Mastering the art of drawing a blank

ThOUGh I could spell any word when I was at primary school, I couldn’t draw to save my life.

In the run-up to elizabeth II’s Coronation, our class was told to produce something relevant to the event in our art lessons. We were given a large sheet of thick card, similar to blue blotting paper, to fold in half to make a commemorative folder, decorating it accordingly. A book token would be awarded for the best, with the winner being presented with the prize at a Coronation themed concert held for our parents and local bigwigs. I really wanted to win the prize, but I stared at the piece of paper blankly. After folding it in half, I made a nice sharp crease — and messed about for the rest of the lesson. When our teacher Miss White asked us to hand in our work, she looked at my blank sheet and raised an eyebrow.

I hastily asked if I could take it home as I had some good ideas I wanted to work on. To my surprise, she agreed and I breathed a sigh of relief.

A week later, I was in the same pickle with a blank sheet and neither the ideas nor the will to do anything. I persuaded Miss to allow me to take the project home again.

The next week it was easy to tell her I’d forgotten it.

By the following week, I had begun to panic a bit, but that’s where my classmate Margaret Willetts came in. She was a gem and had already been persuaded to help most of the would-be artists. She took my folder and, with a few deft strokes, drew a Beefeater standing to proud attention inside a sentry box. She told me to paint his uniform red, his boots black and his hat hairy. I tried to get her to do it, but she wouldn’t.

I reluctantly managed to do as she had bidden. With just one art lesson left, I made an attempt at red, white and blue stripes round the edges, but gave up midway.

I tried to shove my effort under the stack of finished folders on Miss’s desk, but she spotted it, pulled it out and scowled while scrutinising it. She told me to take it home, at least finish the striping and bring it back the next day. That night, the school cleaner knocked over the big pot of black ink on Miss White’s desk without noticing. By morning, the ink had seeped through every folder — except mine, as I’d taken it home. By default, I won the book token.

As I climbed the steps to the stage to accept my prize, Miss White gave me a look of utter disgust.