the Antichrist of literature. Theoretically it should have been my favourite subject, given how I love reading and writing. I’ve had two letterspublished in
Teen Vogue
, but my dream is to write articles in the witty, satirical vein of Nancy Mitford or Dorothy Parker.
Ms Topler doesn’t appreciate my wit or satire, though. If anything, she is ethically opposed to wit and satire. Where there is literary joy she can be relied upon to throw cold water on it through critical analysis, and if she happens to prescribe a classic like Simone de Beauvoir, you can rest assured she will slaughter it with one of her diabolical deconstructions.
Mostly, though, she loved giving us tragic books to read, like
Little Women
, and as if this weren’t bad enough, she made us discuss them
ad nauseum
in class.
Every time I was about to put a piece of croissant in my mouth, she’d ask me something lame about the tragic Jo. I told her that ‘despite an indefatigable independent streak, Jo was the classic L to the power of three – a Literary Lady Loser.’
I wasn’t even trying to be funny, but Star and Georgina and a few other girls laughed – and no, not in a piss-take sort of way. Georgina’s crowd were acting like I was actually one of the girls now, and then to top it off, Georgina announced that Tobias couldn’t bear
Little Women
and had refused point-blank to let her read it.
The class fell into paroxysms of mirth.
Ms Topler gave me a ‘blue.’
A ‘blue’ handed out by a teacher means having to write lines, like ‘I must pay closer attention in class,’ onehundred times or something annoying like that. It’s called a blue because you write the lines on blue paper. Older girls can hand out blues too, but we could usually slack them down – although not when we were in the younger years. In Year Seven once Star tried to slack down one of the older girls who gave her a blue for something really minor, and the older girl reported her, then Star ended up having to write lines from six a.m. to seven a.m. (Pre-breakfast lines have now been deemed too barbarically cruel, even for boarding school.)
When we got lines we could petition Sister Constance and usually get a transmuted sentence, something really easy like sweeping the corridor. As Georgina pointed out, the best part of getting Sister Constance involved was that she always gave you a sweet reward afterwards – which sort of defeated the point of giving a punishment, but like I said, you don’t need to be rational to be a teacher, let alone a nun.
Having missed breakfast, my mouth was watering at the thought of a Mars Bar.
By the time class was over I was starving and the already-stale croissant was a pile of flakes in my pocket. Our sadistic dorm matron was going to go mental when I put it in for wash if I didn’t remember to get every miniscule crumb out. I would try to remember to flush my pocket out tonight, but deep down I knew I would forget and get one of Matron’s lectures about my manifest lack of wash-bag respect and how I would end up being ridiculedby my children – if I ever had the good fortune to have any, which she seriously doubted because what sort of man would want to marry a slattern like me, who eats food from her pocket?
A sense of proportion isn’t part of the job description for working at Saint Augustine’s.
Because of the wretched Ms Topler keeping me back late in order to give me my stupid blue (Star and Georgina had both waited for me), we were late for everything and on the charge to the canteen at lunch, we were all clutching our stomachs with exaggerated hunger pains. Even though it was unprecedented, it just seemed natural to sit with Georgina and her group to eat. Georgina, Arabella and Clementine all seemed fine with that. Clemmie even squeezed over, practically sitting on Arabella’s lap, so that we could all fit on the bench. Even Star seemed fine with it, but Honey glared at me when I sat down with my tray.
‘Are you
Teen Vogue
, but my dream is to write articles in the witty, satirical vein of Nancy Mitford or Dorothy Parker.
Ms Topler doesn’t appreciate my wit or satire, though. If anything, she is ethically opposed to wit and satire. Where there is literary joy she can be relied upon to throw cold water on it through critical analysis, and if she happens to prescribe a classic like Simone de Beauvoir, you can rest assured she will slaughter it with one of her diabolical deconstructions.
Mostly, though, she loved giving us tragic books to read, like
Little Women
, and as if this weren’t bad enough, she made us discuss them
ad nauseum
in class.
Every time I was about to put a piece of croissant in my mouth, she’d ask me something lame about the tragic Jo. I told her that ‘despite an indefatigable independent streak, Jo was the classic L to the power of three – a Literary Lady Loser.’
I wasn’t even trying to be funny, but Star and Georgina and a few other girls laughed – and no, not in a piss-take sort of way. Georgina’s crowd were acting like I was actually one of the girls now, and then to top it off, Georgina announced that Tobias couldn’t bear
Little Women
and had refused point-blank to let her read it.
The class fell into paroxysms of mirth.
Ms Topler gave me a ‘blue.’
A ‘blue’ handed out by a teacher means having to write lines, like ‘I must pay closer attention in class,’ onehundred times or something annoying like that. It’s called a blue because you write the lines on blue paper. Older girls can hand out blues too, but we could usually slack them down – although not when we were in the younger years. In Year Seven once Star tried to slack down one of the older girls who gave her a blue for something really minor, and the older girl reported her, then Star ended up having to write lines from six a.m. to seven a.m. (Pre-breakfast lines have now been deemed too barbarically cruel, even for boarding school.)
When we got lines we could petition Sister Constance and usually get a transmuted sentence, something really easy like sweeping the corridor. As Georgina pointed out, the best part of getting Sister Constance involved was that she always gave you a sweet reward afterwards – which sort of defeated the point of giving a punishment, but like I said, you don’t need to be rational to be a teacher, let alone a nun.
Having missed breakfast, my mouth was watering at the thought of a Mars Bar.
By the time class was over I was starving and the already-stale croissant was a pile of flakes in my pocket. Our sadistic dorm matron was going to go mental when I put it in for wash if I didn’t remember to get every miniscule crumb out. I would try to remember to flush my pocket out tonight, but deep down I knew I would forget and get one of Matron’s lectures about my manifest lack of wash-bag respect and how I would end up being ridiculedby my children – if I ever had the good fortune to have any, which she seriously doubted because what sort of man would want to marry a slattern like me, who eats food from her pocket?
A sense of proportion isn’t part of the job description for working at Saint Augustine’s.
Because of the wretched Ms Topler keeping me back late in order to give me my stupid blue (Star and Georgina had both waited for me), we were late for everything and on the charge to the canteen at lunch, we were all clutching our stomachs with exaggerated hunger pains. Even though it was unprecedented, it just seemed natural to sit with Georgina and her group to eat. Georgina, Arabella and Clementine all seemed fine with that. Clemmie even squeezed over, practically sitting on Arabella’s lap, so that we could all fit on the bench. Even Star seemed fine with it, but Honey glared at me when I sat down with my tray.
‘Are you
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