Date: Sun, 14 Apr 2024 12:36:00 +0000
From: Jonah
Subject: A New Term  Chapter 2

A New Term
By Jonah

We're once more at the Norwich City Technology College with Simon.  Not
that there is any such place.  None of the people in any of my stories are
real.  Many of the places are, though the people attached to them aren't,
but none of the schools are real either.  There are some things you don't
want to inflict on real people or institutions by writing stories about
them.  Although I invented most of the people in this story, one of them -
Garret - is the invention of another author - of Jacob Lion in the United
States - as are some characters that only get a mention.  I want to thank
Jacob for his kind permission to use his characters in my story.  If you've
enjoyed my previous stories from 'A Letter from America', to 'On Sea and
Sand', I hope you'll enjoy this one.  if you do enjoy it, please spare a
thought for the kind man who published it for you.  Nifty doesn't charge
you to read these stories, and he doesn't charge us authors either, but it
does cost money to publish them.  He bears this cost from his own pocket
and from donations via https://donate.nifty.org/ . Please consider
donating.

Chapter 2

Grev Kennedy was perched on the edge of the snooker table in the staff
room.

"It's good to see you all back," he said.  "I'd like to see you all in
assembly in five minutes time, but some of you have good reasons for not
being there and, of course, I understand that.  It'll be a shorter assembly
than usual, since it's the start of a new school year, but those of you who
are form-tutors will have your own form for the double period after
registration.  That will give you a chance to sort any admin issues that
arise.  The timetable for this term starts after morning break.  Any
questions Charles will take, but we do have to get to assembly.  One more
thing - you all know that, for the last week of last term, I was
hors-de-combat.  I'd like to thank you all for coping during that period.
Now, speak to Charles if you need to and I'll see some of you in the hall.
Good luck!"

That was the first time I'd known Grev to give a start-of-term-speech.
Usually a staff briefing would amount to,

"Here we go folks - tally ho!"

The assembly hall seemed fuller than usual, but that was an illusion.  It
contained the same number of children as last term, but that was a lot, and
it seemed even more when you hadn't seen it for weeks.

The new first year intake was seated on the floor, at the front.  Everybody
else got seats - the tubular-framed, stackable sort.  From my place on the
stage, behind Grev, I spotted Barry sitting in the second row.  His friend
Norman Wade sat next to him.  I wondered if they would be classmates.  I
forced my attention to focus on the seated children further back.  It might
cause problems for Barry if I drew attention to his relationship with a
teacher.

As I looked, the boys simultaneously bowed their heads.  Grev had obviously
just called for a prayer.  I realised that Grev had been speaking and I had
not been listening.  I might have got cross with any child who did that in
my class.  After a quick glance around the room, I bowed my own head.  I
kept my eyes open and remained alert.  Sure enough there were two boys in a
covert conversation in the third row of chairs.  That was my form, though I
don't know if they had been told that yet.  Shawn Peters was notorious
throughout the school, but who was his companion?  A sandy-haired boy who I
remembered seeing among the second years last year, but what was his name?
It would come to me - after a day or two I'd know them all fairly well.

"Amen," said Grev.

"Amen," repeated everybody else, including me, except that my distracted
state meant that I was a second behind everybody else.

"Stand up," said Grev.  I found myself smiling because I'd seen Grev do
that before.  Teachers usually avoid it for as long as possible since the
movement is invariably an excuse for the children to start making a noise
which the teacher then has difficulty stopping.  Grev didn't avoid it at
all, however, because it never happened when he was in charge.  Sure enough
the entire school rose in silence then silently awaited his next utterance.
Teachers who have never seen this happen don't generally believe it.

"Now," said Grev without seeming to raise his voice, "in a few moments I'm
going to ask those of you who already know where you're going to to begin
to file out.  Go directly to your form room and wait quietly for your
tutor.  All the first year and anybody else who doesn't know where to go,
stay exactly where you are."

Dave Channing, Richard Sutcliffe and I were the only other teachers on the
stage but I saw others begin to arrive at the back of the hall.  Richard
and Dave were newcomers.  Other than myself, the experienced staff had
missed assembly.  I left the stage and walked to the end of the third row
of chairs.

"Those who are leaving, dismiss," said Grev.

"3SI , right turn and follow me," I said to the children in the third and
fourth rows.

I was effectively telling them to follow me from in front.  They didn't
dare query that with the principal still standing on the stage.  I set the
nearest boy in motion towards the exit and indicated that the rest were to
follow him.  As the last child left the fourth row I joined her and headed
for the exit.

Trent.  That was the name of the boy I had seen in conversation with
Peters.  Neil Trent.  I made a mental note to have a word when the
opportunity arose.  Peters needed bringing into line as well or, at least,
preventing from stepping out of line.  He may have been notorious
throughout the college, but he had never crossed me so far, and i didn't
intend to let him.

I walked to the head of the class, brusquely telling them to "follow me,"
and never turning to see if they were following.  They needed to know where
I was going so they weren't going to hang about.

I walked straight to room N3 and turned to face my class, who immediately
started forming themselves into a line.  I tried to emulate Grev, speaking
loudly but without seeming to raise my voice.  Secretly I didn't believe it
was possible but, in spite of myself, I'd mastered the art long ago.

"Right, in you go 3SI.  Find yourself a desk and stand by it.  You can do
that without conversation."

They could, but I was under no illusions that they would.  I waited outside
for the best part of the chaos to resolve itself.  I walked in and observed
for a moment before speaking.

"Sit" I comanded.

Most of the group did, but there were still three people who had not yet
found a place to sit.  One of them, Shawn Peters," was angrily trying to
force David Newman to vacate his seat.

"Peters, Green, Webb, come here," I barked.  Two of them obeyed.  I don't
think Peters even heard me.  I strode angrily to the still squabbling boy
who, by that time, had started to try to pull Newman by his collar.

"STAND UP STRAIGHT BOY!" I commanded.

My proximity and the sheer volume was sufficient to compel him to comply
with some shock.

"When I call you by name, I don't expect you to carry on with what you are
doing," I said, more quietly, " and you'd have to be pretty dense not to
know that what you were doing isn't something that you are allowed to do
anyway.  How dense are you?"

"I want to sit here Sir," he replied without acknowledging the insulting
question.

"Next to Trent?" I observed.  "Well that isn't going to happen.  Sit down
there," I Indicated a vacant desk, " and I want to see both you and Trent
at breaktime."

The expression on his face said that he wanted to say something, and that
he wasn't happy that he hadn't the courage.  With a muttered obscenity he
turned and walked away.

"What?" I demanded.

"Nothing Sir," he muttered.

I turned to the other two frightened looking children at the front, fixing
a friendly smile on my face.

"Pamela, and Brian, go find yourself a vacant desk each.  You can see where
they are now that everybody's sitting down."

They didn't run but they moved pretty quickly as I sat down and opened the
register.

"Now 3SI, answer when I call your names," I said.

The fact that I had over an hour to try to forge a relationship with my
form was a mixed blessing.

For a start, if war was going to be declared on Peters, it gave us more
time to seethe at each other.  On the other hand, it was going to be my job
for the next eleven months to get to know these children better than
anybody else did.  Some of them I already knew from subject-tutoring them
in previous years.  Some, like Peters, I knew because his activities tended
to draw attention.  Three girls in the back row were also notorious for
giving teachers a hard time, but in a different way.  They had an endearing
way of trying to do the teacher's job, and criticising when they thought
the teacher wasn't doing a good enough job.  If the teacher was likely to
be offended by being patronised, that might have been a problem, but they
were such nice chldren that it was hard to take offence.  Last year I had
dealt with it by sarcastically checking with them, from time to time, to
see if my teaching met with their approval.  They recognised the tactic,
but bore it good-naturedly.

On the morning in question, I found them useful.  Keeping a cheerful banter
going with those three meant that I didn't have to concentrate on Peters.

A show-down was inevitable, but I didn't want it yet.