Blood Magic by Steve Moore

“Hello, Rothbourne.” Jonathon said as he looked down at the old man at the table.
“Well, well, if it ain’t Jonathon Ludlow.” Rothbourne replied. “We were beginning to think you weren’t gonna make it.”
“There’s only one thing that could’ve stopped me coming here tonight.” Jonathon said as he turned towards one of the two elderly ladies who sat next to Rothbourne. “Now, my memory’s getting bad these days, so you may have to help me with names.”
“Oh, this ‘ere’s Elizabeth Whitmore, sister to Katherine, think you two shacked up once if I remember right.”
Jonathon looked embarrassed. Elizabeth only managed a slight head nod.
“And I’m Katelyn Dunbar, and I don’t believe you’ve shagged any of my kin, but all the same, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Jonathon held out his hand and Katelyn did likewise. Jonathon looked over at Elizabeth. She didn’t seem interested in shaking his hand.
“The Mosley Arms, aye?” Jonathon looked around the corner of the pub in which the three were sitting. “Bit of a shithole in a rather shitty region of a less than fantastic city.
“What’s so shitty about this neighborhood?” Rothbourne asked.
Jonathon picked his leg up and put his right foot up against the edge of the table. He had to use both his arms to help get his foot up that high. He then pointed at the bottom of his boot and to the substance that was caked in the tread.
“Yeah, well, the dog shit’s a bit thick on the ground in these parts.” Rothbourne nodded, and Jonathon took his foot off the table and wobbled a bit as he placed it back on the ground.
“A million pubs in this town, and you choose the bloodiest underclass one you could find.”
“Well, it’s right around the corner from where I live.”
“You live ‘round here?”
“Besides, we’re well hidden ‘ere.”
“Hidden by what?”
“By mediocrity. By failure. By the sheer overwhelming fucking mundanity of this place.”
Jonathon glanced at the lads at the bar.
“Got plenty of that round here don’t you, William?”
“Well, it’s what’s kept me and me doings off their radar.” William leaned forward and in a hushed tone continued. “It’s sorta like this ‘ere place’s so unmagical that it cancels out everything they may use to find me.”
“All it cancels out in me is my will to breath.”
“Well, just sit down ye bastard, yer already beginning to get on me tits.”
“You got tits now, do you?”
“I got all types of droopy saggy bits on me these days.”
“Your face certainly is hanging a bit lower than it used to.”
“Well, you don’t look a million quid either.”
“You boy’s gonna flirt all night?” Katelyn asked.
Jonathon looked up at the bar.
“Hey, I think I need a pint. They serve any ale here?”
“Thought you’d be wanting some Budweiser or something after living so long in the states.”
“No body I know in America drinks Budweiser.”
“But you ain’t got no proper ale there, do ya?”
“No, it’s all pasteurized and filtered and served cold as an Eskimo’s titty.” Johnathon paused. “You know, just about the only think I’ve missed is the beer.”
“I’d go for the Carlsberg if I were you.”
“Carlsberg? Fuck if I’m drinking the Danish equivalent of Budweiser.”
“I’d do it tonight. Remember what I said about mundanity and mediocrity.” Rothbourne gave Jonathon a wink.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You telling me that I’ve even got to drink shitty beer.”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
“It couldn’t hurt, huh?”
“The more ordinary and trite our surroundings the better off we are. So, you just go up there and order the most bloody commonplace beverage known to humanity and we’ll be alright.”
Jonathon shook his head.
“This is bullshit.”
He glanced at Elizabeth who didn’t appear to have any interest in him or anyone else at the table.
“Fine. Fine. Shit beer in a shit pub. Fine.”
Jonathon walked up to bar, and the three middle age men sitting there glanced at him and his long purple coat.
“A pint of Carlsberg, please.”
The man mumbled something.
“What was that?”
He mumbled it again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Jonathon paused and leaned in toward the man who stared coldly back.
“Two pounds.” The words seemed to come straight out of the man’s nose.
“Ah, right. Couldn’t understand you with that uh,” Jonathon paused again. “Here you go, here’s the two pounds.”
The bartender and the three men at the bar watched Jonathon walk over to the far side of the room.
“Good God, what kind of dialect do they speak here?”
“Oh, now you’re gonna winge about they way they talk round ‘ere?”
“No, it’s just, well, I couldn’t understand the man. I think I pissed him off.”
“That coat of yours ain’t helping matters. Bloody purple silk.”
“Oh, right, well, you want me to take it off?”
“No, it’ll come in use later on.”
“Oh, will it now.”
Jonathon took a sip of his beer. Katelyn sipped the whiskey in front of her and eyed Jonathon.
“So, are they here? The two kids.”
“Aye, right over there. Playing snooker.”
Jonathon glanced over his shoulder, and then back at Rothbourne.
“You sure they’re the ones?”
“Absolutely. Read about them in the Daily Mail I believe it was. They were born to this white couple living in Birkenhead. One came out white as a freckled leprechaun’s arse, and the other as brown as bloody Gandhi.”
“One of twilight and one of dawn.” Katelyn whispered.
“Yeah, so I’d been looking out for such an occurrence, not really expecting the you-know-what to be fulfilled, but when I heard of these two, well, I knew I was onto something.”
“Well, you must have quite a few twins where one is mulatto and the other pasty white.”
“Don’t happen that much, mate.”
“Still, it happens.”
“Well, listen to this, when the father saw that one of ‘is twins was colored ‘e went fucking nuts. I guess ‘e wondered what pakki bastard she’d been screwing on the side, and ‘e took a knife to her.”
“Did he kill her?”
“No, and that’s the interesting part. ‘E stabbed her in the shoulder, but before ‘e could stab her again ‘e fell over dead, brain aneurism they say it was.”
Jonathon thought on this for a minute.
“You think that she did something?”
“What else could it’ve been? And don’t tell me that these things just happen. That woman, well, she was protected by something. And so were those twins.”
“Where’s the mom?”
“Dead. Killed ‘erself a year later. That’s the newspaper version of it anyway.”
“What do you think?”
“Don’t know. Did some investigating, but never could find any sign of fowl play. Didn’t want to look too closely into it anyway, as the mom don’t matter. Well, not near as much as those two.”
“So how can you be sure?”
“I weren’t through. I was about to say that I found out something about the mother’s father. ‘E was a McMillan.”
“So?”
“So, the last known heir of Richard Dunnan was a McMillan.” Elizabeth said.
“Nobody thought he had any children.” William continued. “Everyone thought Dunnan’s line had ended.”
“Yeah, but how many McMillan’s are there in Britain?”
“I knew you’d say that, but ‘eres the thing. The mother’s father didn’t go by that last name. ‘E had it changed when ‘e was just a child by an unnamed caregiver as the boy was fostered around a bit.” William stared at Jonathon. “It all adds up, mate.”
Jonathon nodded. He glanced over at the twins then back at William.
“And they turn seventeen, tonight?”
“Aye.”
“Ain’t they are little young to be drinking? I mean, even in England.”
“They’re uncle owns this fine establishment. ‘E’s also the one who raised ‘em, just a few blocks from ‘ere.”
“So, you want one of us to go over and say hello?”
“No, they’ll come to us. Give ‘em a couple more minutes.”
“Do they know you?”
“No, but I’ve seen them about, and they’ve seen me.”
“And they’ll come over here because?”
“Because of that bloody great purple coat of yours.”
“What’s their names?”
“Tracy and Mikey.”
“So,” Jonathon said as he looked straight at Elizabeth. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Elizabeth looked at Jonathon and frowned.
“Was that a dig?”
“A dig?” Jonathon looked taken back. “No, I just mean, I mean you haven’t said much.”
“You think I’m stuck up.”
“What? No.” Jonathon laughed and looked around at the others.
“Well, you have the right to think what you want.”
“Who the hell pissed in your fruit loops this morning?”
“In my what?”
“She just don’t trust you, mate.” William said. “Thinks you been working the other side too long, and to be honest, everyone’s been wondering what you been doing studying all of that, what do they call it nowadays, astronomy?”
“Astrophysics.”
“Right, astrophysics, studying about the inside of bloody stars and all that, in’it?”
“It’s actually rather interesting.”
“Interesting? Fucking ‘ell.” William shook his head. “Well, what can it tell you? What can be learnt from it?”
“Well, we can figure out the origin of the universe, for one thing.”
William shook his head again.
“First of all, it won’t figure that out for you, mate, cause there weren’t no origin to the kosmos. Secondly, who bloody well cares what about the origin of the bloody fucking universe? I want to know when I’ll bloody be getting laid. Better still, I want to know when and where I’ll find me true love. That’s what the stars used to be able to tell us. But these days, with the Law of Unproveability and all that, the stars ain’t been telling us shit.”
“Why didn’t you just stay over there in that university of yours.” Elizabeth spoke up. “Seems like you’ve adapted to the new ways.”
“Well, I’ve thought of myself as a spy.”
“A spy?”
“An insider.”
“Insider, aye?” William asked. “And what has it done for ya?”
“Well, what have you been doing for the past half century? Have you accomplished anything other than pissing your self away in some shithole and looking for signs in the Daily Mail? And Elizabeth, I hear you’ve opened up a new age shop in Cornwall, now that’s a sad state of affairs.”
“E’s got a point there, Beth.”
Elizabeth glared at Jonathon.
“Screw you and screw him. I don’t have to take shit off the likes of either of ya.”
William smiled at Elizabeth and then turned his attention back to Jonathon.
“So, what 'ave you found out, mate?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Enlighten us.”
“Well, I can see that the world is turning, and in the fields of science things are afoot that threaten to bring the whole thing crashing down on our heads.”
“What sorta things would that be?”
“Paradoxes and conundrums and incomprehensible riddles.” Jonathon leaned forward and lowered his voice. “They’re piling up and everything tells me that people are unhappy with the bloody default settings of the universe and that deep down on some unconscious level…”
“On what level?”
“On an unconscious level.”
“Unconscious level?”
“Yeah, you must’ve heard of Freud? The unconscious mind?”
William shook his head.
“Fucking where you been, man? Anyway, people are wanting and needing the old ways even though they’ve forgotten them.”
“Bloody too right they are. The kosmos were never meant to operate this way.”
“Exactly, and so cracks are beginning to show up. Cracks that just keep getting wider the more you look at them, and that’s what I’ve been doing. Looking for the cracks.”
“You’ve been looking for cracks for fifty years?” William asked with a grin. “I think you got a crack in yer bloody head, mate.”
“Fuck you and listen. Everything I’ve seen tells me that we’re at a tipping point.”
“A tipping point?”
“You know, like what they say about the Earth’s climate.” Jonathon stared at William. “You’ve heard about climate change? Global warming? Al Gore?” William shrugged. “Fucking hell, man. Well, anyway, I figure all it will take right now is just one good shove in the right direction and the momentum of the kosmos will do the rest. That’s why I think this plan of yours has a chance.”
“Well, I don’t need to look through some bloody telescope to tell me things are ripe for change. I can feel it in me bones. See, you’ve lost your instincts, mate. You been thinking the way they do. Plotting this and plotting that and getting some computer to tell you where things will end up. Me, I need a computer like I need an arsehole on me elbow.”
“Right, so we’re all in agreement that it can be done.”
“I thought there’d be more of us.” Katelyn said in a low voice. “I was hopping there’d be twelve or at the very least seven of us.” She shook her head. “And where’s Arwen? She wrote to me not two days ago and said she would be coming. She should be here.”
“Maybe someone did get wind of this.” Jonathon said. “Maybe she changed her mind. Who knows, but I don’t think we can turn back now.”
“Well, if no one else shows up then I fear that we may not have enough between us to do the job.”
“Jonathon’s right.” William said. “We can’t turn back, and I sure as hell ain’t waiting round for another opportunity like this one. We got four of us here, and I reckon that’ll have to be enough.”
“So, you’re sure this boy and girl’s gonna come to us, then?” Jonathon looked across the room at the twins who just then happened to look back at him.
“Sure I’m sure. Just drink your shitty lager and enjoy the bloody ambience.”
Jonathon took a sip of his lager, and watched as three of the lads from across the way walked over with the twin Mikey at their rear.
As one of the lads, the oldest one, passed Jonathon he purposely bumped up against him. Jonathon let out a quiet groan.
The boy turned and looked at Jonathon.
“What was that, mate? What you call me?” The boy asked as he faced up to Jonathon who stood a good half foot higher than the boy.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did I hear you just call me a nigga?”
William stood up and began to walk around the table, but no one was paying him any attention.
“I can assure you that I did not refer to you as a nigger, but I can tell that you’re a real shithole of a human being just by looking at you.”.
As Jonathon was talking, one of the other boys walked around behind him. He was about to give him a shove when William caught his hand.
“I wouldn’t touch that coat if I were you, lad.” William’s voice was soft, but the boy had no trouble hearing him. The boy looked back at Jonathon’s coat, and noticed for the first time that there were shapes on it. The boy stared at the coat and the shapes appeared to move ever so slightly. They grew brighter and appeared to flicker like stars in the firmament.
“Aye, what you doing with your hands on me mate, you owd queer.” The oldest boy said to William.
William walked up to the boy.
“I’m impressed, lad. Four young boys against an equal number of old geezers and nits. That’s some courage, that’s bloody fucking braveheart, lad.” The boy just stared at William as William walked over and stood toe to toe with the boy. “Last lad who put ‘is nut into me ended up loosing it.” The boy felt something sharp touch his stomach. “You pull yours and we’ll see what happens now won’t we, lad.”
“Fucking crazy owd geezer.” The boy muttered as he took a step back and turned away. “Come on, lads.”
William eyed the boy as he walked off.
“That’s right, lad, just keep on going to the shittus and all ‘a be well.”
“Come on, Paul.” One of the boys said to the one who was staring at Jonathon’s coat.
Paul nodded and he followed the other two. Mikey began to walk away with them, but he couldn’t help glancing at Jonathon.
“Hey, Mikey.”
The boy turned and looked at William.
“Come over ‘ere, lad, and ‘ave a seat. Got something we wanna tell ya.”
Mikey looked for his friends, but they had disappeared into the shittus.
“What you want with me? Wasn’t my idea to come over ‘ere.”
“We know it wasn’t, lad. Just come ‘ave a seat.”
“What you want me to ‘ave a seat for?”
“What if I told you I knew something about your family.”
“Me family?”
“I know an old relative of yours. Now, come on, lad.”
“What you know about me family?”
“I know about your mom’s family, her father’s side.”
“Me mom never knew me grandfather. Nobody did.”
“I did, lad. You wanna hear about ‘em.” William grinned and gave the boy a wink. “There’s something in it for ya.”
“What’s that?”
“An inheritance.”
The boy shook his head. He looked shy and nervous.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Your mom’s grandfather was a very powerful man, Mikey. ‘Is name was Richard Dunnan.”
“How you know this?”
“I knew your great grandfather. Knew ‘em well.”
“Why you telling me this, now? I seen you around ‘ere. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I was waiting for your seventeenth, lad. I couldn’t give you what ‘e left or even tell you about it till you turned that age.”
“Seventeen? I thought it was eighteen when you got inheritance and all that.”
“For most types, but not this.” The boy looked around at Jonathon, Elizabeth and Katelyn. “They knew your great grandfather, too. Some of ‘em traveled from quite a ways to pay their respects.”
“Pay their respects?”
“’E’s buried not far from here, in the Ancient Church graveyard.”
“Ancient church?”
“Yeah, the one down the hill and on the corner, across from the old theatre, and what ‘e left you’s buried with him.”
The boy stared at William.
“I don’t believe you, mate.”
“Yes you do, lad. It’s hard to believe, I know, but you know I ain’t lying to you, don’t ya?” William eyed the boy. “Come on, go fetch yer sister, and we’ll be off.”
“Off?”
“Yes, off. We’re going to the graveyard, lad.”
“It’s ten fucking o’clock, mate.”
“I know the time, lad, but now’s when we’re going, so go get your sister and be quick.” The boy stared at William. “Get going, and we’ll meet you outside.”
Mikey walked back over to his sister as William and the others quietly left the pub.
“You think they’ll come?” Jonathon asked as he took out his pipe.
“Aye, I do.”
William plonked some tobacco into his pipe and lit it.
The door to the pub swung open and out walked the two twins. The girl was yelling at the boy.
“Why the fuck we got to go out ‘ere for?”
“Just come over ‘ere, and meet these people.”
“Meet what people?”
Jonathon got his first good look at Tracy who was wearing pink flannel trousers and matching pink flannel hoodie. Her face, Jonathon noted, was one shade of orange darker than that of an Umbalumba.
“They say they knew mom’s grandfather.” The boy pointed at William. “E’s the one who I talked to.”
The girl looked at William for the first time. She stared at his face.
“’Allo thar, Tracy.”
She looked at William and then at her brother.
“Ow’s he know me name?”
“’E lives ‘round here. ‘E just told me ‘e knew mom’s family. Said one of them left us some inheritance.”
“Oh yeah, right.” Tracy gave William a nasty look. “You say you knew me mom’s family?”
“I knew your great grandfather.”
“So, what are we doing out ‘ere for?”
“’E said ‘e was buried in the old graveyard down the road, the one on the corner.” Tracy stared at her brother. “Well, ‘e said that our inheritance was buried with him.”
“What inheritance?”
“Something was left for you. Left to wait till you two turned seventeen.” Jonathon said.
“Who are you?”
“Come on, just take a walk down the street with us, and we’ll explain who we are.”
“I’m not walking no wheres with you, mate. Come on, Mikey.” She tugged at his jacket. Mikey didn’t budge.
“What did ‘e leave us?”
“Your birthright, lad.”
“Me birthright?”
“Can’t you see they’re having you on?” Tracy said.
“What if ‘e ain’t?”
“What if e’ ain’t?” Tracy shook her head. “You really think there’s some money or something waiting for us in some grave? Christ, Mikey, you can’t be that fucking dim.”
“Would you like to see a magic trick?” William asked.
Tracy ignored him and tugged on her brother’s arm again.
“Come on.” She said through clinched teeth.
“What sort of magic trick?” Mikey asked.
“A real one, not one of those bloody tricks where they just misdirect your attention , but a proper one.”
“You can do magic?”
“You got a penny or two pence piece on you, lad?”
“Don’t give ‘em any of your money.” Tracy said as she stared up at her brother. “That’s ‘ow they get you, Mikey.”
“Well, he wouldn’t make a lot asking for two pence pieces, now would he?” Mikey said as he reached in his pocket and pulled out such a coin. He handed it to William who grasped it firmly.
“Ever seen a gold coin? Ever held one in your hand?” William asked. Mikey shook his head and stared at William’s clinched hand.
William opened his hand to reveal the same two pence piece only now it shown a slightly different color beneath the halogen lights overhead.
“Ere you go, mate.” William passed Mikey back the coin. “Pure gold.”
Mikey inspected the two pence piece.
“It ain’t gold, Mikey.” Tracy said and she looked at William. “I don’t mean to be funny or nuttin, but if you could turn pennies into gold then you wouldn’t be living ‘ere and wearing them clothes you got on, mate.”
“Yeah, that’s what I didn’t get about them ‘Arry Potter books.” Mikey said as he continued to look at his gold coin. “I mean, why was ‘Arry’s best mate so poor? They’ve got all these magical powers, but ‘e can’t afford new clothes. It don’t make no sense.”
“Well, it said that they couldn’t turn things into gold, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, but ‘e wouldn’t ‘ave to. I mean, there’s loads of ways you could get money if you could do proper magic. I mean if they can turn bloody tea cups into rats then ‘e could do something about ‘is clothes and stuff, couldn’t ‘e?”
“Well,” William began slowly. “The lass who wrote them books wouldn’t know magic if it took a shat down her throat with a bloody note attached to it which read, this is magic.”
Mikey looked up from his coin and smiled at William.
“I got some more coins. Can you turn ‘em into gold?”
“Don’t give ‘em any more of your money, Mikey.”
“Well, I ain’t exactly supposed to be turning anything into anything else.” William said. “There’s laws against it now.”
“Laws against it?” Mikey asked.
“There’s laws against pretty much all forms of magic these days.”
“There’s laws against magic?”
“There ‘ave been for hundreds of years, but it’s only been since 1919 that all proper magic’s been outlawed.”
“You believe in magic, do you?” Tracy asked William.
“I don’t believe in it, I know it. I just can’t practice it anymore. Not outside of the odd coin trick.”
“Your off your ‘ead, mate.”
“Why do you have to be such a twat all the time.” Mikey said as he eyed his sister. “You’re always having a go at someone. Why can’t you just try and be nice.”
“Nice? Mikey, these people are,” She paused. “I don’t know what they’re trying to do, but they’re ‘aving a big laugh at your expense cos you’re so fucking thick.”
“I’m not thick.”
Tracy turned and glared at William and the others.
“What do yous want with me and me brother?”
William paused to study the girl.
“Your mother’s grandfather, your great grandfather, was a necromancer.”
“A what? A naked dancer?”
“A necromancer. A magician. Just like us four.”
“Right.”
“You may be the last of ‘is line, luv.”
Tracy let out a snort.
“I’m going back in the pub.” She looked over at her brother. “If you want to wonder off and get buggered by a bunch of owd pervs then go ahead. I’m tired of this. Tired of worrying about you, tired of looking out for you cause your so fucking thick and so fucking soft.”
“I’m not thick so stop calling me that.” Mikey said. “’Ere, take this coin and show it to Uncle Pete.”
“’E won’t know if it’s gold.”
“’E might.”
“And even if it is gold it don’t mean ‘e turned it into gold.”
“She’s right, lad.” William said. “You can’t prove I did proper magic.”
“Can’t you do something that can’t be just a trick?” Mikey asked.
“There’s laws against what Will just did.” Katelyn said. “You can get away with it sometimes, because it’s hard to tell proper magic from illusions, but if you come with us, to your great grandfather’s grave then you will see magic.”
“Why would there be laws against magic?” Tracy asked.
“Bloody health and safety.” William muttered.
“It happened slowly.” Jonathon said. “They started with the black arts, and at first everyone was behind it. Outlawing forms of magic that probably should’ve been outlawed. But they didn’t know when to stop and eventually pretty much every form of magic was deemed too dangerous.”
“There was that, and there was the fact that many feared that magic was concentrated into the hands of too few.” Elizabeth stated. “The laws and regulations were a way of putting everyone on more of an equal footing and to reign in the most powerful of us.”
“Your great grandfather was one of those.” William said.
“And so everyone was stopped from doing magic?” Mikey asked.
“Well, there was one thing they couldn’t regulate.” William replied. “You see you got some magic that’s in your blood, and your brain don’t really got no control over it. So they can stop you from purposely using magic, but they can’t get rid of the magic that’s in your blood.”
“Unconscious magic.” Jonathon added.
“That’s why they also stopped us from marring one another.” Katelyn said. “To dilute the blood magic as much as possible. To let it die out.”
“And we owd geezers are the last of our kind.” William said. “The last ones to remember the time before when magic was wild.”
“I thought you said it was completely outlawed like a hundred years ago or something?” Tracy asked. “You ain’t that old, mate.”
William grinned.
“At the turn of the twentieth century I was already well over a hundred years old.”
“That’s a load of rubbish.”
“It’s getting late.” Katelyn said.
“Right.” William replied. “Well, let’s go.”
“I’m not going.” Tracy said.
“Well, stay here then.” Mikey yelled back. “I’m going.”
Tracy watched as the five of them walked out of the parking lot of the Mosley Arms. She looked back at the pub, and then ran after her brother.
“I’m gonna tell Uncle Pete what you’re doing.”
“Then tell ‘em.”
“When you gonna be home?”
“I don’t know.”
“He wants us home by eleven, you know?”
“Would you shut up and leave me alone. Just go back to the pub.”
“You don’t believe this load of rubbish do you?”
Mikey ignored his sister.
“So, were you rich?” He asked William.
“Better off than I am now.”
“So, you could turn anything into gold.”
“No, just certain metals.”
“Oh.” Mikey paused. “But you still should ‘ave been able to load yourself up with gold.”
“Yeah, lad, but if everyone did that then it wouldn’t be worth much. Be like everyone printing themselves a million quid.”
“I suppose.” Mikey looked down at his feet. “What else could you do?”
“You heard of that Jesus fella turning water to wine?” Mikey nodded. “Well, that weren’t all that hard. Weren’t nothing for me to turn an ordinary cup of tap water into a dram of single malt or better.”
“Too bad you can’t turn dog shit into diamonds or you’d be set living out here.” Jonathon said.
“Ignore him, lad. E’s bloody obsessed with dog scat.”
When they reached the Ancient Temple they found that the gate was open.
“Me and Katelyn did all the hard work already.” William said.
“E’s buried in a Christian graveyard?” Tracy asked. “Thought you were all witches.”
“Oh, well, this ‘ere’s always been a nonconformist church.”
“Don’t you worship the devil and all that?”
“We don’t worship any bloody devil. Least I never did.”
In the graveyard they came upon a plot which had been recently dug up. Next to it was a large black cauldron full of black water.
Katelyn lit the fire under it.
“Wow, it’s a proper witch’s pot, in’it?” Mikey said as he admired the cauldron. “What’s it for?”
“Wizard soup.” William replied. “Your great grandfather’s bones are going in there.”
“’Is bones?”
“That’s right lad. We’re gonna brew the magic out of ‘em and hope it’s enough.”
“Mikey, what happens when the police come by and see us here?”
“What they gonna do, trace, give me an asbo that stops me from entering graveyards?”
They both looked at the freshly dug grave and watched as William pulled something out of it that was tied to a piece of rope.
“Is that really our great grandfather’s grave?” Tracy asked.
“Aye.”
“Don’t take the piss, mate.” Tracy glared at William, but he ignored her. “So, what ‘e do, leave all his gold in this grave?”
“You ain’t been paying attention, luv.” William said as he emptied the contents of the sack into the cauldron.
“Are those bones?”
“Gold ain’t worth diddly squat to us.” William continued as he dumped the last of the bones into the cauldron. “It’s the magic in these bones we after.”
“Bones?” Tracey repeated and she looked at her brother. “Mikey, come on, I’m begging ya, let’s get the fuck out of ‘ere.” Tracy pulled on her brother’s arm. “Come on, for fuck’s sake, they’ve dug up some poor bastard and ‘are cooking ‘is fucking bones.”
“Now all we need is some of everybody’s blood.” William said as he pulled out his knife.
Tracy screamed moved backward and tripped over a grave stone.
“Oh, sorry luv, we don’t need yours, just us owd geezers’.”
Tracy picked herself up and ran back to her brother.
“Come on, Mikey.”
When he wouldn’t budge she turned and began to run for the gate. She stopped when she noticed a figure, a silhouette, standing at the edge of the graveyard. Tracy looked at the black shape which began to move towards her. She stepped backwards and tripped. This time Jonathon caught her.
“Come on.” He said as he helped her to her feet.
“Who the fuck is that?” Tracy asked as she tried to make out the shape. She kept wanting it to be a human shape, but it wasn’t.
The figure took another step towards them, and Tracy managed to make out its face. She screamed.
“Who is that?” Mikey asked as he ran up to his sister and helped pull her back to the others.
“That’s an incomprehensible.” Jonathon said. “Didn’t think it’d be onto us so soon.”
“It’s a what?”
“An incomprehensible.”
“It’s face.” Tracy said. “Look at its face, Mikey.”
Mikey looked at its face, but he only saw darkness.
“Just stay down, lad.” William said as he pulled a German luger out of his coat pocket.
Mikey looked up at Jonathon.
“What is it?” Mikey asked.
“They uphold the laws.” Jonathon replied. “Basically they are the laws. The forces that maintain the status quo.”
“Keep them bones cooking.” William said. “I’ll take care of this thing.”
“First you got to give it some sort of form.” Katelyn yelled.
“I know what to bloody fucking do.” William replied. “The girl’s half way done the job for me.”
William looked at the dark shape and in it he saw a beast with a bat’s head, ram’s horns and a bear’s body. It’s hands were lobster claws and it’s feet were hoofed. It had a lion’s tail and a serpent for a penis.
“’Allo there, luv.” William said as he pointed his gun at the beast’s face.
“Do you really think that gun will do me any harm?”
“It will if I want it to.”
William then felt a sharp pain in his back. He turned to see Elizabeth holding a knife.
“Beth?” William managed to say as he fell to his knees.
She turned and ran at Katelyn who raised her hand to protect herself. Elizabeth slashed the palm of Katelyn’s hand and then laid a cut across her forearm. Katelyn cried out.
A shot was fired and Elizabeth fell to the ground.
William picked himself up, and looked back at the beast.
“It’s over.” It told him.
“No, mate, it ain’t.” William fired again and this time a whole stream of bullets came out of his pistol. They sprouted wings and teeth and attacked the beast like a swarm of angry bees. The beast swatted at them and screamed as they stung him. The beast then ran towards the iron fence of the graveyard, jumped over it and landed in the street. An 82 bus coming from the city center plowed into the beast. The bus came to a stop as if it had just hit a cement pillion. The beast pulled itself out of the wreckage and limped off.
“Christ almighty.” Mikey said as hugged his sister and looked up at Jonathon. He had tears in his eyes. “I don’t wanna be here no more, mate. I wanna go home. Please, mate. I don’t want nothing to happen to me sister. I just wanna go home.”
“Take it easy, lad.” Jonathon replied. “You’ll both be fine. You have my word.”
“You alright?” William said as he helped Katelyn to her feet.
“Not too bad.” She looked over at Elizabeth. “I never would’ve thought she’d be on their side.”
“Me neither.” William walked over and pulled Elizabeth off the ground. “Come on up here now.”
“Is that lady dead?” Mikey asked Jonathon.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Elizabeth said as William hauled her over to the cauldron. “I had to try and stop you. Had to kill the others.”
“Who’d you kill?” William asked as he sat her on her knees next to the cauldron.
“I beg you, William. Think about what will happen if you break the new covenant.”
William paused for a moment before he laid Elizabeth’s head over the cauldron and shot her in the neck. Katelyn screamed as Elizabeth’s blood poured into the dark liquid.
“You didn’t have to shoot her, did you?” Katelyn asked.
“They’ll be back soon enough.” William said as he took out his knife and cut the palm of his hand. “Now hold your hand over it.” Jonathon walked over and William handed him the knife. Jonathon cut the palm of his hand and the three of them emptied their blood into the cauldron.
Mikey stayed with his sister who was sobbing and disoriented. He looked up at the fence wondering when the police would arrive and saw that there were more of the black shapes.
“Hey!” He shouted. Jonathon looked over at Mikey. “Look there, mate, it’s more of those things.”
Tracy looked up at the shapes and grabbed Mikey’s shirt.
“Oh god, oh Jesus, Mikey. We’re gonna be kilt We’re gonna be bloody kilt.”
“No we won’t trace. They looking out for us. You saw how he shot that other one.”
“Mikey, ‘e just shot that lady. Shot her in her head. I seen it.”
“She tired to kill ‘em, Trace.”
The shapes moved though the fence and into the graveyard. There were so many that they blocked out everything behind them.
“Get your arses over here.” William yelled.
Mikey picked himself up and pulled his sister up with him.
“They’re gonna kill us, Mikey.” She hid her face in her brother’s shirt.
“Now, come here, lad.” William said as he reached out his hand and pulled Mikey towards the cauldron. “We need you to do something. The final piece of the spell.”
Mikey nodded.
“What you need me to do?”
“Drink some of this.” Katelyn said as she produced a large ladle and dipped it into the cauldron.
“Oh god, Mikey.” Tracy said and began to cry again.
“Drink it?”
“Aye, drink it and I’d say we only got a few more seconds for they’re on top of us.”
Katelyn handed Mikey the ladle as William rushed past him. He positioned himself in between the cauldron and the dark shapes. He pulled out his gun.
“Alright, which one of yous wants it first?” William asked as he aimed his gun at the shape nearest to him. It moved forward and in the blink of an eye batted the gun out of William’s hand.
William fell to his knees.
The dark shape placed its hand on William’s head and William turned cold and white.
“Drink it!” Jonathon yelled.
Mikey brought the ladle up to his mouth smelt it closed his eyes and then took a sip.
“More. Drink the whole bloody thing.”
Mikey swallowed the rest of the ladle full of liquid coughed and almost choked.
He turned to see that the shapes surrounded the cauldron.
“It’s over.” They said.
“No, it’s not over yet.” Jonathon replied as one of them placed its hand on his forehead. Jonathon dropped to his knees and turned pale as granite.
“Mikey.” Katelyn whispered as the shapes grabbed her. “You can…” She fell silent and collapsed to the ground.
Mikey looked at the shapes and wished that he could make them disappear.
In the next moment, the shape nearest to him came apart into a thousand smaller shapes which resembled fairies. The fairies flew around Mikey’s head and then out of the graveyard. The next shape collapsed into a legion of gnomes which upon hitting the ground scattered in all directions. The other shapes stopped and then receded into the shadows.
Mikey looked down at his sister who stared up at him.
“Did you do that?”
Mikey shrugged.
His sister stood up, and they walked over to Jonathon who lay silent on the ground next to Katelyn.
“Are they dead?”
“I don’t know. They look dead.”
They heard a grown and both of them turned.
“Bloody fucking ‘ell.” William said as he stood up.
“You alright, mate?”
“I’m a hair short of being dead, mate.”
William walked over and collapsed next to Jonathon.
“They alright?”
William glanced at Jonathon
“I think they’re a hair short of being alive, which is where I’ll be soon enough.”
Mikey stared at William.
“You did all this,” He began. “All this was so I could use magic?”
“Not just you, mate, but everyone.”
“What about the laws and all that?”
“What we did here will send out shockwaves though out the whole bloody universe, lad. We’ve taken a chisel to the foundation and cracked it wide open.”
“We did all that?”
“You see,” A voice said and Mikey and William turned to see that Jonathon had his eyes open. “The kosmos was at an unstable equilibrium point.”
“Don’t listen to him, lad. E’s a doctor. Thinks ‘e knows things when ‘e don’t.”
“So, what do we do now?” Mikey asked.
“We dump that body in the grave and shovel all the dirt back in.”
Mikey nodded.
“Um, I mean, after that.” Mikey paused. “I mean, what do I do?”
Rothbourne smiled at the boy.
“What do you do?” Rothbourne paused. “Well, lad, all I can say is that your options have just greatly increased.”
Mikey watched as Jonathon dumped Elizabeth’s body into the open grave.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about, but you just get yourself and your sister on home now. We’ll take care of this.”
Mikey nodded and looked on for a moment as the three old necromancers shoveled the dirt back into the grave. He gently picked his sister up and as he left the graveyard he could sense something in the darkness watching him, but he knew in some vague way that it was more afraid of him now than he was of it.
He smiled and found that he liked the thought of being feared.
He pulled his sister close to him as they walked up Edge Lane, and for the first time in his entire teenage life he whispered to her, “I love you.”
She looked up at him, perhaps wondering what had moved him to say this, and then without hesitation she kissed him on the cheek.
And for a moment it felt like when they were much younger. It felt like they were back in that time when they openly and completely adored one another.
To Mikey it was the greatest and most magical feeling in existence.

Is Jesus Still Going? by Monica

IS JESUS STILL GOING?

THE EXPERIENCES OF A SUPPLY TEACHER.

PREFACE

It was a year 10 class of fifteen year olds and the girls shuffled in, bored expressions on their faces.
“Are we watchin’ a video, Miss?” demanded a pretty blonde girl as she made for the back of the room.
“No, you’ve been set some written work,” I replied and there was the expected storm of protest.
“It’s R.E. We never do nothin’ in this lesson.”
“We only watch videos: Sir said we could watch Matrix 2.”
They were all glaring at me, hoping to browbeat me, a mere supply teacher, into letting them have their way but I began to give the worksheets out, calmly picking them up again when their recipients flung them on the floor in disgust.
“We’ve done this. I’m not doin’ it again.”
“They give it us every year an ‘ave done since we were in the Infants.”
“Why do we ‘ave to keep doin’ it? Once is enough.”
I began to explain that this was the week coming up to Easter known as Holy Week so we must try to remember it every year but before I could get any further the door opened with a bang and a tall dark haired girl with a stud in her lip strode in.
The class forgot me at once. All eyes were focused on the newcomer.
“What did she say, Ally?”
“Did she make yer take ‘em out?”
“’Ave yer been suspended?”
The girl smiled and shook her head.
“Nah. Nothin’ like that.”
“Yer a case, you are, Ally.”
“Hello, there,” I said in an effort to take control again.
“Hiya, Miss,” she said to me. She picked up a worksheet and then looked at me in surprise.
“Jesus? Is ‘e still goin’?” she asked.

CHAPTER ONE

My professional life has been devoted to Religious Education, as a teacher, Adviser and writer and when I retired I decided it was time to do something different. It didn’t work out like that, though, because, two years later, I was invited to join one of the teaching agencies, since schools badly needed supply staff. Friends and ex colleagues of mine were doing it so I finally agreed, welcoming the idea that I would have opportunities to teach other subjects such as English and History for a change.
“Can you go to St Jude’s?” the girl from the teaching agency asked one morning. “It’s a day’s R.E cover. “
I sighed but experience had taught me there was no point in arguing, not when the agency believed they were doing me a favour by giving me my own subject. I didn’t mind St Jude’s, anyway. It was a large Roman Catholic Comprehensive school on the outskirts of Liverpool and I had been there many times before. The children were lively but not too difficult and I knew most of them.
As I entered the large fifties type building which had a huge statue of the Virgin Mary in its busy entrance hall I was spotted at once by the Deputy Head.
“Hello, Monica, back again I see.” He beamed at me. “You’ll be covering Rose Dawson today and she has cellotaped the work to her table in the R.E room so you’ll have plenty to do.” He nodded pleasantly and hurried away. I made my way to the staffroom, a large but untidy room where another member of the R.E department, Jo Connolly, hailed me at once.
“You’ve got Rose’s classes all day,” she told me. ”There’s only one lot to worry about and that’s 9L this afternoon. Don’t take any nonsense from them, they’re in disgrace and the whole class is on report.”
“Why?” I asked curiously. Even in the best schools there are classes, sometimes a whole year group, which cause problems and I remembered 9 L only too well from previous visits. Being on report meant that their behaviour was being monitored and subject teachers had to make written comments about the class’ behaviour after each lesson.
“They set fire to their desks in a supply teacher’s lesson yesterday,” Jo told me and my heart sank. “They probably won’t write much for you but they’ll discuss a topic like Love and Marriage well enough.” She pulled a face and I nodded. “I can imagine,” I replied feelingly.
“The other lessons should be O.K. The year seven class you’ve got first can be a pain but I’m sure you’ll handle them.”
Fifteen minutes later I met my first class of the day, a noisy group of eleven year olds who fought and argued as they lined up outside Rose’s door.
“Miss, ‘oo are yer?” demanded a belligerent eleven year old boy as he placed himself at the beginning of the line.
“I’ll tell you when we go inside,” I replied. This was a class I hadn’t met before.
“Miss, tell ‘im.” The girl behind him gave the boy a hefty kick in the shins and he staggered backwards, the line collapsing so that some children fell on the floor.
“You two - over here,” I ordered, pointing to the other side of the corridor and the offending boy and girl glared at me but did as I asked. Once we were all settled and I had the two offenders in and sitting in front of me I examined the work. Apparently they had been studying Moses and had just begun the Ten Commandments. I decided to ask them a few questions about Moses first.
“Put your hand up if you can tell me something about Moses,” I said after I had introduced myself and laid down a few rules. Several hands waved in the air and I chose a lively boy who was clearly bursting to give me an answer.
“Miss, ‘e gathered loads of animals together and put ‘em in the sea in a boat,” a boy on the back row informed me.
“That were someone else,” objected a small girl sitting next to him. ”Moses were a magician an’ ‘e lived in Egypt.”
“God spoke to ‘im in a burnin’ bus.” The girl who delivered this information looked round at the others for confirmation and many of them nodded their agreement.
“An ‘e got killed in the River Nile,” another girl said proudly.
’”Ow could ‘e get killed if ‘e brought them Israels out o’ slavery?” someone else demanded. “Yer talkin’ through yer backside, girl.”
“An’ ‘e were a murderer an’ all, Miss Dawson told us.” A boy got out of his seat and made swiping movements to demonstrate Moses’ killing of an Egyptian overseer. “We acted it out an’ I thumped Will in the eye.”
“Can we act it out again, Miss?”
“We’ll see,” I replied, hastily deciding to revise Moses as quickly as possible. Rose Dawson had left a note to say that the children had been asked to learn the Ten Commandments for homework and the moment I mentioned this I was besieged by offers from the class to hear them recite them.
“Just give me one each,” I decided because the whole lesson might well be over before I heard all the recitations if everyone gave me the whole ten. I chose one or two who were not shouting “Miss! Miss” at me.
“You mustn’t do no stealin’.
”Thou shall not cover thi’ neighbour’s wife.”
“The word is covet,” I said and explained its meaning.
“Thou mustn’t do addletry.”
“Addletery?” I was confused for a moment.
“Me Mam does it with ‘im up the road when me Dad’s at sea,” explained Terry, a dark haired boy helpfully. “An’ Freddie’s Mam does it an’ all.”
Freddie was already on his feet, glaring at him. Criticizing another boy’s mother is usually the prelude to a fight and although the word “addletery” meant nothing to Freddie he was determined that Terry wasn’t going to get away with it.
I didn’t know the class well enough to allow too much enlightenment on adultery and, also, I was aware that a fight was about to break out at any moment. I explained briefly, told Terry I had heard enough and Freddie, his expression still belligerent, sat down.
“Freddie, Terry said yer Ma’s an ‘oar,” Nathan Green said.
“What’s that?” Freddie was on his feet again.
“An oower, one o’ them women ‘oo --.”
“Enough!” I said sharply. “Nathan, stop trying to cause trouble.”
I chose a bright faced girl in the second row for the next commandment.
“Thou shalt not make me lie down in green water,” she said confidently and the class stared at her in outrage.
“Miss, she’s made that up.”
“That’s not one, is it, Miss?”
“Me Nan says it is,” the girl said as if that settled the matter. “An’ she knows, ‘cos she goes to Mass.”
“I think you might have been thinking of “The Lord’s My Shepherd,” I told her and after that I decided it was best if they wrote the Commandments down so that I could go through them without such creative interruptions.

That afternoon I watched the members of 9L enter the classroom in ones and twos, most of them heading for the back row.
“Hi, Miss.” Some of them greeted me politely enough but when a stocky boy with black hair handed me the report book I noticed there was a seating plan.
“Find your usual seats, please, I told them. “I’ve got the seating plan here and I intend to check it.”

With much muttering and grumbling they found their places and I ignored such comments as “Miss Dawson said I could sit near Derek today” and “She said we could watch a video.” The worksheets didn’t only cover Christian Love and Marriage, they included information about Hindu and Muslim arranged marriages as well, the latter bringing forth some forthright comments from the class
“Don’t agree with that,” Cilla, a thin blonde girl, who had her makeup bag on the desk in front of her, objected strongly to this. ”It’s not right, that, ‘avin yer parents choosin yer ‘usband.”
“Yeah.” There was a chorus from some of the other girls. ”Marriage is supposed to be about love an’ that.”
“Supposin you ‘ate the guy they’ve chosen.”
“I’d run away, I would.”
“If I couldn’t stand ‘im I’d be off.”
“She’d go ‘whorin’ round the town, Miss. She does already,” Benny, a big blond boy sniggered.
“Shut it, Benny, yer mong.” The last speaker, a pretty dark haired girl, who had answered to the name of “Josie” when I marked the register, made a rude sign at Benny and then turned to an Asian girl who had said nothing so far. “Latty, ’ave you got an ‘usband lined up ?”
Latifa, a Muslim, shook her head. “Not yet ,but my sister was married two years ago and she was introduced to seven young men before she made up her mind.”
The girls were impressed by this but the boys were not.
“Don’t the lads get to choose as well?” asked Tony from the back row.
“Yes, of course,” Latifa assured him but the boys were not convinced.
“I saw this film East is East and yer should ‘ave seen the two girls they dredged up for the lads,” Benny said. I’d run away meself if I got told I’d to marry one o’them.”
“As Latifa has explained most Asian parents do their best to find suitable marriage partners for their sons and daughters but there is still an element of choice,” I said.
“Miss, they don’t always because there’s this Indian family near us an’ they’re always sending their girls to India to get married. There’s not much choice there, is there?”
“An’ there was this girl in our other school an’ she was married off when she was a baby.”
A storm of protest greeted this remark.
“Miss, she’s just made that up. Miss, it’s evil, that.”
“No-one would do that.” Latifa said angrily.
“See, you’ve upset Latty now, Becky Wiltshire.”
“I don’t mean the baby got married, yer dick ‘eads,” Becky yelled.” I mean when the baby was born a marriage was arranged with this lad for when she was old enough.”

I steered them back to the worksheets, which stressed the differences between church and civil weddings, asking them for their opinions.
“I’m definitely ‘avin’ a church weddin’ an’ a white one,” announced Cilla amidst hoots of derision from the class.
“A white weddin’ after all you’ve done? It should be grey or black,” Benny yelled.
“You never even go to church,” objected the black haired boy who had brought in the worksheets earlier.
“So what? Churches are better for the photies,” Cilla replied.
“You can get married in a registry office or wherever you want an’ stand in the church garden for the photos afterwards,” Kate, who sat beside Cilla, informed us. “Our Mo did that last year.”
“That’s like using the church, though,” objected Billy, the boy with black hair.
“You only think that ‘cos you’re goin’ to be a priest, Billy Wheeler,” Becky told him.
“I agree with Billy,” Frances, a serious looking girl announced. “An’ whilst we’re on the subject, those of you who was comin’ to our Donna’s weddin’ at Christmas it’s been brought forward to September.”
“Why? Is she ‘avin’ a sprog?” asked a handsome boy from the back of the room.
“No, it’s not that,” Frances turned to him. “It’s because me Dad’s comin’ out of Parkhurst in July so we’ve got to have the weddin’ as soon as possible after that in case he goes in again an’ misses it.”
“What is Parkhurst?” asked Latifa.
“Prison - for Big timers,” replied Kate.

Further discussion was interrupted by a powerfully built man in a dark suit who entered the room at that moment. I recognised him as Terry Williams, the Head of year Nine.
“Excuse me, Miss, I’d like a word with this class, please,” he said grimly.
“What ‘ave we done now?” demanded Cilla, who had been admiring her nail varnish when he came in.
“We’ve done good for Miss,” Benny said indignantly.
“Yes, well, I’m glad to hear it.” Terry stared grimly at the class. “I want to remind you yet again that the ceremony of Confirmation will take place at St Hugh’s Church in three weeks’ time. You had all the acceptance forms over a month ago and only Billy Wheeler has returned one. All the other year Nines have brought their forms back but not 9 L, which I should have expected, I suppose” He placed a sheaf of papers on my table. There are new forms here and I want them filled in and handed to Miss by the end of the lesson.”
“Sir, what’s Confirmation?” Cilla dared to ask and received a glare that would have quelled many young people but had little effect on her.
“See what you can do, Miss,” Terry whispered as he left the room.
“What IS Conferwhatsit?” demanded Cilla again.
“Sir told us all in Assembly,” Billy said.
“Yeah, well, I’ve forgotten, ‘aven’t I? Anyway, I’m not doin’ it.” Cilla took her nail varnish out of her bag, caught my eye and put it back.
Billy sighed. “When you get christened – “
“I’ ve never been christened,” Cilla announced and the class stared at her as if she were a rare species.
“Course you ‘ave.”
“You must ‘ave or you’d be an ‘eathen.”
“No wonder yer so wicked. The devil’s still in yer.”
“That’s enough!” I interrupted sternly. “Billy has kindly offered to explain what Confirmation is, so please let him do it.”

I nodded at Billy, who began again. “When we get christened our godparents promise to bring us up in the Roman Catholic Faith,” he said. “At Confirmation we make those promises for ourselves.”
“Oh.” Cilla yawned and turned to the others. “Are yer all getting’ done, then?”
“Nah,” said Benny.
“No way,” Becky shook her head and most of the others did the same.
“Sorry, Billy,” added Kate kindly. “Billy’s going to be a priest, Miss, so he’s no choice.”
“Well, the new forms are here if you change your minds,” was all I could think to say.
“There’s money in it,” Billy said slyly.
There was a short silence.
“Money?” They all stared at him.
“You mean you get paid fer doin’ it?”
“Yes, in a way, well,, not officially you don’t but your Nan an’ your godparents an’ all your relations are so pleased with you they give you money as a reward. Our Jackie got two hundred smackers last year.”
“Put me name down.”
“Give us one o’ them forms.”
“I’ll ‘ave a go if there’s dosh in it.” Cilla announced.
“Yer can’t, Cilla, yer’ve not been christened.” Becky said.
“Watch me.” She came to the front of the class, collected the forms and gave them out speedily to the class.
“Can’t Latty go in fer it?” she asked when she reached the Asian girl.
“I’m afraid not. Sorry, Latifa,” I said gravely.
When I handed the forms back to Terry Williams he was delighted.
“Oh, well done, Miss. A full house! How did you manage it?” he asked.
“I had nothing to do with it,” I replied. “Billy made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
“Well, good for Billy. We’ll make a priest of him yet.” Highly delighted, Terry bore the forms away chuckling to himself.

CHAPTER TWO

When I first saw thirteen year old Annie Sumner she was piling Bibles up against the classroom window and throwing them into the street one by one. Although the classrooms at Cherwell Street, a Liverpool inner city school where I was doing two terms’ supply, were only two floors up the Bibles were hard backed and heavy: one flung at speed could easily injure someone passing by in the street below and could even knock them out. I was free that lesson, had gone to the room to look at the resources in the stock room there and Annie’s presence took me by surprise. I rushed to the window but, before I could close it, one of the Bibles hit a man passing by on the shoulder and he yelled in pain and fright, clutching at a lamp post to steady himself. Annie gave a scream of delight and as I banged the window shut her victim looked up and saw me.

“I’ll do for you, you murderin’ cow,” he roared and I watched him stagger to the school entrance.
“Now look what you’ve done –,” I began but Annie had disappeared and a few moments later I heard hurrying feet. The injured man stormed in, still clutching his shoulder, and behind him raced the caretaker, Colin Forbes, and Miss Withers, the most senior of the Deputy Heads.
“There she is, the bleedin’ cow,” he yelled and if the caretaker hadn’t grabbed him he would have launched himself on to me at once.
“That bleeder ‘as just lobbed a book at me,” the man shouted rubbing his shoulder. “She’s been throwin’ big ‘eavy books all over the street an’ when one ‘it me I ‘eard ‘er laughin’. I could’ve been killed an’ I’m gonna ‘ave the school up in court, I am.”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t me,” I protested somewhat lamely and he laughed derisively. “’Oo were it, then? I saw yer meself an’ I’ve the bruises ter prove it.”
“I hardly think any member of staff would hurl books down at people in the street --,” began Miss Withers.
“It were the good book an’ all. Fine way to treat that, I must say.”
Miss Withers stared at him. “What do you mean it was the good book?”
“It were’t’ Bible,” he said angrily. “I’m not from round ‘ere, I’m from Lancashire, tha’ knows an’ they treat it with respect there. I think th’Archbishop o’ Canterbury should be told an’ the Pope an’ all.”
Miss Withers was looking at me oddly.
“Oh, dear. You came with such good references,” she said. “I must say I am surprised, Miss Price.”
I felt sick. “Surely you don’t think me capable of such a thing --,” I began.
“Who else was in here?” asked Colin, the caretaker suddenly.
“There was a girl here” I said somewhat lamely because, considering there was no sign of one this seemed to be a poor excuse.
“I wanna go to th’ospital,” the victim said. “Can’t expect childer to know right from wrong when teachers go off their ‘eads an’ start firin’ Bibles at innocent folk.”
A snorting sound came from the stockroom and Colin dashed across and flung the door open. Annie Sumner was laughing hysterically as she staggered out.
“Here’s your culprit,” Colin said grimly and he grabbed the man’s arm as the latter made a grab for the laughing girl.
“Get down to my office, Annie,” snapped Miss Withers and, with a rude sign at the man she had injured Annie skipped out.
“Well, all I can say is youse lot isn’t fit ter be teachers if yer can’t control the kids. Yer’ll be ‘earin’ from me solicitor.”
Colin took the man’s arm. “Come on, mate,” he soothed. “I’ll make you a brew and someone ‘ll see to your arm.” He led the victim out and Miss Withers and I were left alone.
“Who is that girl?” I demanded.
“Annie Sumner. She’s been expelled from a convent school for – er- swearing at the Reverend Mother,” replied Miss Withers bleakly. “The Education Office say we have to take her because she’s staying in our area but she wasn’t supposed to start until next week.” She sighed. “I didn’t see any point in alarming the staff until absolutely necessary but, obviously, it’s too late now. I’m afraid Annie has a grievance against religion so you might have some difficult times with her.”


Chapter Three

It was by no means my only meeting with Annie Sumner at Cherwell Street. In R.E lessons she caused as much havoc as she could and all the teachers were at their wits’ end with her. The other girls’ responses were mixed, ranging from those who considered her to be a nuisance to many who tried to copy Annie’s disruptive behaviour.
Helen Baker approached me shortly after the Bible incident to ask if I would help with the Christmas play, a tradition at Cherwell Street.
“We hold it in the school hall, usually during the last week of term,” Helen explained. “It’s always in the evening and girls can attend with their parents if they wish. The governors like to come and I always invite inspectors from the Education office. I’ll tutor them in voice projection if you’ll hold the auditions and hold rehearsals for me. I’ll give you a copy of the play to read and you can tell me what you think.”
Supply teachers are not usually asked to do anything after school but I liked Helen and had been well used to organising Christmas plays during my regular career. The play is a modern version of the Nativity called The Three Roses, a story of a group of disillusioned adults who don’t want to celebrate Christmas and meet every year in a village guest house to grumble about everything. One year the landlady’s young granddaughter is staying there and she decorates the house and is obviously looking forward to Christmas. On Christmas Eve, in pouring rain, a young couple arrive at the Guest House with a young baby. They are on their way to the nearest city but the train taking them there can’t go any further so they are stranded and urgently need accommodation. Although the landlady does have an empty room she doesn’t want to upset her regular guests so she refuses the little family.
The little girl runs after the couple and takes them to her grandmother’s shed, where an old mattress is stored. She runs to neighbouring houses to tell people that Mary and Joseph have arrived with the baby and need food and blankets. The neighbours respond at once and the shed becomes a centre of activity, on in which the landlady and her guests participate eventually.
I held the auditions in the school hall at the end of each day and Annie Sumner arrived at the first one.
“I wanna be the Virgin Mary an’ I’m bein’ er,” she announced as she marched into the hall.
“I’m afraid there isn’t a Virgin Mary in it,” I told her.
“Put one in, then,” she snapped.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I replied. “I didn’t write the play so I can’t change it. There is a young mother with a baby, though.”
“I’ll be ‘er, then.”
“You’ll have to audition for the part like everyone else,” I said. “Now sit down, please, Annie and wait your turn.”
“I don’t need to audition, I’m bein ‘er an’ if any of you says different yer know what to expect.” Annie glared at the large crowd of girls waiting to be auditioned for the various parts and yelled to one already on stage.
“Gerroff there NOW!”
“Miss, send ‘er out or we’ll never get nothin’ done,” yelled Jessie Owen, a girl from Annie’s form, who was already an arch enemy of the new girl.
“Shut yer trap, Jessie Owen or I’ll burst yer.”
“Be quiet, both of you,” I ordered. “Annie, if you’re staying sit down. Jessie, don’t you dare,” I added as Jessie showed signs of getting up.
“She shouldn’t be in no play. Miss. She told the Reverend Mother at ‘er other school to eff off.”
“She shouldn’t ‘ave known what it meant,” yelled Annie. Oh, sod the lot of youse.” She slammed the door as she stormed out and I was relieved that Annie had given up so easily. I would have been only too glad to have given Annie a part if she’d gone about it in the proper way.
Annie didn’t give up, though. She yelled obscenities through the door at rehearsals and terrorised the younger girls taking part in the play. In the end there had to be a “Sumner Watch” with members of staff and the caretaker taking it in turns to chase Annie away from the hall on rehearsal nights.
The Head attended all the rehearsals in the last week and, much to everyone’s relief, Annie kept away.
“I don’t think it’s because of me,” Helen told us one morning at Staff Briefing, the daily interchange of news before school begins. “Annie has been causing so much trouble in the flats where she lives that the Sumners are sending her to Wales to live with her grandmother for a while.”
“WHAT a relief!” Miss Withers echoed all the staff’s feelings at this news.
“Yes, but I think it’s a great pity we couldn’t do anything with the girl because she’s actually quite bright, you know.” Helen sighed. She always tried to find something good about all her pupils but those of us who had to put up with Annie on a regular basis couldn’t agree with her this time. Cherwell Street girls were challenging enough as it was without Annie’s confrontational imput.

There seemed to be at least six dignitaries from the Education Offices mingling with governors and Staff in the Head’s study on the night of the play. I remarked on this to Jane Weaver and Phil Donohue, two colleagues helping to dress the cast in a room next to the Hall.
“That’s because Helen always puts on an interesting show,” Jane told me as she attached angels’ wings to a Year Seven child.
“It’s just a straightforward play, really,” I said as I applied stage makeup to Yvonne Carter, the twelve year old who was to play the part of the landlady’s granddaughter.
“Yes, well, our girls are great characters and they’re inclined to add interesting comments of their own,” Phil told me. There. We’re about ready and, judging by the noise the hall’s filling up.”
It was an unexpectedly large audience. Although many parents were never seen in school during term time (especially if they were contacted because their daughters were in trouble) they turned out in full force for the Christmas play and clapped and shouted encouragement to the actors on stage. It was a happy and successful evening. No-one forgot her lines and the children sang Silent Night with enthusiasm as they crowded round the couple and the “baby” during the last scene. It was as the young mother moved forward to accept a gift from one of the adult characters that it happened. Naturally, everyone knew about the trapdoor in the centre of the stage: it was only ever opened if the school caretaker wanted to bring some heavy item from the cellar and was always carefully locked afterwards – or so we thought. Suddenly, there was a shrill scream and the “mother” and “child” disappeared through the trap door. A majestic blue gowned figure rose up in her place.
“Told yer I’d play the Virgin Mary,” Annie Sumner shouted triumphantly. She began to dance a jig, her eyes fixed on the dignitaries in the front row.
“I’m leavin’ this school, thank fuck,” she said.

SUPPLY ON DEMAND

CHAPTER FOUR

The corridor was dark and it was difficult to see what the tall girl was holding, though the short middle aged man knew because he began to run. The girl swung the object high above her head and I then saw it was a dead rat attached to a board. She took long strides after her human target and then, with a quick twist, she released the rat, which missed her intended victim and slid neatly down the neck of a girl walking towards her. The girl’s screams were horrific and the students in Lab. Seven streamed out yelling at the tops of their voices. I started towards the hysterical girl but a white coated technician dashed out of one of the preparation rooms and half carried her back inside, slamming the door behind him. The tall girl had disappeared but the excited children in the corridor continued to shout and squeal, making no effort to move.
The little man rushed back, breathless and angry and he came to me at once.
“Are you the supply teacher?” he gasped.
“Yes, I am,” I said. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not, thanks to that bitch, Winsome Muller,” he said bitterly. ”You were a witness, you saw her.” He was breathing more easily now but was, understandably, still agitated. “I was looking after that class until you arrived and Winsome Muller marched in with that rat and chased me out with it.”
Some of the students, who, since they were in Year Eight, were aged between twelve and thirteen, were listening and began to snigger. I decided it was time for action so I walked to the door of the lab and opened it decisively.

“In here, please,” I ordered sternly. They ignored me so I roared at them and some of them began to shuffle in, pushing each other and talking loudly.
“I should come in and settle those bastards down for you but I can’t face it.,” the little man said with a shudder. “I’m Dennis Whiteley. I’ve been doing supply in Science here for two weeks but I ‘m not staying, can’t stand it. Don’t let them grind you down.” He shook his head and walked away. I followed the class into the laboratory, no more eager than he had been to spend time in their company. The teaching agency had told me it would be a day’s R.E cover here at Lingfield Road Sports College, a mixed Comprehensive school on the Liverpool and Knowsley borders. It was by no means unusual to arrive at a school believing it was to cover one subject and find one teaching something else entirely but it had been a late call that day as well and I felt at a disadvantage.
“Sit down, all of you, NOW,” I ordered but no-one took the slightest bit of notice. Boys and girls were running from seat to seat pushing each other, switching on gas taps and seizing books from cupboards and window sills to fling at each other. It took a full ten minutes to establish control and that was only because I made them all stand up, well away from the benches and cupboards, where too many objects could be used as missiles.
“’Oo are yer?” demanded a fair haired boy with an angelic face as he tried to hook a stool from under the nearest bench with his feet.
“Stop that!” I said sharply and told them my name. I daren’t write it on the board as I often did because that would have meant turning my back on them.
“Are yer a proper teacher?” asked a small dark haired girl who was chewing, her mouth wide open.
“Yes,” I told her. “Now, empty your mouth, please.”
She made no move to do so. “Yer only one o’ them substitute teachers. We don’t ‘ave to do what yer tell us,” she said pulling her chewing gum out of her mouth in a long string and examining it carefully.
“So don’t give us no work‘ cos we won’t do it,” This was from the boy sitting next to her.
“I’m afraid you do,” I replied, picking up a pack of worksheets from the teachers’ bench at the front of the Lab. I experienced a familiar feeling of frustration, one which many supply teachers know only too well. We have only as much authority as a school is prepared to give us. In this school work had been set but there was no accompanying handbook offering information about school procedures and sanctions. There wasn’t even a register of the children’s names.
“Anyway, yer too old. Me Great Nan’s ninety three an’ yer look well older than ‘er.”
I ignored this sally and gave out the sheets. They stared at them in disgust.
“We’ve done this an’ I’m not doin’ it again.” The girl with the chewing gum folded her arms in a forbidding manner.
“Yeah, we did Lechie last week.”
I examined the worksheets which were indeed about Electricity. Insisting they have done the work is often a delaying tactic but I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Where are your exercise books?” I asked.
“Sir took them ‘ome last week ter mark an’ then ‘e was off sick.”
“What did you do your work on last lesson?” I asked.
“On paper,” a chorus of voices informed me.
“So where is it now?”
“It got binned.
The noise was rising again and I rapped sharply on the desk.
“Yer givin’ me an ‘eadache,” said the girl with the chewing gum.
“Miss, we do have exercise books. They’re in the cupboard over there,” an Asian boy sitting on the first bench told me. “And we haven’t done this work before.”
“Shut it, Abde, ter murk,” yelled the angelic looking boy.
There was instant uproar.
“Miss, Mark Williams just called Abde a murk an’ he’s a Muslim.”
“We’re not allowed to insult Muslims.”
“Miss, write it down, it’s one o’them incidents.”
Abde grinned. “I, the great Abdullah have been insulted,” he said. “My father will be here to complain tomorrow.”
“Abde, give the exercise books out for me, please,” I said. The lesson was a disaster. Abde leaped from his seat and ran to do my bidding but the girl with the chewing gum stuck out her foot and he fell flat on his face. The class roared with laughter. Abde didn’t seem to be hurt and he scrambled quickly to his feet.
“What’s your name?” I asked the girl sternly.
She blew a bubble before she answered.
“Charlene,” she said with a yawn.
“Charlene What?”
“Just Charlene’ll do,” she said grandly.
“Put your chewing gum in the bin,” I said and she got up, strode to the bin and spat the gum into it.
There were cries of disgust from the others.
“Miss, Charlene Reynolds ‘as just spitted in the bin, the dirty get.”
“I’m tellin’ yer Ma, Charlene Reynolds.”
“I’ll burst yer, Carl Walters if yer do,” screamed Charlene.
I was not at all surprised their teacher was off sick. Abde was still handing out books but I demanded silence, got it briefly and began to explain the worksheet, being forced to stop several times because people were talking.
“We do it now or at Break,” I told them angrily and some of them laughed raucously.
“In yer dreams, man,” someone called out, a sally which caused even more amusement.
“You can begin the questions now,” I told them.
“ I ‘avent got a pen.”
“Me never.”
“I ‘ad one but Fenner et it.”
I found a few pens in a drawer and gave them out. To my surprise they actually opened their books and began to write. I sent a girl to the school office to collect a class register and was congratulating myself that the children were actually working when the door opened and the dead rat whizzed past my face. The class screamed in delight.
“That weren’t us, it were Winsome Muller,” Charlene informed me. “She must be bunkin’ off lessons.”
“She chased Whiteley all down the corridor, it were funny that.”
“Not so funny for that girl when the rat went down her neck,” I said as I picked up the rat in a piece of paper and put it in the bin.
“It were an accident, that. She was aimin’ for Whiteley.”
I went round the room to check that everyone was working. The girl I’d sent to the office returned to say there weren’t any registers, I’d to get the class to write their names on a sheet of paper. My heart sank because I knew I’d receive some creative responses. I had no choice but to comply, however.
For the last ten minutes we had peace and I breathed a sigh of relief. A boy brought the paper to me and I realised that everyone was watching me covertly. I looked at the list. Interspersed with the real names were George W Bush, Ben Dover, Seymore Butt, Phil McCracken, Ivor Biggun and Mike Hunt.
“Read it out, Miss,” someone shouted but he door opened and a sulky Winsome marched in followed by a tall well built man whose sudden appearance was obviously a shock for the class.
“I am Paul Higham, Head of Year Eight,” he told me. The break bell sounded and a few reached for their coats.
“Oh, no, you’re not leaving yet.” Mr Higham said pleasantly. “Winsome, sit down, you can start the work now. Is that the register, Miss?” I handed him the paper and he scanned it carefully, oblivious to the sounds of movement outside. “You go and have a cup of tea, Miss,” he said at last. “Abde, Lucy, collect the books and take them up to my office.”
I left him to it but saw him later and he was highly amused.
“It was easy to spot the ones who wrote those disgusting names,” Paul said. “They didn’t bother to write their own names as well, not clever enough, you see. They’ve each got two longish detentions, one for them in their own names and the other for the false ones. I’ve told them I’ll contact their parents and show them the list. I won’t, not this time but they think I will so they ‘re all outside my office now feeling pretty sorry for themselves, especially Carl Williams, whose Dad’s the local vicar.”
“What about Winsome Muller?” I asked. Paul Higham sighed.
`“If we suspend her she’ll come in anyway and her parents don’t want to know,” he said. “There’s no backing for schools with regard to disruptive pupils, you see. That other girl, the one who got the rat aimed for Dennis Whiteley had to be taken home so something must be done about Winsome. I just wish I knew what.”

“I wonder if you’d do me a big favour?” Annie Keating, Head of R.E at Grant’s Road Comprehensive School near Wigan in Lancashire was looking harassed. It was early December and I was halfway through a fortnight’s supply cover in her department.
“If I can, certainly.” I looked at her expectantly, imagining that she wanted me to do a Break duty for her.
“Will you see what you can do with 7H and their play? They’re little horrors they really are and with all the end of term Christmas events to arrange I just can’t manage it. I take them for R.E but Jessie Owen had promised to see to their play for me and, as you know only too well, since you’re covering for her she won’t be back until January.”

It was traditional for all the Year 7 classes to contribute something for the Christmas Assemblies which would take place every day in the last week of term. Some classes had elected to sing special carols and others had written Christmas poems. 7H had offered to present a Nativity play, which they had written themselves under the guidance of Jessie Owen, the teacher whose work I was covering.
“I’ve been hearing some lurid tales about their behaviour at rehearsals,” I said, “I believe they don’t get on with each other.”
“Oh, I’ve never known such a class for fighting, rowing and telling tales of each other,” Annie agreed with a sigh. “We keep telling Paul Abbott, their Head of Year, to split them up before they really damage each other but he thinks they’ll work through it. Last night I held a dress rehearsal because I thought they’d have a better sense of occasion if they wore their costumes. I had to abandon it, though.”
“What did they actually do?” I asked curiously.
Michael Kershaw – he plays Joseph – nipped Ruth Foster’s behind and Ruth –she’s Mary – threw the baby Jesus across the stage and marched off. Then the three Kings took such large steps in their procession that they ripped each other’s cloaks off. I’ve just had it with them.”
“I’ll have a go with them, of course.” I was trying not to laugh. “When do you have them?”
“Second lesson, when you have Year 10s. I’ll take them and you take 7H into the hall. Don’t stand any nonsense from them. If they start their silly behaviour tell them the play’s off and make them sit in silence.”
7H were rampaging outside the hall when I arrived and it took a few minutes to get them into line.

I opened the hall door and ushered them in, noting with relief that the chairs were still in place from that morning’s Assembly. They sat down and I introduced myself. I had the cast list for the play and I asked the actors to put up their hands as I read out their names. I noticed that the angelic looking boy was Michael, who played Joseph and that Ruth, a pretty girl with a determined expression, was Mary. I discovered that every child in the class would be doing something, painting scenery, opening and shutting curtains or prompting. I sent the cast in pairs to the prop cupboard to get their costumes and settled the rest of the class on the first row of seats facing the stage.
“I’d like those of you who haven’t got acting parts to be the audience today, please,” I told them and sent a few of them to various points of the hall to see if the actors’ voices could be heard.

The innkeepers got themselves into position behind imaginary doors on the stage and I signalled to Michael and Ruth to begin their walk to the first one. Michael was supporting Ruth and looking at her with a tender expression. When they stopped at the inn Joseph asked for rooms in a carrying voice.
“Excellent, Michael,” I told him but then I saw him aim a kick at the innkeeper, who was trying to say there was no room.
“Miss, ‘e’s started already,” yelled Tim, the boy playing the innkeeper. “’e’s just kicked me for nowt’.”
“Miss, ‘e called me an orror gob told me to piss off.” Michael was grinning at me.
“I never, Miss ‘e’s lyin’. I’m not doin’ it no more.” Rubbing his leg Tim began to walk off the stage.
“Go back to your place, please, Tim.” I told him. Michael, say you’re sorry to Tim or you’re out of the play.”
Michael muttered something which must have been an apology because Tim subsided and limped back to his place.
“We’ll try again.” I said.
This time the encounter with the first innkeeper was managed without further incident and they proceeded to the second and finally to the third, a red haired boy with a merry smile.
“I ‘avent got no room, neither,” he said.
“You ‘ave,” shouted a girl in the audience. “Wharrabout that stable?”
“Aye, thas getten a stable at back. Tek ‘em in there,” someone else yelled.
The third innkeeper ignored them and dragged a chair from the back of the stage.
“Sit thee down. Yer look as if yer goin’ to ‘ave a sprog any minute,” he advised. There were protests from the cast and the audience.
“Miss, ‘e’s not supposed to say that. I’m tellin’ Mr Abbott, Billy Anderson.”
“Miss, ‘e called Jesus a sprog an’ it’s not right, tha’ knows.
“I agree. Say it properly, please, Billy,” I said sternly.
Billy nodded and with exaggerated courtesy he turned to Ruth.” Yer look as if yer babby’ ‘ll be ‘ere soon. Gerrout of me way, yer silly sheep.” He pretended to trip and fell face down on the stage.
“Miss, ‘e’ s messin’.”
“Miss, it’s norra sheep, it’s a lamb an’ it’s not time for it yet.”
“Miss, ‘e’ s ruinin it. Send ‘im out.”
“The lambs come wiv the shepherds, Miss.”
“Last chance, Billy,” I told him. “Mess about again and you’ll spend Break writing out the correct words.”
This time he delivered his lines without any trouble and we moved on to the scene with the shepherds and the Angel Gabriel.
“We stand on chairs and tower over them,” Muhammed, a quiet Muslim boy who played the Angel Gabriel, told me.
“Take care, then, Muhammed,” I warned, imagining a host of angels biting the dust if they trod on their robes when they were getting on to their chairs.
The shepherds began their dialogue about the weather.
“Brrr, it’s parky tonight,” grumbled one of the shepherds shivering realistically and warming his hands in his long sleeves.
“Aye, we should be at ‘ome watchin’ telly,” agreed the second shepherd.
“We’ re missin’ t’match an all,” said the third shepherd. “T’aint right,”
“Is that in the script?” I asked as members of the audience leaped up in protest.
“No, Miss.”
“Do it again, please.”
“It’s friggin’ freezin’. We’ll ‘ave to jump up an’ down to keep warm.” They all proceeded to do this until one of them tripped over his robe and fell off the stage. The audience roared with laughter. The boy wasn’t hurt, luckily.
“Last chance for you, shepherds,” I told them. “Do it properly or you’ll go back to the classroom.”
“Yeah, stop yer messin,” someone yelled from the audience.
The shepherds repeated the jumping up and down, successfully this time and before they had finished Muhammed appeared with his angels and began to climb on the chairs.
“It’s too soon. Gerroff again,” the first shepherd roared.
“No. Continue now, Gabriel,” I said and Muhammed delivered his lines in a carrying voice, the shepherds obligingly falling on their faces and shading their eyes with their hands.
“Excellent, all of you,” I told them. “We’ll take that scene again, though, just to be sure.”

This time it went well also and we proceeded to the final scene. I asked the audience to sing We Three Kings, which they did loudly and raucously and the three kings behaved beautifully, delivering their gifts with dignity.
“Fantastic,” I said.
“We sing Away In A Manger round Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus now,” Muhammed informed me.
They all gathered round but suddenly Ruth, who played Mary, gave a loud scream, flung down the doll and dashed off the stage crying loudly.
“Ruth, what is it?” I tried to stop her but she was too upset to heed me and she ran out of the hall.
“Run after her and see if she’s all right, please, Gemma,” I said to her friend, who hurried away at once. Then I turned to Michael, who was receiving accusing looks from the whole class.
“What did you do, Michael?” I demanded.
“I didn’t pinch ‘er bum, Miss,” He was so indignant I almost believed him.
“Miss, ‘e grabbed ‘er boob ‘ard. I saw ‘im.”
’’e did, Miss an ‘e ’s for it now.”
“Did you, Michael?” I asked. He had the grace to hang his head but I doubted he was sorry.
Gemma came back. “Mr Abbot wants Michael Kershaw this minute,” she said breathlessly. “You’re in big trouble, Mike,” she told him. “Mr Abbot’s fumin’.”
“Go on, Michael,” I ordered and he jumped down from the stage and began to walk slowly out of the hall.
“Is Ruth feeling any better?” I asked.
“No, Miss, she’s in the medical room an’ Mr Abbot says is it all right if I go an’ stay with ‘er.”
“Yes, of course and we’ll stop the rehearsal now.” I directed the class to return their costumes and the doll to the Props cupboard and we sat down to wait for the bell.
“That’s it, miss, isn’t it?” asked Muhammed sadly. “There’s no way we’ll be allowed to do our play now.”
“Let’s see if we can find a new Mary and Joseph,” I replied. “I’ll be sorry if you can’t do it, since most of you have worked so hard.”
“I know, I could kill Michael Kershaw,” Billy said.
“I don’t think you have any cause to blame others when you mess about so much yourself,” I snapped at him.

Mr Abbott, Head of Year Seven, saw me later. “Ruth’s in the medical room and her mother’s coming to collect her,” he told me.” I don’t know what’s to become of Michael, I really don’t, but I will say one thing in his favour.”
“What’s that?” I asked in surprise.
“Michael isn’t all that bad at heart. Oh, he’s naughty, thoroughly naughty but he pleaded with me not to stop the play even if he can’t be in it and he’s cried so much he ‘s made himself sick.”
“Yes, but he keeps on doing it. Rose warned him yesterday, apparently and so did I today.”
“I think we should let him find someone to replace Ruth,” Paul decided. “I’ve rung his mother and she says she’ll ground him for the weekend and take him to Ruth’s house at some point to say he’s sorry.”
The weekend followed and on Monday morning Michael arrived in school with his mother, an extremely tall lady who looked flustered. I saw them go to Mr Abbott’s room and was just beginning my first lesson when Annie came in.
“Paul wants you to go to his room so I’ll take over until you come back,” she said. She looked amused about something but I left the room and a few moments later I was facing Paul and Michael’s mother, who was, without doubt, the tallest lady I had ever seen.
“I’ve sent Michael to join his class,” Paul told me. “This is Miss Price, who has taken over the play,” he said to Michael’s mother. Mrs Kershaw wants to apologise,” he told me and it was obvious he was trying not to laugh.
“There’s really no need --.” I began, imagining she was apologising for Michael’s behaviour but she wasn’t, not directly, anyway.
“I’m ever so sorry, miss, but I can’t play Mary,” she said apologetically. ”Thanks for the thought but, I mean, what would it look like?”
“I understand, of course,” I murmured though hadn’t the faintest ides what she meant.
“You see, Mr Abbott rang me about our Michael’s bad behaviour and when he walked through the door I was about to bawl him out. I had the wind taken out of my sales because he said “Will you play Mary, Mum? There’s no-one else an’ Miss said to ask you. Please, Mum.” She looked as if she could cry. “I couldn’t, Miss, I really couldn’t, well, look at me. I’d be towering over them.”
I looked at Mr Abbott, who was openly laughing and he set me off. We had to explain to Mrs Kershaw that we were not laughing at her and that it had all been her son’s idea. She laughed with us and said she had already taken Michael to Ruth’s house and he had said he was sorry.
“I think she’ll play Mary again but I’ll come to school when she does and watch our Michael like a hawk,” she said.
7H did their play after all and there were no further incidents but the memory of Michael’s mother coming to apologise because she couldn’t play Mary was a memory the school and I would treasure.

Words, by Steve Moore

Words are the truest illusion I have ever known
and in a land in which nothing is real
they hold the darkness of thought at bay
and give silence to the ceaseless noise of emptiness.

Words are my only friend
when my friends seem like
something less than acquaintances.

Words are stranger than any fiction of the mind
and more factual than any numerical account of reality.

They give rise to what we can not spell out.

They are the last best hope
of finding the soul’s inner foreverhood.

Words are the doorway though which my mind lingers
and waits for some opening.

They tie me to the earth
and break apart metaphors
to reveal what was there all along.

Words stream into us
from where we do not know,
their source is hidden,
their true extent can not be lain onto paper.

They are the echo of the original impulse,
an anchor in an endless sea of particles,
pregnant with the truth of all things.

And when the night sun finally sets
on all the lands of perception,
then there will still stand the word,
a pale reflection of what has gone beyond
and of what is about to rise again.