2 2 I was accompanying the new Chairman of the Education Committee around a village primary school. He was certainly viewed with much interest when he entered the small classroom and, with his red cheeks, great walrus moustache and hair shooting up from his square head, it was not surprising. He was introduced to the very nervous teacher who was taking the class, and then sat down solidly, legs apart, on a tiny red melamine chair designed for very small children.
After a while he was approached by Tracey a little girl who stared and stared at his round, red face and drooping moustache. Then the following conversation took place.
‘What is it?’ asked the little girl.
‘What’s what?’ retorted the visitor.
‘That on your face.’
‘It’s a moustache.’
‘What does it do?’
‘It doesn’t do anything.’
‘Oh.’
‘It just sits there on my lip.’
‘Does it go up your nose?’
‘Could I stroke it?’
‘No.’
‘Is it alive?’
‘No, it’s not alive.’
‘Can I have one?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, little girls don’t have moustaches.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they don’t.’
‘Can I have one when I grow up?’ ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because ladies don’t have moustaches either.’
The little girl thought for a moment, tilted her head on one side before answering. ‘Well, my grannie’s got one!’
