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Authors: R. F. Delderfield

Tags: #School, #Antiques, #Fiction

The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon (28 page)

BOOK: The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon
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He was sitting there watching the boys stream in from the nets when he heard a sharp rap and the door which opened to reveal

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a small, fat, bespectacled boy about thirteen years of age in regulation grey trousers and a grubby unbuttoned jacket. The boy inspected the room cautiously, obviously expecting to find the Headmaster there but when he saw Mr. Sermon he did not seem much surprised and piped, "I've come to say my rep. sir! I've got it now I think. Is the Head having his tea?"

"He's about to, I believe," said Mr. Sermon, gravely, and then, curiosity getting the better of him, "To say your what ?"

"Rep!" said the boy, "I had an extra four lines and I got it all word-perfect but that bit during the rep. session! I got stuck on these but I've got 'em now!" and without further preamble he at once began to recite in a shrill, sing-song voice-

"And in the back false Sextus Felt the good Roman steel
And
wriggling in the dust he died Like a worm beneath the wheel!"

"That's word-perfect, isn't it, sir?"

"I should say it was," said Mr. Sermon, trying not to smile, "but I'm new here, so you'll have to tell me what 'rep' means. Does it stand for 'repetition' ?"

"I don't know, sir," said the boy, "I've never thought about it, it's just 'rep'! You learn it in detention, four lines for every ten minutes they've booked you, and it works out about a page an hour. Here . . . I got from there to the cross this week!" and he thrust a small green text-book into Mr. Sermon's hand and pointed to a page scored with heavy pencil marks.

"Do you learn this for punishment?" asked Mr. Sermon wonder-ingly, and the boy gave him an odd look as if making a casual assessment of his mental capacities.

Well, you wouldn't learn it of your own accord, would you, sir?" he said, respectfully but still managing to imply that Mr. Sermon had asked a very stupid question indeed. Sebastian was so conscious of this that he was relieved when Rachel suddenly appeared with a loaded tea-tray and asked the fat boy what he wanted.

"He's come to repeat his rep!" said Mr. Sermon, helpfully, "he's

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got it by heart and presumably has an appointment with the Headmaster."

"Oh rep!" said Rachel, casually. "How many lines, Kirkwall?"

"Twenty-four this week, Miss Grey," said Kirkwall with a certain pride, "but I kept muffing the last four. The Head was pretty sporting, he gave me three chances and several prompts but I couldn't get 'em. I've got 'em now though, haven't I, sir?"

"You have indeed!" said Mr. Sermon and at that moment the Headmaster himself burst into the room, pounced on the impassive Kirkwall with a kind of jocular fury and bawled:

"I'll wager you those four plums on the dish over there against this week's copy of the Eagle that you muff them again, Kirkwall! Is it on? Quick now? Are you willing to back yourself?"

Kirkwall's hand shot to his jacket pocket and the astonished Mr. Sermon now noticed the crumpled edge of a magazine protruding above the flap. The boy glanced at a plate on a side-table whereon rested one apple and four plums, blinked, took one pace forward and piped:

"And in the back false Sextus Felt the good Roman steel And wriggling in the dust he died Like a worm beneath the wheel!"

"Splendid!" roared the Headmaster. "Collect and depart! If you go on like this, Kirkwall, you'll be the only man in the world to know Lake Regillus right through!"

"Thank you, sir," said Kirkwall solemnly and scooped his winnings into bulging pockets, watched by an astonished Mr. Sermon and an amused Rachel.

"I do apologise for that but at least you've met Kirkwall," said Mr. Grey. "Quite someone is Kirkwall! A poor memory but the makings of a successful businessman. Did you notice how accurately he weighed his chances? Come my dear, introduce me!"

"Don't talk as if you were brilliant at introducing people yourself, Father," said Rachel, kissing him affectionately. "This is Mr. Sermon, also by way of being an usher. At least he was but he came to his

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senses and threw it up, didn't you, Martin ? He was at that first place of mine, Napier Hall and we met again on the beach a fortnight ago. This morning he did me a great service but humanity an injury by saving that little wretch Geraldine from drowning off the breakwater. He's a lot tougher than he looks and can swim like a shark!"

They shook hands and Sebastian welcomed Rachel's raillery for it gave him a moment to recover from his bewilderment. Fred Grey was quite unlike any Headmaster he had met or read about and infinitely removed from the man he had imagined whilst on his way up the drive. To begin with he was gigantic, at least six feet three and as muscular as a navvy. He had hands like a navvy, huge, rough and broad-fingered, and every movement he made with them heightened an impression of enormous vitality. His hair was white and stood up in tufts, the centre tuft being larger than those on each side, suggesting snow-covered mountains with one peak dominating a range. He had a youthful complexion and eyes as mild and brown as his daughter's, his eyes softening an otherwise rugged face. His nose was long, sharp and inquisitive and his jaw square and jutting in a way that suggested bull-headed determination or extreme obstinacy. The impact of his personality was so powerful that Mr. Sermon thought with respect of fat little Kirkwall and the ease with which he had challenged it in the matter of the bet.

Mr. Sermon could see the man as a successful parson of a slum parish but not as a Headmaster who would impress doubtful parents. There was far too much force about him and the fact that it was a cheerful and tolerant force did not make it easy for a stranger to meet him on anything like level terms. Sebastian wondered why father and daughter got along so well, for surely a tornado like Frederick Grey could have little patience with a drifter like Rachel. He said: "Don't be taken in by her tale of heroics, Headmaster! I was swimming near by when the child slipped and I fished her out. It was only her struggles that attracted attention and anyway the whole incident had a disastrous sequel. Your daughter quarrelled with her employers on my account!"

"I've packed it in, Father, they were absolutely insufferable!" confirmed Rachel.

Ha, ha, I had a notion you wouldn't stick that family long," said

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Mr. Grey jovially. "I hope this means that they'll withdraw their boy's name from Barrowdene. He was due here when he leaves Prep. School. Didn't like the father! No sense of humour and in a Civil Servant that's disastrous! Pass the sugar, Rachel!"

"I put in four lumps," said Rachel, "if you want to reduce . . ."

"Oh, to hell with reducing, I'm not that much overweight! I refereed the house games all last term, surely that entitles me to a little sugar in my tea, don't you think, Mr. Sermon?"

Sebastian said it did but the Headmaster did not require an answer, preferring to do most of the talking himself. He did this not so much in the manner of a man who resents an interruption, but as a genial company-director might enjoy putting a newcomer 'in the picture'. He talked almost exclusively about the school and Mr. Sermon was surprised to note that he never returned to the subject of his daughter's loss of employment. Perhaps, he thought, he is accustomed to her popping up again and was more than half expecting it. It was Rachel who checked him at last and Mr. Sermon had another insight into their easy relationship, for suddenly she said, "Oh, wait until you show him round, Father! Half the things you're saying don't make any kind of sense to him. He's never been here before and he's only taught in Prep. Schools."

"I should very much like to look round," said Mr. Sermon, "if you can spare the time, that is!"

"Delighted!" said the Head, and obviously meant it. "How long are you with us this time, Rachel?"

"Oh, until the hols, I expect," said Rachel, carelessly. "After that I shall try for a job at the riding stables over at Marley. I mean to have a shot at the vet idea in the autumn, I'll go and tell Mrs. Brennan I shall want my room again." She turned to Mr. Sermon: "Well, thanks for everything, Martin, and I'll get in touch later in the week. Where are your digs in town?"

He wrote down Olga's address and told her that he had taken the house for the season. Then the Headmaster took him by the arm and they began a tour of the school, passing across the quad and beginning with the handicraft section where Mr. Sermon recognised furniture similar to that in the Head's drawing-room.

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"Do the boys make those chairs here?" he asked, surprised at the quality of the carpentry.

"They certainly do and we've come on very fast in that direction. We have a first-class man on the job, young feller called Pratt. The boys call him 'Chips' of course. To his face, I believe! What did they call you?"

" 'Preacher'!" said Mr. Sermon glumly, and as he said it he felt a faint pang that nobody was likely to call him 'Preacher' again.

They passed through classrooms and corridors to the dining-hall and dormitories and after that the gymnasium and chapel, Grey pointing out the original sections of the great building which he said were mostly late Tudor and drawing attention to the various additions made at peak periods in the school's history. "Curious rhythm about places like this," he said, "they go up and down rather like old-established business houses. There's been a school here since 1690 and during that time we've been down as low as twenty-five boys and up to over five hundred. We're not far off capacity now and I keep hammering at the Governors to call a halt. Nothing worse than a school that outgrows itself. Four hundred is about right, over that it loses something and becomes unwieldy. Since the war has been a good time for places like this, more money about and a strong prejudice in favour of the medium-priced boarding school. When I came here it was not so long after the slump and we were right down, there was even talk of the County taking us over. Hi-what's the forecast, Cooper?" This remark was thrown at a tall, thoughtful-looking eighteen-year-old, who walked past carrying towel and trunks. "School Captain, Mr. Sermon, but I daren't use his nickname in front of a visitor! He's sorting them out at the pool for Sunday's house-swimming trials, like to watch?"

"I would indeed," said Mr. Sermon, and the three of them fell into step and crossed the corner of the cricket-field towards a pavilion under the lee of the plantation.

"Stormside is the favourite so far, sir," said Cooper, gravely, "but Whitton's have one or two dark horses. That new boy from St. Kitt's is said to have a terrific crawl but I haven't seen him in action yet."

They entered an enclosure surrounded by corrugated iron and for

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the next half-hour watched the house-trials for free-style, backstroke and breaststroke. As he stood there surrounded by splashing, shouting boys, Mr. Sermon had a strong sensation of belonging, so strong indeed that it produced a curious shrinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. So, he imagined, must Paul Bultitude have felt when the Garuda stone changed him into a boy in Vice Versa. 'It's odd,' he said to himself, 'but nothing here is really strange or new to me, not this delightful chap, Grey, or the boys, or the buildings! I think I could find my way about without a guide. God help me, how different it might have been if I had started at a place like this instead of those ghastly private schools that all had the same cabbage-water smell. Damn it, it's not as if I'm bad at my job or hated teaching, real teaching! If only . . .' and then he realised that Grey was asking if he would like a drink before Choral Society practice which the Headmaster had arranged to take that evening. They recrossed the fields as twilight stole down and in the Head's study he expressed his thanks over a stiff whisky and soda and said how thoroughly enjoyable the visit had proved. Rachel could not be found so the Head escorted him to her car and shook hands warmly, saying: "I know I'm a bit of Barrowdene bore* Sermon, but the truth is, this is the whole of my life and I wouldn't mind living it through again from the day I came here. I shall be sixty-five in December and due to retire but they've given me a five-year extension, thank God! I'm still very fit and I should die of boredom if they retired me now. Maybe at seventy I shall be glad to put my feet up!"

"I don't think you will, Headmaster," said Mr. Sermon, smiling, "and as for boring me, you've got rid of a whole cluster of cobwebs." He hesitated a moment and went on, rather recklessly: "I was fed up with teaching and I suppose I still am with the way it's done in most corners of the educational field, but the thing that strikes me so forcibly about this place and yourself is the optimism you generate! I think I was running from the nuclear bomb as much as anything and it doesn't seem to bother you a bit, Mr. Grey!"

Grey looked more serious than Mr. Sermon thought possible and when he replied the heartiness had left his voice. He said; "It bothers me all right, my dear chap, but don't fall into the common

BOOK: The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon
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