Miss Gibson and Me

Peter’s new teacher was lovely, with blonde hair and shiny blue eyes. She encouraged her students to feel good about themselves, and 13-year-old Peter thought she understood him and the way he felt about her.

Ican’t decide whether it’s been the worst year of my whole life or the best. I started high school and got put in the top class. Uncle Fred and Aunt Molly split up. I fell in love with Miss Gibson and went a bit silly but it turned out all right in the end.

Life was a lot easier at primary school. Us boys used to mess around, kick balls, have play fights, fly kites, muck about with our bikes, and so on, just having fun. We couldn’t be bothered with girls.

I’m thirteen now, but it always seemed like whatever I said at home, they’d say I was wrong and not to be silly. So I learned to keep my trap shut, especially when Aunt Molly and Uncle Fred were being talked about, because Uncle Fred was good to me and Aunt Molly was always cranky.

Once when I got up in the night I heard shouting and Aunt Molly was yelling out “it’s unforgivable!” over and over again. I heard a noise like a slap and next day Uncle Fred left.

Mum said Aunt Molly had found out about something very bad, but she wouldn’t say what.

I don’t reckon Uncle Fred was a bad man. He said to me once, “People believe what they want to believe and blood’s thicker than water.” He meant Aunt Molly and Mum are sisters, so they’ve always sided with each other, especially after Aunt Molly and Uncle Fred moved into our house, so they could save up money to buy their own.

Everybody else in the family turned against Uncle Fred as well – the other aunties and uncles, and Mum’s cousins, but not so much Dad.

I get on good with Dad. He doesn’t say much. He never really gets angry at me or anybody else, except once he

had a go at Mum. It was the day I wanted to ride my bike to Wigram Airfield because a Vampire was putting on a display (they do 530 miles an hour!). Mum wouldn’t let me go, but I went anyway.

When I got back, Dad was in the front garden and said I’d better make myself scarce because Mum was on the warpath, so I sneaked inside and hid under the bed.

At teatime, she was redfaced and her lips were thin like string. Then she started shouting, but Dad smashed his plate on the floor, and yelled out, “For Gawd’s sake, leave the boy alone and let him grow up!” He used some words I’d never heard before, and Mum’s face went funny.

She didn’t say anything back, just started crying, real loud. I’d never seen her like that before. It was all because of me. I felt pretty rotten about that.

Uncle Fred told me once that Dad hasn’t got much fight left in him. I think he meant Dad got worn out fighting against the Germans. He was blown up by a hand grenade. That’s why he’s one-eyed and he walks with a stick now.

Uncle Fred and me used to make paper darts and fly them to each other across the lounge and when he bought a Ford V8 (a grouse red one with fins) he took me out for a spin and we went 70 miles an hour!

When I was feeling bad, Uncle Fred always noticed and knew how to cheer me up. Sometimes he got me to talk about things.

I caught him howling once, something to do with Aunt Molly. She’s kind of weird, and wore too much make-up and awful pink lipstick, especially when Uncle Fred was away with his work. I don’t think they were in love.

I heard Mum complaining that Fred couldn’t be bothered talking to his wife. But when he did talk to her, she just got mad at him.

Everybody looks for someone to blame, I reckon, like you just decide it’s all one person’s fault and blame everything on them, which makes it simple, but it’s not fair.

I used to think I was dumb, but I don’t now. When I started high school, they tested us and stuck me in the top class with the brainy kids, where I didn’t fit in.

“A delicate child,” I heard Mum say once, “very sensitive. He’ll be a troubled teenager and he’s no good at school.”

I remember during the first week, Mr Gainsway the baldy headmaster came to visit our class. “Ah, so this is 3P1,” he said, standing up front and moving his head from side to side. “My word, I’m expecting a lot from you people.”

Then Miss Gibson, our new form teacher, piped up. She had shiny blue eyes and was blonde with a ponytail and big white teeth that made her whole face seem to be always smiling.

“You’re unique individuals,” she said, in her soft kind of voice. “The school’ll help you to think for yourselves. Always listen and ask questions if you don’t understand, but never ever be afraid to say what you think, particularly if you have a different opinion. You’re all special, all of you.”

And she looked right at me and gave a funny smile, as if she knew all about me, and I went red, which showed up my blackheads, and everybody stared at me.

One day, we were at our desks writing essays and Miss Gibson looked over my shoulder just as I sat up and my head went back into her chest. It was all soft and spongy. I went red and said, “Sorry, Giss Mibson.” The other kids laughed at me, and I nearly cried.

Some of the boys used to snigger because Miss Gibson had big ones, and they showed off what they knew about girls, but most of us didn’t talk about that stuff. We all went to Sunday School and Bible Class and knew it was wrong.

Besides, we were scared of getting into trouble.

When I was a wee kid, I told Mum about Bobby Brown getting the strap for putting his hand up a girl’s skirt. Mum’s face went peculiar and she said I wasn’t to be friends with Bobby.

“He’s a wicked boy. Don’t you ever let me down like that!” she shouted, and stared at me, like she could see inside my head. I kept away from her for ages after that.

The kids at school reckon your mother can always tell when you’ve done something bad or been thinking about it. I don’t know anything about females, what they look like under their undies and that, and it’s wrong to think about, but I do anyway, and then I stay clear of Mum, as long as I can.

I don’t actually know many females, except the ones at school. I have my Aunt Molly and Mum at home, but they don’t count.

The biggest thing that happened this year was, I fell in love with Miss Gibson. She treated me real special and often

“Miss Gibson treated me special and kept me in after class just to talk about things.”

kept me in after class, just to talk about things, and she was real kind. She loved me all right.

I knew about love from Aunt Molly’s True Romance magazines. I worked out, if Miss Gibson was, say, twenty-five, she was only about twelve years older than me, same as Dad was older than Mum. We could’ve easily got married once I left school.

I thought about Miss Gibson all the time, and dreamed about her every night. She made me feel ... I just wanted to be a better person, would’ve done anything for her, like saving her from a school fire, and if I’d died doing it, I wouldn’t have minded.

She always cared about how I felt. She taught me thinking and feeling are different things. She seemed to listen to me with her whole face, with her big blue eyes, and her lips that always looked soft somehow.

Once she even put an arm around me. I felt like I could do anything, even join the air force and fly jets.

I told her about home and she said my dad was a war hero, but it’s hard for Dad having been wounded, working on low pay as a cleaner with the railways. I told her that before the war Dad wanted to go to university and be a chemist.

I’m certain Miss Gibson was in love with me. Why else would she be so interested in me and my family?

I started asking questions in class and wasn’t scared to say if I had a different opinion. I really wanted to please Miss Gibson. And it felt good to speak up and I always will now, because I can, and like doing it. Miss Gibson said I’d developed a lot of confidence. Man, did that make me feel proud!

Some kids saw a red American car drop Miss Gibson off at school one morning, and a rumour stared going around that she had a man. She got angry, the only time I ever saw her get angry, and said it was just her brother and we shouldn’t spread silly rumours.

Anyway, in August, Miss Gibson suddenly left the school. Just one day she wasn’t there and the headmaster told us she wouldn’t be coming back to school, only that he “wasn’t at liberty” to say why.

I don’t remember much about that day. I ran off at lunchtime and sat by the railway in the rain watching trains swish past, wishing I was dead. After dark some men from a search party took me home.

I got told off for running away from school and being out in the dark like that. They wanted to know why, but I said I didn’t know. I couldn’t stop shaking and went to bed.

I didn’t sleep very well, sort of half slept, kept shivering and seeing things that I wasn’t sure were real. It was like there were people coming in and out, arguing about what to do about me. Mum and Dad came in, and some other people I didn’t know, and one man had a thing around his neck like a doctor. Then they went away as if they’d had enough but they left the door a bit open and stared in at me through the crack.

Sometimes it seemed I’d been in bed for days and days and I was all worried thinking I’d done something bad but couldn’t remember what it was, and I tried to get up, but somebody held me down.

Once, Miss Gibson and Uncle Fred came in together crying. I didn’t even know they knew each other. They hugged me. I felt a bit better after that and got up.

I stayed home for days, and lots of people came to visit, even some school kids and baldy Gainsway, the headmaster.

“How’s the soldier?” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “Back to school soon? We have great hopes of you, lad!”

One day I overheard Mum on the phone talking to Aunt Molly about Uncle Fred and she said something about Miss Gibson being a “fallen woman.”

All I know is, even if Miss Gibson did something wrong, nobody ought to throw the first stone, especially not Aunt Molly. Miss Gibson was mighty good to me and I’ll always love her for that.

We got a new teacher who wasn’t half as nice, but I never forgot what Miss Gibson told me and I kept on asking questions in class and saying my opinion and getting good marks in my exams.

Last night after I went to bed, Dad sat with me and said he’d found out where Uncle Fred was living, and been to visit, but not to tell anyone.

Uncle Fred passed on his love and wanted me to know that he and Miss Gibson are getting married as soon as he gets his divorce and Miss Gibson is having a baby, and if it’s a boy, she wants to name him Peter after me.