Friday's story Here was completely TRUE.
Yes, I do feel guilty for helping in part to cause the death of the tree. That may be the reason I plant trees whenever possible and keep the 'free trees' that I find sprouting in my garden (scattered, no doubt, by birds).
Today's story then - Fact, fiction - twist/no twist?
When I was at school, at the start of term at the beginning of the fourth year, I was invited to join the Headmaster’s ‘elite’ – to become a Prefect.
Yeah, there was a certain amount of responsibility and work that came with the ‘position’ but there were also a few perks.
Staying indoors at break times (especially in winter) – patrolling the classrooms and hallways to ensure no unauthorised pupil roamed inside, being looked-up to by the younger kids who still did as they were told, was another.
I told the Headmaster that I’d agree to being a Prefect but I didn’t like going to morning assembly – I never followed a religion and it seemed like a waste of time. He agreed to put me on ‘Late Duty’ – catching kids coming into school late, taking their names and handing the list to the Secretary when I’d finished.
It wasn’t such a bad job, unless it was cold, or wet, of course.
One morning, a girl from my class came in through the gates around fifteen or twenty minutes late. It was too late to send her to join the assembly in the main hall, so I told her to go straight to first class and wait there. The teacher should have already been there, so the door would be unlocked.
I followed a few minutes later, after I’d handed the list of names in at the office.
When I got to the first class where the late girl should have been waiting, the class was silent. I was a little suspicious, not only should the teacher have been there, but she should have been there too.
Her bag had been left at the side of the table where she usually sat and her coat hung over the back of the chair.
Off to one side of the class stood a large stationery cupboard, more like a small room than a cupboard, if I’m honest. I heard a noise from the cupboard and went to investigate.
The cupboard door was always locked but as I pressed down the handle, the door opened. Inside the small room, I saw the teacher, his back to the door. He turned his head and commanded me to, “Get out!” and I would normally have obeyed, but I saw something deeply disturbing further in.
Trapped in a corner and almost out of sight, the late girl cowered in the corner.
She leaned to one side so that I could see her and her eyes were wide and brimming with tears. She looked as scared as any person I’d seen to that point.
“Get! OUT!” the teacher barked at me.
“Let her go,” I said. I sounded much more calm and confident than I felt and I have no idea what I’d have done if he’d refused.
The girl tried to take advantage of my distraction and slip out of the corner but she appeared unable to push past the teacher.
After a moment of hesitation, I stepped forward and grabbed for her hand, pulling her past him. She seemed somehow pliant - easily manipulated, I suppose – unable to act for her own safety.
I pushed her behind me and we left the room together, then she grabbed her coat and bag and left the room.
The teacher came out of the room and came towards me. I was just a skinny 15-year-old and would have been defenceless against a full-grown adult.
It then came my turn to be saved.
The rest of the class started filing in and no more was said. I don’t think I made a friend of that teacher because of that incident and the girl never spoke to me about it.
The rumour-mill of school gossips didn’t seem to get hold of the story and the girl remained in school.
I can only assume that she was too scared to say a thing about the incident, to anyone, but I do wonder how she remembers that incident.
Thinking back on that moment, I can believe she was stricken like a ‘rabbit in headlights’, unable to move, her mind shut-down, waiting for the predator to strike.
There were a few predatory teachers in school as I remember. A couple of sexual predators and some that just liked to wield their ‘power’ over the kids.
I know a number of stories about kids that were brought to tears for no other reason than the teacher felt like it.
Still, those stories gave me a good foundation for my parenting skills. I always made sure my kids knew that I had their back if they were being bullied. They always knew they could tell me about any incident and I always investigated.
The important thing here, though, is that if they were wrong, they had misbehaved and deserved the detention, I sided with the teacher and enforced the detention – at home too, for making a fuss when they should have taken the punishment because they deserved it.
So… Truth or Fiction?