by Mike Kent
In only our second lecture, Simon had startled the Doctor, and astonished everybody else, by pointing out an error in a substitution equation, and the Doctor had stared intently at it for a full five minutes before coming to the reluctant conclusion that he had indeed made a mistake. Daines, the group felt, was destined for research rather than teaching, but his usefulness to the others extended in many directions, not the least of which was bribing him to check experimental conclusions before they were handed in for marking.
‘Yes, I thought it might be you first,’ Dr Frost said to Daines. ‘The rest of ‘em seem to be hiding behind each other. Oh well, bring your stuff to the front, lad.’
Daines picked up the mass of equipment that Patrick had assembled for him several days earlier, and walked purposefully towards the front demonstration bench.
‘What do you intend to do, lad?’ asked Dr Frost, waving his hand at an insect that had begun a circular tour of his head.
‘Paths of light through a prism, Sir.’
‘Jesus, that’s a bit hard for thirteen year olds, isn’t it?’ breathed Duggan.
‘Well, it’s a bit above the age group I suggested,’ Dr Frost commented, as if he had overheard. ‘Still, it doesn’t matter. The rest of you might learn something. Though looking at you this morning, I doubt it. Barton, sit up!’
‘I am sitting up, Sir.’
‘Really? Well sit up further. The lesson is beginning.’
‘I’ll try, Sir.’
‘That’s most kind of you, Barton.’
‘Thank you very much, Sir.’
Daines cleaned the blackboard, selected a fresh stick of white chalk, and paused for a brief glance at his notes. Shutting his file, he turned to face the group, mentally converting them into a class of eager-minded children.
‘Now then, this morning I’m going to start by telling you how we could study paths of light through a prism,’ he began energetically. ‘Please watch carefully.’ He drew a large, equilateral triangle on the blackboard and turned round again, looking in Dr Frost’s direction.
‘Sir, I shall have to assume the class has already had some lessons on light, of course.’
‘Well they have,’ Dr Frost retorted. ‘I’ve been talking about it for the last four weeks.’
‘Yes Sir, I realise that, but I am assuming the things my class have done would be slightly different. This lesson is intended to follow earlier work.’
‘Yes, yes. Just carry on.’
‘Well, as I was saying, we will assume they have covered plane mirrors, real and apparent depth, curve by refraction and possibly paths of rays through a parallel sided block of glass. The lesson I’m going to do would naturally be what they would have covered next, so I…’
‘I doubt if they would have,’ Dr Frost interrupted.
‘Doubt if they would have what, Sir?’
‘I doubt if you’d have got much about refraction into ‘em. You’d probably have spent most of the year getting the dafter ones to realise why they can see themselves in a mirror.’
‘I’m assuming they would be a fairly intelligent class, Sir.’
Dr Frost sat forward on his stool at the back of the laboratory and cupped his chin in his hands.
‘Why?’ he barked.
‘Because I’ve prepared…’
‘You can’t assume anything, lad. You’re likely to have a class with half a dozen who know roughly which direction their heads are facing, and the rest whose brains are buried somewhere in their backsides. Mixed ability, I’m told, is the order of the day.’
‘Yes, Sir, but I’ve prepared this lesson for a fairly intelligent class and…’
‘I see, then we’ll have to pretend that that’s what they are.’ He looked round at the group with an amused expression. ‘You hear that, gentlemen? You are an intelligent class. Well, well. Carry on, Daines.’
‘Thank you. Have you got some coloured chalk, Sir?’
‘Coloured chalk? Good God, I’m not sure if this underfunded department can run to that kind of luxury, lad. There may be a stick of yellow by the tap on the bench if you’re lucky.’
Turning to the blackboard again, Daines added some yellow lines to the diagram and labelled them. The group sat silently, watching him carefully.
‘I realise I’m stopping you before you have hardly begun,’ Dr Frost frowned, looking at his watch, ‘But you’ll have to watch this turning around to the board too much. Keep talking, or you’ll find half of ‘em have gone to sleep. Or disappeared from your classroom. And don’t think that can’t happen, lad. Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take the rest of the day.’
‘I’ve got to get the diagram on the board somehow, though,’ Daines objected.
‘I know that, lad. But you could have drawn it on a sheet of paper beforehand, and pinned it on the board. Or drawn it on the board before the class came in.’
‘I couldn’t, Sir. I didn’t know who was going to be chosen.’
‘Yes yes, laddie, I appreciate that. I am merely pointing out what you should do when you have a real class.’
‘But I would have, Sir, only…’
Dr Frost sighed. ‘Look, don’t bloody argue about it. Just get on with it.’
He blew his nose loudly, stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, and picked up a pad and pencil from the bench behind him. Daines wavered momentarily, and then resumed his lesson.
‘Now, this is intended to be a triangular slab of glass. A prism, in fact. Does anyone know what I mean by a prism?’
Several hands went up, but Dr Frost waved them down again.
‘Don’t ask too many questions, lad,’ he warned. ‘Especially simple ones like that. We haven’t got time. Frankly, I’m frightened of the answers you might get. Half the class will probably tell you a prism is a place you keep criminals in.’
There was a ripple of sympathetic laughter and Daines smiled cautiously. ‘Well,’ he went on, ‘If we place the block with one of its sides flat on a sheet of white paper, as I’ll show you in a moment, and set up two pins here… and here…’
Duggan groaned and moved his stool behind a chemical balance at the end of the bench. ‘I pity the poor sod who’s got to follow this one,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps he’ll keep it going until lunchtime.’
‘Don’t worry. When he’s finished, we’ll ask a lot of questions.’
Duggan shook his head sadly. ‘That just puts it off until another day. It’s like bloody Russian roulette. If he’s stopping Simon every five seconds I should think the rest of us will be hard pressed to get a syllable out.’
As the lesson progressed, Dr Frost rocked slowly to and fro on his stool, scribbling an occasional note on his pad. Despite his earlier interruptions, he was obviously pleased with the way the lesson was developing. Daines carefully constructed the experiment from the materials he had brought to the front bench, setting out a large sheet of white cartridge paper, some mapping pins and a triangular prism. Then he cleared the remaining bits and pieces from around the work area, and invited his ‘class’ to come and stand around the bench. The rest of the group moved cautiously forward, like battle-worn troops testing a minefield. Daines then resumed his explanation.
‘Now then, I shall mark these pins as it will help you to understand the result of the experiment. Watch carefully. We’ll call this pin ‘X’ and this pin ‘Y’. Assuming that everything has been set up properly, we should see two pins in line with the images of X and Y. Then we take a pencil and a ruler… can somebody pass a ruler..’
‘Well, I could if I’d eaten one, but it’ud be bloody painful,’ said Barton cheerfully.
‘What was that?’ snapped Dr Frost, leaning forward on his stool.
‘It was a joke, Sir,’ said Barton. ‘Daines asked if someone could pass a ruler. I said it would be painful, Sir.’
‘Did you really? Th
at’s a joke is it?’
‘It was certainly intended to be, yes Sir.’
‘Well laddie, if you had been in my class and made a joke like that I’d have tied your testicles in a reef knot and torn up your work. That wouldn’t have made you very happy, would it, Barton?’
‘It certainly wouldn’t, Sir.’
‘Right, then unless you have a valid or pertinent comment to make, I suggest you contain your garrulous tongue between jaws of discretion.’
‘Thank you Sir. I’ll certainly try, Sir.’
‘Now what was it you wanted, Daines?’
‘I wanted someone to pass me a ruler, Sir.’
‘Barton, pass him a ruler.’
Daines felt he had been given an object lesson in dealing caustically with a classroom wit, and he took the ruler gratefully.
‘Thank you. If we join a line between these two points… and then take the prism away, you can see what I’m left with. You’ll see even clearer when you do it for yourselves in a moment.’ Dr Frost smiled one of his rare smiles and scribbled something on his pad
‘Don’t go too quickly, lad,’ he advised. ‘I can see what you’re getting at but don’t overestimate the ability of your class. Far too many students make a complete mess of their first teaching practice doing just that. Quite good so far, though. Go on.’
‘Well,’ Daines concluded ‘You’ll see we now have an angle between the incident and the emergent rays, which I’ll mark as ‘Y’. This is called… ‘
‘Don’t tell ‘em what it’s called,’ said Dr Frost quickly. ‘See if any of ‘em know.’
Daines looked round at the small sea of worried faces in front of him. ‘Does anyone know the name of the angle?’
‘Fred?’ suggested Barton.
‘Thank you Barton,’ retorted Dr Frost. ‘You’re a fool, lad. What are you?’
‘I’m a fool, Sir.’
‘Thank you. Is there anyone among this supposedly budding group of science teachers who actually knows what the angle is called?’
There was a painful silence. Daines hesitated, wondering whether he should continue, or whether Dr Frost was commandeering his lesson.
‘No? I thought not. Tell ‘em, Daines.’
‘Well,’ Daines concluded, ‘The angle between the incident and the emergent rays is called the.. er.. angle of deviation. And that’s about it, except that you can try it for yourselves. Has anyone got anything they want to ask? I think it’s perfectly straightforward, though?’
Somebody at the front nodded vaguely, more in appreciation of the lesson than an understanding of it. A hollow cough sounded from the back of the laboratory, breaking the respectful silence. Daines looked round at the group, his confidence fully restored. ‘Well, if there are no questions, you can do it for yourselves now. Then you’ll see what I mean if you’re not absolutely sure.’
He stepped down from the front bench and began to distribute sets of apparatus, placing in front of each pair of students two sheets of white cartridge paper, some pins, a drawing board and a block of glass. Duggan immediately began marking the first piece of paper with the ruler and pencil we had been given.
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Only partly, Mike. Only partly. That’s why I’m measuring everything in sight. When in doubt, look incredibly busy, especially if the good doctor moves in this direction. He did well though. Simon, I mean.’
‘You understood it all, then?’
‘I didn’t say that. I just said I thought he did very well. I wouldn’t have tried it myself.’
Daines moved from group to group, murmuring encouragement, suggesting slight alterations, and helping where necessary. He was already beginning to seem like an experienced teacher.
‘All right?’ he asked Duggan kindly.
‘Yes thank you, Simon,’ Duggan replied graciously, standing back to survey his results. ‘We were just wondering whether to have a crack at this on our first teaching practice.’
‘Will you have secondary children?’
‘No. Lower juniors.’
Daines ignored the sarcasm and smiled benignly, secure in the knowledge that his own ordeal was over. He had given his lesson, it had gone well, and the Doctor was pleased. During the first part of the practical session, Dr Frost had wandered about the room, spending most of his time with the students at the front and confirming the accuracy of the experiment for himself before returning to his seat. Now he stood up slowly, scratched his nose, and looked at his watch before speaking.
‘Yes, well, Daines. That’s not bad at all for a first shot. Probably a bit above the heads of lower secondary, but you seem to know what you’re talking about, which gives you a head start on some of us.’
Daines smiled self-consciously and drummed his fingers on the bench water tap nervously.
‘One or two points I’d mention, though,’ Dr Frost added quickly, as if he felt that his praise might have been too lavish. ‘You tend to go too quickly, lad. I realise this is your first attempt, but we might as well get things straight from the start. There’s enough for three lessons in the one you’ve done this morning. Don’t be in too much of a hurry. Remember you’re supposed to be teaching them, not lecturing to them. Take it step by step.’
Daines looked a little bemused. ‘But you said there wasn’t time to ask many questions, Sir,’ he objected.
‘Yes, I realise that, lad,’ replied Dr Frost, his voice rising irritably again. ‘I am simply pointing out to you that many of the children in London are beyond learning, from what I’ve seen of ‘em. At least if you go slowly you’ll have an outside chance of getting something in their heads.’
For a moment, I wished that Miss Bottle had been in the room to take issue with this statement, or at least provide a visual reminder that not everyone shared his opinions.
‘Anyway, lad, that’s the most important point,’ Dr Frost continued, looking at the notes he’d scribbled on his pad. ‘The other point is one on which Miss Bottle and I have agreed to differ. She tells me that the children she visits in primary schools potter about with bulbs and batteries and pieces of wire trying to find out about electricity. No doubt they end up giving each other electric shocks. With older children you must make it blatantly obvious what you’re supposed to be doing. Don’t tell ‘em what is supposed to happen. Not at first, anyway. Give ‘em a sporting chance of using their addled brains before you give up and tell ‘em what day of the week it is.’
Daines sat down, looking relieved and a little flushed.
‘That’s all,’ Dr Frost concluded. ‘Go more slowly next time. Never assume the blighters you’re teaching know as much as you do.’ He stared round the room again. ‘Hmm,’ he added, ‘I suppose some of ‘em might, at that. Now then, who’s next?’
There was an almost imperceptible movement of every student in the laboratory towards whatever piece of bench apparatus offered the slightest chance of concealment. Only Simon Daines remained completely visible. Dr Frost sighed with exasperation.
‘Well, dammit, come on. I don’t intend to waste the rest of the morning. What about you, Phillips?’
Duggan was taken by surprise and looked at him in disbelief.
‘Me, Sir?’ he asked incredulously.
‘And why not, lad? I imagine you’ve been kind enough to prepare something for us, haven’t you?’
‘Well yes, but..’
‘Then come along, lad. Surprise us all.’
Duggan stood up, looked around hopelessly for a moment, and then sat down again. Several other faces were emerging cautiously, and with considerable relief, from behind flasks, bottles and balances.
‘You’ve got to face the cretins sooner or later, you know,’ Dr Frost growled. ‘If you intend to make a mess of it you might as well do it this morning. You won’t actually fail in h
ere. You will only fail if you cock everything up on your teaching practice.’
He suddenly seemed very angry again. Duggan fumbled with the pieces of apparatus in front of him, gathered them together and walked slowly to the front bench. Placing his folder of notes on the lectern, he gazed nervously round the room. Several students gave him sympathetic looks, wondering how his lesson could possibly top, or even equal, the previous one. Simon Daines smiled at him happily. Barton was busily examining a metal tube used for expansion experiments and probably wondering if he could incorporate it into the tailpipe of his motor bike. Charlton was staring intently at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Duggan took a deep breath and began, wondering how long it would be before the Doctor cut him to ribbons.
‘I’m going to give you a lesson on…er.. convection. That is..’
‘Speak up then!’ Dr Frost roared from the back. ‘Let’s hear what you’ve got to say. You never know, it might even be worthwhile. You’re going to give a lesson on what?’
‘Convection, Sir’.
‘Are you? I shall look forward to it, laddie. Keep your voice up. Children won’t sit as quietly as we are, you know. They’ll be all over you if you give ‘em half a chance. Or they’ll be making very silly jokes like Barton, won’t they Barton?’
‘I suppose they might, Sir. Yes.’
‘Well then. Start with a bang, lad, and keep up the pressure.’
Dr Frost had never forgiven Duggan for missing a physics lecture just before Christmas, on the pretext of being too ill to attend. As an excuse for missing one of his lectures, an illness had to be terminal, and in the best Sherlock Holmes tradition the Doctor had checked with Matron and found that Duggan hadn’t reported sick. This wasn’t surprising as he’d taken the afternoon off to see Hamlet on a matinee ticket bought for a pittance from a drama student who hadn’t been able to go. Though he had never found out the true reason, Dr Frost had regarded Duggan with suspicion and monitored all his subsequent attendances very carefully indeed.
