each day and began his lesson with a routine opening:
‘And ... er . . . the meaning of “hinterland” is, of course, er .. . er. . .’ A smacking of his lips. ‘Hopkins!’
‘Hinterland, sir, is a region lying inland from a coast and served by a port city and its facilities. For example, Lancashire is the hinterland of Liverpool.’
‘Right,’ grunted Brother Sebastian, sounding somewhat disappointed that he had failed to catch Billy out.
On another occasion, when Billy was feeling somewhat out of sorts, the master strode into the room and began in the accustomed way.
‘And . . . er . . . the meaning of “irrigation” is, of course, er . . . er . . .’ Smacking of lips. ‘Hopkins!’
‘DON’T KNOW, SIR!’ replied Billy defiantly.
‘Why, you blasted, blithering idiot,’ Sebastian bawled, making a beeline for him.
Before the master had reached his desk, Billy managed to blurt out:
‘Irrigation is the supplying of dry land with water by means of ditches, pipes or streams, so making the land fertile.’
Sebastian stopped and listened to the definition, then said grumpily:
‘Oh, so you do know then.’
Brother Zachary was another master it was best not to try it on with. He taught maths and Latin and he took his subjects very seriously. Billy was one of his favourites, as he was always first in maths and second or third in Latin. On only one occasion did they clash, and this was so rare an occurrence that Billy was deeply upset by the encounter. It happened that he was translating a Latin unseen from Horace.
‘Caesar, as a young boy,’ he translated, ‘would often visit the home of his . . .’
Billy Hopkins
Billy stopped at the word avus , not knowing it meant ‘grandfather’.
This surely means ‘bird’, he said to himself, thinking of the Latin word avis. I can’t possibly say: ‘Caesar used to visit the home of his bird.’ It’ll bring the house down and everyone will roar with laughter at me.
‘Sorry, Brother Zachary, it doesn’t make sense,’ he said.
‘Yes it does, William. Go on,’ Zachary urged his favourite.
Billy was now determined not to become the butt of everyone’s ridicule.
‘Sorry, sir, it doesn’t make sense to me.’
‘It makes perfect sense, you chump!’ Zachary said angrily.
Billy blushed to his roots and his eyes filled with tears, for Zachary and he had a close mutual-admiration relationship. Fortunately, it was the one and only time that the two did not see eye to eye.
The most popular master in the school was Brother Ambrose, a dark-haired, olive-skinned master from South America who had a ready wit, a keen sense of humour and an unwavering sense of discipline. He could cause chaos and wild horseplay one moment and then quell it in an instant with one stern, forbidding look. He was another not to be messed with.
He invariably began his French lessons with:
‘Ouvrez toutes les fenetres. Open all the windows - there’s a terrible smell in here!’
‘There wasn’t till you came in,’ replied Oscar.
‘Oh, is that so, Wilde?’ Ambrose said slowly, with ominous good-humour.
There then followed a wild rough-house, with Ambrose chasing Oscar around the room with a cricket bat and the