Molesworth Read online

  Of corse 3B were v. backward when they came to me. i am not saing a word aganst popplewell – a sound teacher within his limmits but it took my genius, my inspiration to make molesworth put 3 konsecutive subjects in the nomm.

  HEADMASTER: Grand work Grand work.

  MASTER: How about a quid until next thursday?

  HEADMASTER: (quickly) I’m out. Haven’t a nicker.

  MASTER: Make it arf a crown.

  HEADMASTER: Very well. The ushual rates. And i foreclose next week.

  Otherwise you can guess wot go on. Every evening a commando course taken by the Sarnt-major and an open space for unarmed combat.

  SARNT-MAJOR: O.K. now. Get fell in. Two ranks. By the right – DRESS. (Shuffle Shuffle As you were ect the old gag.) Now. We all kno the Hobjekt of our hinstruction i.e. that is how to do the boys proper. No knives no knuckeledusters only a ruler alowed. All right. Fall out number 6, arbuthnot, sigismund, maths master, mad. HIFF you were required to do a job on a boy how would you go about HIT? i see. Very hinteresting but scaracely fare pla. hi do not think as ow we need to go that far. Hact haccording to the manual.

  ORRIGHT?

  (Fancy asking a lot of MASTERS if they are orright. Haddress the q. to the boys. They’ll give you the right answer.)

  SARNT puffs out manly chest and continue humidement: ‘Hon the word One Hobserve the boy or pupil who is busy on hillicit hactiivity i.e. has it mite be drawing tadpoles on the blotch. Hon the word TWO – draw hin the hibrows, making sure that the rest of the klass hobserve and hapreciate the umor of the situation.

  ORRIGHT?

  (Enuff said.)

  Hon the word THREE – grasp the ruler and stand behind the boy or pupil with the hands lightly hupon the ips. Wait for the larff. (Hit is never difficult for a master to hobtane a larff.) Hon the Word FOUR bring the ruler down promptly and smartly on the victim’s swede. A howl of pane his the signal that the hobjektive hav been attained.

  And so it go on for Masters kno that if they once relax their vigilance the DAY IS OURS. JUICE! GLOAT! i can hardly wate for their shrieks for mercy.

  So far we hav dealt only with masters who are english e.g. sir jones, sir arbuthnot, sir phipps-potts B A sir higgs-hake, sir muggs f.r.g.s. ect. But, felow suferers, remember this. There are skoolmasters all over the world, even bulgarian skoolmasters which take a bit of doing gosh chiz. But before you think it is hard cheddar on the bulgarian boys remember this is the atomm age and masters are exchanged like stamp swaps from country to country.

  WE MITE GET A RUSIAN MASTER AT ST. CUSTARDS!

  gosh golly you can pikture it.

  We mite get a Rusian master

  Into 3B stump sir petrovitch who not only hav a face like a squished tomato (as all masters do) but hav hary wiskers.

  THE KLASS: Good morning, sir petrovitch.

  SIR P: good morning, little children. (He burst out blubbing) o woe o grief the HEADMASTER makes me teach lat. geog, algy, arith, fr, eng, some carpentry, musick, the organ and asist with criket it is worse than the salt mines. Wot is the lesson, little children?

  THE KLASS: peotry, sir petrovitch. (They recite)

  Harkski harkski the larkski

  At heavenski’s gates singski

  (sir petrovitch cry more and more)

  THE KLASS: Give him Boots that will slay him.

  FOTHERINGTON-TOMAS: o goody!

  THE KLASS: Bootskis, bootskis, bootskis movin’ up and down agane (ect)

  SIR P: Good show good show. Give it the rhythm. Definitely give it the rhythm, dogs.

  (He jumps on the desk with his boots shouting Oi Oi Oi and struming on a balal – well you kno. The whole klass join in – ink wells fly threw the air, the uprore is immense?)

  HEADMASTER look up from the desk in his study where he is counting the GOLD in his moneybox: ‘Comrade petrovitch can certanely instil an unwonted enthusiasm into 3B tho his methods are a little – er – unorthodox. Now shall i raise the fees or hav i got enuff? Beter be on the safe side.’ He taketh up his gold plume et commence a ecrire: Dere parent, Owing to the cost of living and death-watch beetle in the bell tower i regret ect ect…The tears fall in pools from his eyes, smudging the encre. But that is nothing to wot hapen when the parents receive it. You should hear the WORDS yore pater use when he cancel the order for a rolls-royce and make do with an A90 instead.

  So much for comrade petrovitch and the 89 ickle pritty capitalists of st custards.

  Now we come to another swap. This is ed. hickenhopper from the U.S.A. of america i.e. he is wot we vulgar boys hem-hem call a YANK. He is very tall and wear specs hem-hem and we awate his appearance with interest i.e. where do he keep his gat?

  ‘Now, boys,’ he sa, ‘this morning it is lat. We will comence with translation.’

  ‘O.K. Stranger. Hep-hep and get cracking.’

  ‘Do you, molesworth, consider yourself equal to attempting sentence one?’

  ‘Sure don’t, pardner. Never was no good at book larnin. Try one of these other critturs who are hog-snoring in the desks around me.’

  ‘Now come,’ sa sir hickenhopper. ‘Balbus admires the clear voices of the girls – surely now – ?’

  ‘Now listen, i ain’t aiming to make no trouble. You’re the sheriff around here. But if the mean coyote who wrote that latin book come into this saloon i’ll riddle him full of daylight. And the same goes for Balbus.’

  And so it go on it is only after a long time that you find out that all YANKS are not cowboys and while you are still reeling with disapointment you learn too that they are not all gangsters. “Well, of corse, my dear, that remove their last atraction for me but i expect they hav found it quieter to live at home if they can watch the television instead of shooting all the time. A pity.

  Aktually, yank masters are diferent from ours. If sigismund arbuthnot the mad maths master were to organise us into a task force to solve a quadratick equation we would think him mader than ever. But that is wot ed. hickenhopper did. And we rather enjoyed it-wot am i saing ENJOYED it? CURSES CURSES. Re-shake this cocktail, peason, and don’t drown the gin.

  A Wizard Wheeze

  Why be down-troden? Is this a free country? Why should the beaks escape? Fill out the molesworth end-of-term Report on Masters e.g.

  4

  HO FOR THE HOLS

  GOODBY TO SKOOL

  (for a bit.)

  ‘Boys,’ sa headmaster GRIMES, smiling horibly, ‘st. custard’s hav come to the end of another term.’

  Can there be a note of relief in his craked voice? There can be no doubt of the feelings of the little pupils. CHEERS! HURRAH! WHIZZ-O! CHARGE! TA-RAN-TA-RA! The little chaps raise the roof of big skool, which do not take much doing as most of it is coming off already.

  ‘Ah, molesworth,’ bellow GRIMES to molesworth 2, who is dancing a hornpipe on a desk, ‘not too much excitement. We hav not broken up yet, dere boy.’

  ‘Wot, sir?’

  ‘Not too much excite – ’

  ‘Speak up, sir.’

  ‘GET DOWN OFF THAT FLIPPING DESK OR YOU WILL GET 6!’

  At last, order is restored and end of term marks are read chiz chiz chiz. Another loud cheer greet the fakt that i am botom in eng. fr. geom. geog. div. algy and hist. When grabber get his ushaul prize i.e. the mrs joyful prize for rafia work there are boos and catcalls nothing can stop the mitey upsurge of popular feeling.

  ‘SILENCE!’ below GRIMES. ‘You are unfare. You kno how he won this prize.’

  ‘Sure!’ we roar, ‘£5 to you, £I all round to the staff and a botle of beer for the olde matronne. The same story.’

  ‘SILENCE OR I WILL KANE THE LOT!’

  Methinks his unatural benevolence is waring as thin as peason’s second-best pare of trousis. The mob is hushed by this thort.

  ‘Now see here,’ sa GRIMES, ‘see here, scum. We gives you edducation here, see? We gives you maners and disscipline, don’t we? Don’t forget them when you gets ‘ome. Do not forget to sa “pardon” at some breach of
etikette and tuck the old serviet into the colar firmly. Should egg be droped upon the tie remove same quietly with the thumb as you ’av seen me do. Be a credit to St. custards! DISMISS!’

  With one mad yell the mob, armed with stumps and bits torn from desks, surge away down the pasage, trampling the masters under foot. A buket of water fell on GRIMES and the term end in a series of wizard rags and japes. Cars arive, driven by parents with drawn, white faces. The rolls for grabber, a bentley for peason and a cranky old grid for fotherington-tomas. For the rest it is the old skool bus for the station.

  ‘Six quid,’ hiss the driver to GRIMES, ‘and i’ll put the lot over a cliff.’

  ‘And deprive me of my living?’

  ‘You hav yore jellied eels and the whelk stall in the new cross road, not to mention other enterprises.’

  ‘Begone, tempter!’

  With a roar the skool bus drive off. Goodby, sir, goodby, skool, goodby, matronne, goodby, skool dog ect. No more lat. no more french. Wave wave and we are free.

  Cheers for home and the maison molesworth! All are pleased to see us, dogs charge, cats miaouw and parot whistle poly wolly doodle. Wipe mud on carpet, change clothes, eat super cream buns and relax. So far only 62 people hav said we are taller, 96 that we are like mum, 107 that we are like pater and all hav asked if we had a good term. It is the same old story. Soon we are lying back in pater’s chair, eating bullseyes.

  ‘Wot is on the t.v. we hav nothing to do,’ we sa.

  ‘Nothing,’ sa the parot, ‘the programmes are lousy’ he is browned off becos since we hav a t.v. he hav not been able to get a word in edgeways.

  Mum seme to hav run out of conversation.

  ‘Tell us about skool,’ she sa, at last.

  ‘Skool? The masters are all teddy boys and would slit you with a broken botle for 2 pins. The food is uneatable and conditions are vile.’

  ‘You poor darlings!’

  ‘It is horible,’ blub molesworth 2.

  ‘My poor little lambs ect’ hem-hem rather embarassing mum look as if she will burst into tears, good old mum. All mums are the same and luv there wee ones somebody hav got to, after all. I send her for my mail and litely thumb over the leters i.e. 16 football pools, 1 bill from the bookmaker, a badge from the golly club, an invitation to a dance chiz and HO! wot is this, eh?

  SKOOL! DISMISS! With one mad yell the mob surge away down the passage

  Dere frend,

  Welcome! in sending for details of the Goliath, the Strong Man course you are opening a new life. If you are a pigmy i can make a giant of you with bulging mussles and HERCULEAN strength in 6 weeks. Write at once with P.O. for 2/6.

  (signed) G. Goliath.

  Gosh! This is something! A new future open up by the time we return to skool i can hav giant strength. How wizard that will be next term.

  Scene: big skool at st. custard’s. Goliath molesworth is unpacking his tuck box.

  PEASON: Hullo, o weedy wet, you hav a face like a squished tomato.

  MOLESWORTH: (thinks) Poorfule, he do not kno

  (enter sigismund the mad maths master)

  SIGISMUND: Come on get cracking no talking no smoking, no entrance you are in my clutches agane.

  (He striketh peason.)

  MOLESWORTH: Stop! Enuff!

  (sigismund aim a wicked blow with the protractors, molesworth catch them, bust them, brake an iron bar with his teeth, lift a statue of j. caesar, leap 82 feet, beat his chest, crunch a skool cake, do 2 back somersaults and aim a rabit punch at sigismund.)

  MOLESWORTH: Take that.

  SIGISMUND: Wow!

  MOLESWORTH: And that and that and that and that –

  SIGISMUND: Do not repeat yoreself.

  (M. toss him over his shoulder and the bout is over. Sigismund is down for the count the crowd roars.)

  At this point the dreme is interrupted.

  ‘Would you like another cake, nigel?’

  ‘No, thanks, mum. I hav some correspondence.’

  ‘To whom are you writing?’

  ‘Just to the golly club, mum. Just to the golly club.’

  i write to the golly club thanking them for their good wishes. Also to Goliath for the strong man course. We shall see.

  And so the hols proceed. I quarrel with molesworth 2 and he do not seme to see my point of view. Let him wate. Ocasionally there are treats e.g. gran come to see us in her 90 m.p.h. sports car and zoom about the roads which is more dangerous than the skool bus. Boys come in to pla and depart in tears. The parot see sooty on the t.v. and sa a rude word. He want to get an audition and kepe saing “Cock-a-doodle-doo” and swank he is a cock he will not get to first base. Then come the FELL DAY i.e.

  CURSES! me dancing with gurlies? gosh, i ring the bell for mater and issue stern protest but in vane. It will be good for me to go, she sa. Also gloria and hyacinth are such nice little gurls and i must learn to dance early before it is too late chiz chiz chiz.

  Another weedy party and lots of weedy little gurls with pig tales and also some joly big ones, a nice lady come up with a knuckle duster and ask me to dance with tough baby called honoria. Cornered, i bow, take gurl by my gloved hand and draw her litely on the floor. After a few turns she speke shyly:

  ‘This is a waltz, you big lout. You hav kicked me 5 times.’

  ‘And, fare made, i will kick thee agane.’

  ‘Sez you? I will do you if you do.’

  ‘I shall do thee first, see if i do not.’

  And so to the lite strains the young couples in the first flush of their youth whirl round and round to the strains of the craked gramophone. Wot young hopes and ideals are confined in these innocent breasts, wot – SPLOSH! Wot can that be? It is hyacinth who hav thrown a jelly at gloria she hav been sipping mater’s gin. Gloria respond with the trifle cheers cheers cheers. ‘Go it, gloria,’ shout honoria, ‘tear out her hare’ and molesworth 2 zoom by dive bombing with eclares. A wizard confusion ranes.

  ‘Did you enjoy the party, nigel?’ sa mum when we get home.

  ‘Oh yes,’ i reply, tired but hapy. ‘Altho next time you mite send us to the moulin rouge or an apache’s dance hall.’

  The weeks and days pass on winged feet. Soon we shall hav to think of getting our things together for the new term. Ah-me! All those pants and vests and shirts got out for another tour of duty. The happy relationship between me and molesworth 2 hav broken up in cries of ‘Shall’, ‘Shan’t’. ‘You are.’ ‘You aren’t’ ect.

  ‘Wot did you sa about the masters at yore skool, nigel?’ ask mum. ‘The ones who are teddy boys?’

  ‘They would rip you with a botle for 2 pins, mater.’

  ‘So would i,’ she sa. ‘So would i.’

  As for Goliath i never hear from him agane. The golly club thank me for my contribution to party funds. They hav made me a golly Captain now. i must hav put the P.O. in the wrong envelope. I would rather be Goliath than a Golly Captain any day but that is life.

  HEE-HEE FOR TEE-VEE

  Gosh super! we hav something to contend with which no other generation hav ever had before i.e. the television cheers cheers cheers. Everbody kno wot a t.v. is it is a square box with a screen. You switch on and o hapen, then just when you hav given up hope and are going off to buzz conkers a great booming voice sa, ‘That’s an interesting point, postlethwaite. Wot does higginbottom feel ? Higginbottom ? ect ect.’ It may be an interesting point but i could not care less and just go away agane when a ghastley face suddenly appere. It is worse than a squished tomato but it hold me in hypnotic trance and it is the same with molesworth 2, tho he always look dopey like that. We sit and watch more and more ghastley faces with our mouths open and even forget to chew the buble gum we are slaves of the machine.

  Of course all boys and gurls hav to go through a time when there is no t.v. xcept at the postman’s down the road. Yore mater and pater then sa weedy things.

  i will not hav one in the house.

  the programmes are simply terible, my dear.

&nb
sp; it is bad for children.

  it destroy the simple pursuits of leisure.

  Hem-hem if they only knew what the simple pursuits of leisure were like potting stones at vilage oiks or teaching parot rude words they would not hesitate for a moment. Anyway they get one in the end and sa ‘Children can only look for 1 hour at suitable programmes’ then they forget all about it until we are halfway through ‘1984’ and molesworth 2 sa ‘if that is the best a rat can do i do not think much of it.’ ‘The rat,’ i sa, ‘is exactly like thou, o clot-faced wet.’ Then mater become aware of our presence and hury the dreamy-eyed little felows up wood hill to blanket fair, as dear nana sa.

  A ghastley face suddenly appere

  When you setle down to it this is wot hapens in your dulce domum (lat.)

  Scene: A darkened room with glowing fire. Mum, Nana, me and molesworth 2 are goggling at the screen. So are the cats, dogs, rats, mice and various bugs about the place.

  T.V. Are you a clump-press minder? (Grate cheers)

  MATER: I thort he was an aero-dynamicist or a moulding-clamp turner. . . . . . I really think. . . . .

  ALL: Sshh!

  (Enter pater, tired from the office.)

  PATER: Are you looking at that friteful thing agane? Programmes are terible. Nothing to look at.

  (With a roar and a ratle he put coal on the fire).

  ALL: Sshh!

  (Pater setle down, molesworth 2 aim his gat at very fat gentleman in specs. It is the same gun with which he shot mufin the mule, mcdonald hobley, a ping-pong champion, three midgets, a great-crested grebe, a persian student and lady Boyle and a budgerigar.)