The Merciless Ladies Read Free

Scarborough and Hartlepool had already been bombarded. But my mother still allowed us to use our dinghy, and in that fine August of 1915 we seemed scarcely ever to be out of the boat. It was on his visits to us and in these troubled years that Paul developed his love of the sea and of small craft. And it must have been those holidays which, when the war extended long enough to draw him in, made him opt for the Navy.
    When we returned to Turstall its staff, exiguous at the best of times, had been depleted by the loss of four masters, and three women only had so far come to take their place. Dogden, the maths master, of uncertain temper anyway, was in a vile mood. In fact, although he looked to us a man far gone in age, he was thirty-four and a bachelor, and during the holidays two separate ladies with bright smiles but hard eyes had presented him with a white feather.
    Paul, slow at any but the simplest of sums, and coming from a background that Doggy despised, was an obvious butt, and I remember distinctly the first words addressed to him that morning. ‘Stafford, stand up when I speak to you. You’re lazy, you’re idle, you’re insubordinatious, you never have cared the toss of a button whether you do your work or not! I don’t believe you even know what a square root is, unless you suppose it to be something your father grows in his vegetable garden!’
    There was much laughter at this, and much laughter followed. If Doggy cared to entertain us with his sarcasms, well and good, so long as they were not directed at us. And it all helped to get through the forty-five minutes. But soon another diversion occurred. Dogden hated summer flies and of late had been suffocating his class by keeping the windows shut. The Headmaster chose this moment to put in one of his rare appearances. He came in noisily, banging the door, and stumped with his club foot across to the desk.
    â€˜Mr Dogden, pardon me; I came to ask you about – mm – mm – mm – mm – Infernally stuffy in here – mm – mm – mm – mm – Why don’t you open the windows? mm – mm – mm …’
    â€˜Well, Dr Marshall, that is what I have always maintained – mm – mm – mm – it’s latgely a matter of a group decision …’
    While they were talking Marshall limped across to the long window at the end of the room and Dogden went with him. So they had their backs to us. Paul had a talent for making paper darts, which he had passed on to me. We often practised at home, and now, perhaps to assert himself after a bad few minutes, he threw a dart across the room at me.
    It came beautifully – I can see it now – describing a graceful arc like a glider of the future. Hoskin, the boy in front of me, tried to grab it, but I got there first. There was a slight scuffle but the two masters were too occupied with their conversation to notice it. I barely took in that the dart was coloured before I straightened the tail and threw it back.
    At that moment Marshall had opened the window and a fresh westerly breeze came into the room. The dart, homing moderately well – I was not as good at it as Paul – was caught by the breeze, swerved upwards and landed at Dr Marshall’s feet as he turned to walk back.
    All masters are particularly sensitive to anything which goes wrong in front of the Head – particularly anything which suggests they cannot keep their class under control. Dogden went purple. He snatched up the dart.
    â€˜ Who – is responsible for throwing this – thing?’
    No one spoke.
    â€˜Unless the boy who threw this does not immediately stand up, the whole class will come back here after school and do an extra half-hour of maths.’
    There was a groan and a murmur and everyone looked expectantly at me. I stood up.
    â€˜ You , Grant’, said Dogden ominously. Then he noticed the colouring on the dart and began to unfold it.