bit of a softy deep inside aren’t you Rivett. I didn’t hit you that hard. And don’t worry, nobody saw it happen and I won’t tell a living soul. No point really. Nobody would believe me anyway. Don’t you ever dare call me ‘Thundery’ though. ” She turned and winked at Barnaby, then whispered, “Never underestimate the power of a posh girl. Never.”
All three children were in the same class at school. Mr. Fortitude Jones’ class, the deputy headmaster and a poorer teacher you’d have to search long and hard to find. He’d started his career at a time just after the war, when the country needed lots of teachers. Ex-soldiers had been trained as teachers in lightning quick time. Some had proved to be great at the job but not Mr. Fortitude Jones. In all honesty, he’d should have stayed in the army, standing guard duty in the North African desert. He often told stories of his old army days and the children would encourage him and goad him onwards as it meant that they didn’t have to work. They’d sailed with him on his sea voyage around Cape Town, then North to the Red Sea eating tinned mangos along the way. He had shared his pictures of the pyramids and the Sphynx. They all managed to get into the cabin of his lorry, bumping its way across Egypt, cooking eggs and corned beef on the top of the engine housing. By the time Friday afternoon came around it was all he could do to stay awake no matter how much noise the class created. He did have one good point though. He loved taking the children on outings and trips. Some people said that he was fond of taking trips because his brother owned the coach company and he was just doing his best for the family business. On this particular day, Barnaby payed more attention than usual when Old Forty announced the reason for the latest outing.
“Pay attention now everybody, yes everybody. You too Nigel Rivett….. What’s happened to your face…..Spruddge? You need to listen to this too boy…good grief, look at your hands….get them washed playtime…Beth Saunders, stop smirking….now. Pay attention. Everybody sit uppppppp. NOW. I’ve planned a little trip for next Friday. We have to learn something about education and business partnerships this term.”
“What’s that all about then Sir?” queried Beth.
“Well, we have to look at some of the local businesses and factories so that you can be better informed about the sort of jobs that you’d like when you leave school. You also need to learn how businesses actually make money.” Old Forty announced positively.
“Oh no,” gasped Barnaby.
“Aaaaaugh,” as Rivett’s rusty gate opened again.
In fact, a collective gasp of dread and horror spread around the room and children started quickly thinking of a believable excuse not to go.
“No Sir, Not the glove factory again is it Sir?” shouted Rivett.
“ No no, not the glove factory. No, not after what happened last time. No, not the glove factory.” assured Old Forty.
Like a Mexican wave, a sigh of relief passed around the class.
“Where then Mr. Jones?” questioned Beth. She thought it wise not to attempt to say ‘Sir’. Not in front of the whole class. Sir was really lisp unfriendly.
“I’ve organised a trip to The Splendid Snooker Balls Storehouse down in Faith, at the bottom of the valley,” said Mr. Fortitude Jones. His chest pumped out with pride because he knew how hard it was to get a visit to this particular factory.”
Rivett appeared overjoyed, “The new place, where they make tournament snooker balls?” he inquired with real enthusiasm.
“Of course.” shouted Jones, “although I’ve been told that they make a few other items as well. They make piano keys and just recently they’ve started making bowling balls.”
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