"Stand!" said Miss Farrell, their teacher, new to the school, just like her pupils.
Michael watched her every movement. She fascinated him. She was another love in his life. Miss Clemence was forgotten. He now adored Miss Farrell, whose class he would be in for the next three terms.
She struggled to open the French door which led out onto the stone-flagged terrace and the field beyond. Finally, she succeeded.
"Forward!" she ordered. Quietly, without any pushing, the children filed out, in the way they had been instructed.
The Headmistress was already in her position, in front of the Air Raid Shelters. These had been dug deep into the sloping ground next to Austwick Road's back gardens. She held a reminder-board in her hands. As each crocodile of children approached, she pointed to which entrance they should go to.
The teachers went first, each carrying a box of matches. They lit the paraffin lamps which gave a little light in the darkness of the shelter. The children sat in rows, facing each other.
The seats were made of long lengths of slatted wood. The children's knees nearly touched those of their classmates seated opposite. Michael thought it was a really good adventure. He'd managed to find a place between Rob and Paul. Gwyn, was in another class and occupying a different part of the labyrinthine shelter.
The outside doors were closed tightly and all of the children settled. Each teacher stayed with her own class. The Headmistress patrolled the narrow aisles, having a word with each teacher in turn.
The children were encouraged to sing, as loudly as they wished, songs like 'Roll Out The Barrel' and 'My Darling Clementine'. It helped to allay any fears that they might have. The boys sitting near Rob thought it hilarious when he started making-up funny words to go with the tunes.
'Roll out Miss Farrell"Stop it Rob!" Paul begged. "You're making me laugh too much. My stomach's hurting." Michael was laughing too. But, secretly, he did not think that Miss Farrell had a great, big, fat, bum. Michael thought that his teacher was perfect. He loved her.
She's got the biggest of bums.
Roll out Miss Farrell
She'll have the Huns
On the run...'
One of the girls screamed loudly and was heard above the singing. "Please Miss, it's Michael Watson, he keeps on nipping me!"
"Please Miss, I'm not." Michael hadn't done anything. It must have been one of the other boys, leaning across the aisle in the gloom.
"Yes you were. I know it was you."
"No, it wasn't him," Rob said. "It was one of your fleas, biting you."
That made the other boys laugh all the more. The girl started to cry.
Not quite sure what was going on in the semi-darkness, Miss threatened. "If you lot, don't behave I'll put you outside, where Mr Hitler can blow you up for all I care."
For some reason that made the three friends laugh and giggle all the more but as quietly as possible. They didn't really fancy being made to go outside. They knew it was only a practice but it didn't feel like one. Maybe they were only telling them that! Maybe there were German aeroplanes, bombing the school right now.
These imaginings suddenly took on an awesome reality. There was the most fearful explosion, a booming sound outside, somewhere near. The lights flickered in the draught from the blast and the shelter trembled. They were being bombed! It must be so! The singing stopped abruptly. They braced themselves for more. Everybody was dead quiet now.
They were all silent. .
Then they heard the all-clear siren.
The Headmistress was the first to emerge from the shelter. She ordered the teachers to stay where they were with their classes. It seemed like a long time before she reported back. There had been a blockage in the school central heating system and the boiler in the boiler room had exploded. Luckily, Mr Holmes, the caretaker, had not been in there when it happened.
For the children this was, of course, great news! They had to be sent home – and had three days extra holidays, until the system was repaired.
"Hurrah!" chanted the children, all the way home to Sefton Drive. On their way, they kicked the multi-coloured leaves about, the ones which had come down in the autumn gales. They were knee-high on the pavement and made rustling sounds, when you walked amongst them. They picked up the sycamore seeds and threw them in the air. Some of them travelled a long way.
"Mine's the best spinner," said Michael as one of his went all the way up Watery Lane on the opposite side of Torrisholme Road.
Michael's favourite time in school was Friday afternoon. It was the same at Ryelands as it had been at St. Anne's and St. Mary's. There was relaxation from work. The children had 'Choosing Time', while Miss sorted out her attendance register for the week.
However, if you made too much noise, or did something naughty, eagle-eyed Miss would call out your name and she would order, "Corner!" The offender had to go and stand in a corner of the classroom, with his or her face to the wall, listening to the rest of the class quietly enjoying themselves. It hadn't happened to Michael yet, but one time Rob pulled Rachel Robert's pigtail. She squealed loudly. Without looking up, the order came from Miss."Rob! Corner!"
"Yes, Miss," said Rob. He winked at Michael and headed for the corner. It was behind the teacher's back. Rob stood there pulling faces and making his friends laugh. "If you don't stop making those silly faces Rob, I'll send you to see the Headmistress!"
How did she do it? Did she have eyes in the top and the back of her head of her head?
After 'Choosing Time' and playtime, Michael looked forward to the treat of the week. Miss would usually read them a story. Occasionally, she would say to one of the class, "Go to the top class and ask if we may borrow Alan Holmes, please."
The pupil would return with the fair-haired Alan. Then the miracle occurred. "Have you a story for us Alan?"
"Yes Miss! I think so Miss."
"Very well Alan. Would you like to tell it to us?"
"I'll try Miss."
Alan's features would be screwed up in thought then he relaxed and he began. His stories always began with, "Once upon a time.." Once he'd started, he kept going and never hesitated. His voice rose and fell with the action in his narrative. He mimicked his characters and mimed some of their antics. He was a boy wonder. All of the children were enthralled by his tales, nearly always with a boy like himself as hero. There would be exciting adventures against the Germans, or make-believe stories about strange monsters and creatures of the jungle or oceans. He was incredible.About five minutes before the end of the afternoon, Miss would interrupt.
"Please finish your story now, Alan!"
Within a couple of minutes Alan had wound up his tale convincingly. The class would breathe a deep sigh of satisfaction and Miss would say, "Now children, give Alan a good clap."The children would applaud Alan enthusiastically and he would stand there, shyly accepting their applause.
"You may go now, Alan."
"Yes Miss. Thank you Miss."
Off he'd go.
"Class, stand! Hands together! Say your prayer
They said their prayer.
Good afternoon children."
"Good afternoon Miss."
"Don't forget your gas-masks. File out!"
During the summer, just before the war started, Miss had been on the Continent with her friend. They'd visited Czechoslovakia, curious to observe how the Czechs were coping under Hitler.
They had hated what they saw. Silly men in uniforms. Swaztikas everywhere. Military vehicles rushing up and down the streets.
One day, they were looking in a sweet shop window. Miss Farrell said to her friend, "Those fish are rather good. Let's buy some as souvenirs!"
They went into the sweet shop and picked out some flat slabs of decorated toffee in the shapes of different coloured fish. Back in England, the children of friends had been given the unusual sweets as presents. Miss Farrell had saved one of the larger fish. One Friday afternoon, just before Christmas, she decided to take it to school, along with some other goodies, as a treat for her charges.
She loved teaching these young juniors. Her move from Skerton School was a good one. The children were so eager to learn, it was a joy to be teaching them. Michael was occupying the top desk, the one on the far left, in the front row. It meant that he had been the best worker all week. He'd enjoyed the afternoon's 'Choosing Time' and Miss had said that those who had worked best would have the first choice of some sweets she'd brought for them. Michael had his eye on a big piece of the sticky toffee fish. Miss had broken it up on her desk after she had shown them what it looked like whole.
"I bought this in Czechoslovakia. Who can spell it?"
Rob's dad had already tried that one on Rob at home. He put up his hand. Yes, Rob?"
"Please Miss, 'i..t'."
"Very good, Rob. Well done!"
Some of the class laughed and others frowned not 'getting' it.
"Does anyone know where Czechoslovakia is?"
Michael knew, because his Dad was always talking about how Hitler had been allowed to march in there. "Please Miss, it's next door to Germany."
"Very good Michael! Now children, settle down. It's time for our story."
Michael felt very tired. He had worked hard for the coveted position at the top of the class. He'd lost a lot of sleep because Gwyn was ill again and had been coughing all night, which had kept him awake.
He could hardly keep his eyes open and began to nod off. He rested his head on his arm on the desk and went to sleep. The next thing he knew, the girl next to him was shaking him awake and all of the children were laughing at him.
He'd missed his chance. The pieces of the toffee fish had already been chosen and eaten while he was asleep. All of the best sweets had been taken.
Miss said, "We didn't want to disturb you Michael. But I've saved you this."It was a mint wrapped in green paper. He knew it was a mint because he could smell it. Michael didn't like mints.
"Thank you Miss," he said.
Why hadn't she woken him up? It was his right to have the first choice. He thought, "It's not fair!"
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