”

            The absolute audacity of her. “Margaret James. If I hear one more word of disrespect, you’ll get this.” Mrs Peterson raised her battered, chipped block of wood as weakly before the strain on her elbow became apparent to put it back down again.

            “It won’t do. Why are all the chairs facing back to me. No, it won’t. Miss Watson, see to it that the chairs are arranged just so, before my first class get down here,” Mrs Peterson barked.

            What was she doing whispering to that other assistant in the corner? Why had Stanley not yet come down for morning tea? It was all disorderly this morning and she’d have to see to it that it was put right again. Now then, what was that Clive Cutters doing over there at the table in the corner, eating that bowl of porridge?

            “Mr Cutters! This is a classroom. Breakfast should have been served when you were at home. Come and sit next to Margaret.”

            Now he was talking to that other assistant. Mrs Peterson hadn’t seen this one before. She must be new. Looks awfully young to be qualified for this position, but standards had slipped ever since her roast beef on Thursday evenings had been moved later for serving at 7.30 instead of 6.15. Imagine! 7.30 after one’s day of hard work were left unnourished. They were approaching now. The assistants. What were they doing?

            “What do you want? There’s an awful lot to get through this morning and I need you to make sure everyone’s brought their copy of Othello with them.” What were they thinking of? It can’t be natural to be looking down on somebody for one’s eyes to be fixed for such a long period.

            “Mrs Peterson. You know that the ruler isn’t permitted in this room.” Miss Watson was the first to speak.

            “Of course, don’t be silly. I’m the teacher here. You can’t…” Quite suddenly, the ruler was wrenched from Mrs Peterson’s frail grasp. She sat there still, her eyes looking at the upright stick now at level with her. This was unacceptable. The teacher in her own class – defied in such a manner!

            “Now what it is time for,” simpered the young girl, with a fixated smile on her cheeks, “is your wash this morning.”

            “But Stanley is still in there…” Mrs Peterson flicked her eyes in utter horror. To be subject to this humiliation in front of her class.

            Both of them looked with a sorry shake of the heads. Bobbling like she were some sort patient in the lunatic asylum. If it was anyone who needed to go there, it was that young madam here. That big, open smirk is not seemly for any sane woman to expose.

            “Giv’ ‘er a good once over, will ya?” laughed Margaret. They were all laughing at her now. Oh, the horror of it all…

            Mrs Peterson was lifted by one of the male attendants now. His strong grip wrapped across her elbow, securing any possibility that she may refuse his guidance.

            “But, Biology starts at 11. You must bring me down by then.” Mrs Peterson was inserted on one of those elevating seats to the first floor. She’d become so wearied by climbing recently.

            As she looked down, she saw the fading look of mirth on the faces of the three assistants. All of them shaking and palming the thin air with swipes of the hand. They slowly dispersed now. And Mrs Peterson remembered the days when she’d comfort young boys and girls about how mother would be there to pick them up later on.