Nine Till Three and Summers Free

by Mike Kent

  ‘Mike.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mike. You can call me Milly. Everybody calls me Milly. Amongst other things,’ she added drily, disappearing into the next room with her clutter of brooms and buckets.

  Room nineteen was small but pleasant. It contained a single bed, a slim wardrobe, a writing desk with shelving built onto it, a small set of drawers with a deep scratch across the top surface, and a full length mirror that had recently been attached to the wall. The white emulsioned walls of the room were covered with tiny, clean patches where pictures had clearly been fastened to them with sellotape by the previous occupant, but the carpet looked fairly new and made the room feel comfortable. A curved window gave an exciting view of London’s skyline, with Big Ben as its centrepiece. I propped the window open to let some fresh air into the room, but a gust of cold air blew in some dust from a construction site nearby and I quickly closed it again.

  I heaved my case onto the bed and started to unpack. It was the weight of the books that had made the suitcase so heavy and I gazed apprehensively at some of the titles as I stacked them on the shelf: Psychology In Education, Modern Teaching Methodology, Philosophy In Education, Children And Their Secondary Schools… why I needed that when I was training to teach at a primary school I’d no idea… A Short History Of Education which ran into seven hundred pages. I felt relieved that I hadn’t been asked to buy the long version. As I finished there was a knock at the door and a beaming face topped with a shock of black hair peered round it.

  ‘Hi there! This is one of your friendly, nosy corridor companions speaking. Mind if I come in? My name’s Gerald Evans, but I hate Gerald, so make it Gerry. And I come bearing gifts: a mug of hot tea, a digestive biscuit and a carton of milk. No sugar, I’m afraid.’

  I took the tea gratefully, and welcomed him into the room. He stooped slightly as he came in, his tall frame, tightly fitting suit and large hands making him seem a little awkward. Immediately, the room felt crowded and he sat down heavily on the end of the bed, which creaked alarmingly. He jumped up quickly.

  ‘Oh God, sorry, I hope I haven’t buggered your bed. Mine doesn’t seem too safe either. Bit short, too. I might have to erect something or other to stop my feet hanging over the end. Anyway, I thought I’d look in as we’re neighbours. I’m just across the corridor.’

  His voice was soft and strong, and his questioning eyes, sturdy jaw line and natural charisma suggested he’d probably have immediate rapport with a class of children. He stretched out his long legs and thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

  ‘I only learned about my acceptance a couple of days ago,’ he said. ‘Odd sort of system, isn’t it? I have an interview before I leave the sixth form, and then I have to wait until the day before the course starts to find out whether I’m coming here. Stunning bit of organisation, I’d say.’

  ‘I had a bit longer than that,’ I replied. ‘Three weeks, to be exact.’

  ‘Really? Perhaps they had a hard job filling up the places. After all, who except for mugs like us would want to be a teacher nowadays?’ He dug into the pocket of his jacket and took out a pipe and tobacco pouch.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me puffing,’ he said guiltily. ‘So many people have given up it makes you feel like a bloody social outcast. I drink occasionally, too. Pints, preferably.’

  Without waiting to see whether I would agree, he put a match to the pipe and a dense cloud of acrid smoke drifted fog-like across the room. I waved frantically, trying to disperse it.

  ‘Bugger, sorry about that,’ he apologised. ‘Hope nobody’s got their washing out. My brother brought this muck back from abroad. I’ll put it out. How long did it take you to get down here?’

  ‘About an hour. I live in Ealing.’

  ‘Oh, not far then. Are you planning to teach in Ealing?’

  ‘Possibly. But I like the city. I’ll probably stay in London and rent a flat. That’s assuming I survive the course.’

  ‘At least you won’t have far to go if you’ve forgotten anything you need. You didn’t bring a kettle, I suppose? There should be one in the kitchen area on each corridor, but somebody must have taken it. There’s only a tiny saucepan. Do you spend a lot of time in London, living so close to it?’

  ‘I love the theatre and cinema. I think the closer you live to London, the more you probably take it for granted. I’m a sucker for second hand book shops, though.’

  ‘Well, I don’t visit London much myself… and I’m not too far away. Slightly south of Watford. Always come down for the big movies though.’

  He tapped his pipe out into the metal waste bucket and I opened the window again. The early evening air was turning much colder, but at least it cleared the smoke.

  ‘Are you doing the primary or secondary school course?’ he asked.

  ‘Primary. I like the idea of teaching lots of different subjects. I prefer the younger ones.’

  ‘They’d probably drive me up the wall. I’m doing the secondary course. At least they should be able to write by then. I’m doing geography as my main subject. Loved anything to do with maps at school. I quite fancied some sort of job in cartography, but the careers officer persuaded me I might have something to offer Britain’s youth, so here I am.’

  I looked at my watch. ‘We should go soon. Only fifteen minutes to the meeting.’

  Gerry stood up from the bed, dusted strands of tobacco from his jacket, thrust his pipe between his teeth and opened the door.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind a quick wash first,’ he said. ‘I’ll just pop along to the primitive basins at the end of the corridor. Have you experienced the washroom?’

  ‘Not yet. I haven’t even finished unpacking. I’ll do it while you wash.’

  He strode off down the corridor and I closed the door quietly on the room that would be my home for the next three years.

  (ii)

  The assembly hall on the far side of the quadrangle was small but functional. Rows of chairs had been set out in front of the stage, empty except for a solitary lectern and a piece of scenery painted to look like a castle wall. The parquet floor had recently been cut back and resurfaced and there was a strong smell of polish. I sat with Gerry at the back of the hall, nearly all of the other seats being already occupied. The drone of muted conversation became louder as the hall filled, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

  ‘This is it, then,’ Gerry said. ‘I trust we’ll be allowed weekends off, a lie-in on Wednesdays, a tray of tea brought to our bedsides on Sundays, and…’

  His voice died away as Dr Bradley entered through a side door and carefully made his way to the front of the assembly. Black gown held close to him, he stepped gingerly onto the stage as if fearing the floorboards might give way. Placing a notebook on the lectern, he pushed his spectacles into a comfortable position and scanned his audience before speaking.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen. Firstly, I’d like to welcome you all most warmly to St. James’s College. I have, of course, met some of you personally on a previous occasion and I look forward to renewing that acquaintance. The building is old, as you are doubtless aware, but like our students it also has character. And we are up to date in most other respects.’ His voice, clear and fluent, reached the back of the hall without any apparent effort.

  ‘There are several things to be mentioned before dinner, and then I’ll leave you to meet each other and find your way around our labyrinth. Lectures commence on Wednesday, which will give you ample time to meet and talk with your tutors. You’ll find a provisional timetable in the main corridor tomorrow. You should all be fairly knowledgeable about your individual courses from the information we posted to you. You can discuss the details with your tutors. There are certain compulsory lectures. Everyone will be required to attend physical education and of course the education lectures. You’ll go out to schools on three teaching practices. The first one is short, the f
inal one is not. The first will enable us to assess who’s likely to succeed and who isn’t. It’ll be a bit like coming out of the trenches and going over the top; some of you will survive, others will be mown down before you’ve even given out the children’s milk. I’m sure you will relish the challenge.’

  There was a murmur of amusement as Dr Bradley paused.

  ‘To be realistic,’ he continued, ‘we don’t expect too much from you on your first teaching practice. Teaching in London… or come to that, in any city, is never going to be easy. I hope you will find our lecturers tolerant and supportive. It’s also worth noting that a string of academic qualifications do not necessarily produce a fine teacher. There is much we can teach you about techniques, but there is no substitute for actual experience and it is therefore vital, gentlemen, that you learn from that experience.’

  ‘I’m beginning to understand why he accepted me,’ whispered a student directly behind Gerry. ‘A few ‘O’ levels and a nice smile.’

  ‘There will be a written examination at the end of each term. This is to ensure that you maintain a good academic standard throughout the course. You shouldn’t have any difficulty keeping up with your studies if you don’t waste time. You’ll soon discover how easy it is to waste time at college, because unlike school, nobody will be looking over your shoulder. You will be responsible for your own learning.’

  Dr Bradley stopped in mid-sentence, peered over his spectacles, and beckoned to a figure at the door. The latecomer was tall and very thin, most of his face hidden by a bushy moustache and a large black beard. A badly knitted long grey pullover hung limply over crumpled bottle-green corduroy trousers. He carried a rucksack in one hand and a banjo in the other.

  ‘Come in and sit down,’ said Dr Bradley acidly, looking at his watch. ‘I’m assuming you’ve come to join us, or are we to be treated to a short recital on your banjo?’

  A ripple of laughter ran through the assembly as the latecomer hovered at the side of the hall, looking for an empty seat. Then he leaned the banjo affectionately against the wall and sat down on a stool near the stage, apologising profusely for the disturbance. Dr Bradley placed a hand carefully at each side of the lectern, gripped tightly and continued.

  ‘Meals, gentlemen, are at nine, twelve and six thirty. Dress is informal for the first two, but we don’t expect you to turn up for breakfast in pyjamas. We do, however, expect you to actually turn up for breakfast. It is traditional here that we wear a shirt and a tie for the evening meal. Now, clubs and societies are an important part of college life and you may join any of them. We also encourage you to start new ones.’

  His speech was suddenly interrupted by the ping of a snapping string as the banjo gave up its attempt to remain upright and keeled ungracefully to the floor. The bearded owner groaned and Dr Bradley glanced sharply in his direction.

  ‘Presumably our friend will be starting a musical appreciation group. Hopefully his strings can last out until then.’ The bearded owner, embarrassed, grabbed the banjo and clamped it firmly between his knees.

  ‘There are no lectures at weekends, but once you get involved with your studies you’ll have more than enough to do. No doubt there’ll be a young lady pining for you in the town where you live, so if you intend being away from college at weekends, please sign the weekend book. The Cook will need to know why you’re not eating. May I also point out that this is an all male college, so don’t pester the young ladies on the catering staff. We’ve lost several promising cooks that way.’

  Gerry leaned towards me. ‘At least our weekends are free,’ he murmured. ‘A chance for me to escape to Melanie’s delights.’

  ‘Two more points,’ Dr Bradley continued, looking at his watch. ‘On Friday mornings a series of guest speakers have been arranged to give lectures in this hall. Attendance is compulsory and an important part of the course. I think you’ll find we’ve booked speakers who will challenge your views on education. And for those of you who would like it, we have an attractive chapel in the college and a short service is held there on Sunday mornings. Well, gentlemen, that’s all for the present. Are there any questions?’

  Several hands rose, and Dr Bradley pointed to the owner of the banjo.

  ‘Yes, Mr… er… I’m acquainted with your instrument, but I do not recall your name?’

  ‘Hornpipe. Dudley Hornpipe. Am I right in thinking there is some sort of clothes washing service?’

  ‘There is a laundry service, and washing machinery of a sort in the basement, but it’s even older than me and I wouldn’t vouch for its reliability. Until now, I imagine your mothers have washed your clothes, but real life starts here, gentlemen, unless you intend to post your shirts home each week. There is no alternative to ironing creases from your clothes, but that is just one of life’s little chores in today’s world of increasing equal opportunity. However, Mrs. Marchant, our domestic bursar, will take care of your pillow cases, sheets and blankets and turn you out if you’re still buried in them when she does her rounds.’

  After fifteen minutes of answering similar questions on college domestic arrangements, the Doctor concluded by pointing the way to the dining room, where we were pleasantly surprised by a comprehensive buffet, attractively laid out on trestle tables around the room. It seemed that many students had already become acquainted with people on their corridors and they chatted in groups. We discovered that our corridor also housed Alex from Fintry whose Scottish dialect was so thick I couldn’t understand a word he said, Ben from Eltham who seemed so nervous I wondered how he’d passed the interview and Anthony from Falmouth who seemed to have been travelling for days and was just anxious to get to bed. After several rounds of polite conversation Gerry suggested going to his room for a coffee and we were about to climb the staircase when a large metal kettle hurtled down the stairs and hit Gerry savagely in the kneecap.

  ‘Oh shit!’ cried a voice several flights up. ‘Can somebody stop that kettle…’

  ‘My leg already has,’ Gerry shouted back.

  ‘Bloody good! Wait there and I’ll collect it.’

  In a few moments we were joined by an exceptionally good looking, well built student, whose dark brown hair bounced on his forehead as he descended the stairs two at a time. He sighed as Gerry held up the handle.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry. What a day! I missed the meal because my dear old rusty Mini made an awful whistling sound on the way down and started overheating. I had to drive at five miles an hour until I got to my Auntie Jean’s. She lives near here and helped me carry stuff round, but I missed the Doc’s intro so I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve eaten a mouldy cheese roll from a dirty little cafe round the corner and I was about to make a strong cup of tea with this kettle purloined from the bottom corridor and then the bloody handle falls off.’

  ‘Sounds like your car’s got a leaky radiator,’ said Gerry. ‘I can help with that. My father’s a mechanic, so a few tips have rubbed off. You can get some stuff to make a temporary repair. Or it could be the head gasket. We’ll find a spares shop in the morning. You’ll notice that I am carrying a kettle, complete with handle. In return for fixing your motor and screwing the kettle handle on, would you like to make us a steaming cup of coffee?’

  ‘Well… I’m not sure about that. You haven’t fixed it yet. But you can have a coffee on account. What are your names?’

  ‘Gerry. And this is Mike. You are…?’

  ‘John. But since the age of five, I’ve been known as Duggan.’

  ‘John? Duggan? Perhaps I’m being a bit thick, but I can’t see the connection.’

  ‘My dad was a keen gardener and I used to follow him round the garden with a little spade, but I was always digging up his bulbs. He’d go into the house and say to my mum ‘You won’t believe it, but the little bugger’s just dug another one up.’ Hence my name. Anyway, nice to meet you. Follow me to my palatial apartment.’
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  He shook hands warmly with us, and moved quickly up the stairs. He was on the same corridor as us, although his room was on a corner of the corridor and far more spacious. It contained the standard set of furniture but there was a second easy chair in the extra space. Part of the ceiling had flaked and tiny whispers of plaster had fallen onto the bed, but Duggan had obviously made a determined effort to make the room comfortable. There were small cushions on the chairs, photographs on the bookshelves and two miniature framed Monet prints on the wall. He heaved his suitcase onto the bed.

  ‘If I carry this around much longer, I shall need a new gasket, too,’ he muttered. ‘Probably this is what ruptured the poor bloody Mini.’ He flicked the catches open, dug one hand deep inside and pulled out a teapot.

  ‘Is tea okay? Not sure where the coffee is. Had a spot of bother getting this. My mother wasn’t keen on me borrowing the pot she brews the vicar’s tea in, but I managed to convince her that my need was much greater. It brews a cup of tea with a real bite to it. Probably all the crustiness around the inside.’

  I filled the kettle and went out to the kitchen area. By the time I returned, Duggan had laid out three bone china teacups, a bowl of sugar lumps, a tiny carton of long life milk and a packet of fairy cakes.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he said, peeling the wrapper off a cake. ‘I suggest we drink this tea and then go in search of a decent chippy.’ He poured the tea and passed the cups to us.

  ‘There’s one at the corner,’ said Gerry. ‘I had a quick wander round earlier this afternoon. There are pubs, second-hand bookshops, a record store, three cinemas, a couple of cheap eateries and of course the beauty of St James’s Park for strolling around when Melanie visits. Pretty much everything to keep me happy.’

  ‘Have you blokes bought your books yet?’ Duggan asked. ‘I was told not to buy any because the leavers always flog theirs off to the freshers at bargain prices.’

  ‘I’ve spent a fortune,’ I admitted.