Different Class Read Online Free Page A

just a Head but a Super -Head – and I could almost find it in me to regret the old New Head, brittle and ineffectual as he was, because a weak Head can easily be carried by a competent deputy or two, but a Super-Head allows no one to be his bearer. A Super-Head follows through. A Super-Head steers his own ship – proudly, yea, even unto the rocks.
    And unless young Harrington has changed beyond all recognition over the past twenty years, my guess is that those rocks are precisely where we’re heading.

2

    Michaelmas Term, 1981
    Dear Mousey,
    So this is St Oswald’s. Can’t say I’m impressed. Everything’s so old – the desks, the Honours Boards, the gym, even the staff are all ancient. It’s like being in a museum full of dusty old stuffed animals. Mr Scoones, who shows French films at lunchtimes and probably thinks he’s très cool . Dr Devine, who never smiles. And Mr Straitley – the worst of them, with his Latin jokes and his sarcasm. I wish I was back at Netherton Green. I wish I was in a different class.
    So many people are animals, under the skin and the uniform. A pig, an elephant, a dog. With his big head and curly hair, Mr Straitley’s a pantomime lion, playing to the gallery of all his baying sycophants. Mr Scoones is a bullfrog, full of air and pompousness. Dr Devine is a mantis, all brittle and righteous. Most of the boys are dogs, of course. Running in packs, begging for scraps, yapping ‘ Yes sir, no sir. ’ I used to have a dog, you know. Not for long. I hate dogs.
    The Head of St Oswald’s is Dr Shakeshafte. He looks like a pig. Small eyes, big nose. The other boys call him ‘SS’. At first I thought that this was because he was a German teacher, but now I think it’s something rude. I don’t like him either. On my first day he yelled at me for going the wrong way down South Stair. South Stair . In the singular. That’s what they call it here. In fact, there are forty-three (plural) stairs , but apparently St Oswald’s rules override the rules of grammar.
    And St Oswald’s is a maze. There’s the Bell Tower, of course. That’s where my form-room is. I’ll be running up and down stairs all day. Then there’s the Upper Corridor that runs across the top floor. Below that, there’s the Middle Corridor that connects it with the ground floor, and finally the Lower Corridor at the far end of the building. On either end, there’s a flight of stairs.
    This is where it gets complicated. According to St Oswald’s rules, Lower and Middle School boys can only go up North Stair, and down South Stair. This is to Ease Congestion , says Dr Shakeshafte. Out of bounds to Lower and Middle School boys are: the Upper School Common Room, the Sixth Form Common Room, the Staff Common Room (of course), the Quiet Room, the Chapel (outside of services), the boiler room, the Porter’s Lodge and pretty much all form-rooms unless a master is present. (That’s what we call them here. Masters. Does that make us all dogs?)
    Then there are the other rules I am somehow expected to know. Line up outside your classroom. Stand up when a master comes in. Always say Sir when you’re talking to a master. Say Sir to prefects, too, and make sure you do what they tell you. Don’t take your blazer off unless the Head announces Shirt Sleeve Order in Assembly. Don’t eat in the corridors. Always keep your shirt tucked in. Don’t bring your own books into the library. Always keep to the left-hand side. Already I’ve been shouted at a hundred times. New Boy, don’t do that! New Boy, walk on the left! How hard is it to remember a name? Maybe I’ll change mine to New Boy.
    I sometimes try to tell myself that I’ll only be here for five years, max. That will make me eighteen. I’ll be practically old by then. Sometimes I already feel old. If the average life is seventy years, then I have fifty-six years left. Fifty-six more years. That’s all. And five of them will be wasted here. That leaves me with just fifty-one.