Throwing the book at him
Your article on my old pal Jeff Anderson’s well-deserved scouting award, and his first badge for cycling, triggered a schooldays memory.
Jeff and I sat together in Mr Dobbins’ French class – in a front seat so he could keep an eye on this cycling enthusiast.
The boy cycled home for lunch and often returned with something to amuse himself during boring classes. One afternoon he brought Chinese wire puzzles and sat fiddling surreptitiously. I leaned forward, chin supported with the left hand, to obscure old Dobbins’s line of sight. Our bored professeur droned on, reading from son livre. Suddenly, he yelled ANDERSON!, slammed the book shut and hurled it straight at the fiddler’s head. I turned to see the spinning missile speed across the room. My left hand shot out and caught it in mid-air. Quelle miracle!
Some months later, the French class relocated to the music room while they used the other for exams. Jeff and I managed to position ourselves nearer the back. Former pupils will remember the room tiered like a Roman arena. Jeff had returned from home, where he had been tinkering with his bike, bringing some ball-bearings. He flicked one along the desk groove so that it jumped over the inkwell hole. I stopped it and flicked it back. Mr D droned on. Now and then, he would crack a little joke. No one ever laughed.
Unexpectedly, the silvery ball made a hole-inone and hit the shelf below. It sounded to our ears like a thunderclap. Was another book about to be fired? We froze. The tiny sphere hit the floor and took off in a trajectory straight for our irascible master – stotting nearer and nearer. How could he possibly not see or hear it? I steeled myself to leap to Jeff’s rescue should le livre Francaise be launched.
We stared dumfoonert as the bouncing bearing took a final leap into the turn-up of the French masters’ trousers – just as he cracked a little joke. Two relieved schoolboys exploded with laughter. Mr D beamed over his glasses at us, half-suspicious, half-pleased. Have I made somebody laugh at last? All the other kids turned to look at us. What were those two up to now? We whispered the explanation around the class. From then on, when Mr D made a feeble joke, everyone howled with laughter. It must have made his day.
As Madame Dobbins stood lovingly ironing her husband’s breeks, I wonder what choice French expression escaped her fair lips on discovering le roulement à billes!
William Clark, Barcaldine.