stake-holder. Throughout the reading of The Tempest , Oscar issued instructions.
‘Move your desk a little further forward, Hoppy. Titch, a little to the left. Robin, give me a little more space.’
Billy, in the role of Caliban, was just saying:
Be not afeard: the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not
when Oscar put a hand to his head, gave a loud moan and keeled over.
For a moment, Baldy was stumped. Then he reacted.
‘Give him some air. Loosen his collar,’ he bawled, slapping his elbow to his side. ‘I’ll get some water for him.’ And he shot out of the room.
As soon as he’d gone, Oscar opened his eyes.
‘Has he gone? Right, Hoppy, that’s six shillings and threepence you owe me.’
Billy paid up just before Baldy got back.
‘Here you are, Wilde, drink this water,’ the master said, holding Oscar’s head. ‘Do you think you’re going to be all right?’
‘Yes, sir, I think so,’ said Oscar weakly, pretending to come round.
‘You’d better get some air,’ said Baldy, helping him to the door.
After ten minutes or so, Oscar reappeared.
‘I think I’ll be all right now, sir,’ he said, full of self-pity.
‘No, you’d better go home, I think,’ Baldy said, not relishing the thought of having to deal with yet another fainting fit, or even, horror of horrors, vomiting.
‘Yes, I think you may be right, sir,’ said Oscar feebly, at the same time seizing the opportunity to give the class a big, broad wink.
Oscar left - much to the annoyance of the rest of the form, who had to remain and plough their way for the umpteenth time through The Tempest. They were even more annoyed when they learned later that he had gone off to the Odeon cinema on their money.
The choicest sexual observations, however, were reserved for the history teacher, a dedicated young lady with the unfortunate name of Edith Dunn, a graduate straight from university, who had little realised when she took the job on that she would have to work in a cage of lions and a pit filled with venomous snakes. The form just about broke her heart. She had no discipline whatsoever, and from the moment she walked through the classroom door, there was chaos.
‘Quiet! Sit down! Turn round! Put that down! Stop that!’ she screeched before she had even crossed the threshold. ‘Make less noise or we’ll all write up notes.’
No one took a blind bit of notice of her.
‘Right! That’s it!’ she yelled. ‘Start writing notes! Now!’
She turned to the blackboard and began scribbling furiously on the board. Detailed notes on the Congresses of Vienna, the foreign policy of Palmerston, Kitchener’s action in the Sudan, the Jameson Raid and the Boer War. Nobody even bothered to read the incomprehensible jargon she was chalking up so energetically. Most continued with their own activities.
In the front row, Robin Gabrielson was acting out the grunting of the Nile boatmen as they towed Kitchener’s barge down the river; Billy was playing Hangman with Oscar; Oily was compiling a dictionary of swear words and, having reached ‘B’, was finding that letter as fruitful as ‘A’, which he had completed during Edith’s last lesson with words like ‘abuse’, ‘adultery’, ‘anus’ and ‘arse’, along