Comp. 3467 invited you to submit a passage in the style of a classic school story to mark the start of the new term – as in autumn but also Burnham’s. Anyway there were some fun results. David Harris found Billy Bunter un-recognisable after a summer on the jabs, while northern studies and vibe coding were on the timetable for Richard Warren’s girl pupils. There were many other good entries besides but the vouchers go to those below.
The Remove awaited Mr Quelch, expecting another term of Caesar’s Commentaries.
But it was not Mr Quelch who entered the classroom. It was William George Bunter, beaming broadly, leading in a willowy, benevolent-looking lady.
‘I say you fellows, Quelchy isn’t coming this term. Instead we’ve got Professor Cremin. She’s a professor at Cambridge, so she’s jolly important. She says I’m important too, because I’m differently abled.’
‘Call me Hilary,’ beamed Professor Cremin. ‘Let’s do things differently today, class. No more Latin. Instead, let’s re-wild ourselves. I’ll read some of my poems, and then I’ll ask Hurree there to share with us some ofthe prejudice I’m sure he’s endured.’
The dusky nabob of Bhanipur looked puzzled.
‘But first, I’ve asked William to share with us his feelings about cake, through the medium of expressive dance.’ Bunter danced.
‘The expressiveness is terrific,’ muttered Hurree Ram-set Jam Singh, dumbfounded.
George Simmers
Susan looked at her timetable in dismay. Double Decolonised Geography, White Fragility Studies followed by Compulsory Exercises in Self-Flagellation. Whatever happened to Lacrosse? Angela was also dreadfully upset. ‘That non-binary fathead George is new Head Person. It was supposed to be me.’
‘What rotten luck,’ said Susan. June was awfully bucked though. She’d returned from the school hols as a feline furry and was now teacher’s pet, allowed to drink cream from a saucer during prep. Then Violet, who’d been accused of a micro-aggression, smugly announced that she was doing splendidly in her struggle sessions. Susan link-ed arms with Angela.
‘Chin up, we’ve got Sex Education tonight.’
This was studied after lights out in the mixed-gender dorms. Susan and Julian already had an A in Asphyxiation. Angela scowled. ‘But I’m still stuck with that queer little creature, Stubby.’
‘Never mind,’ said Susan, ‘perhaps next term you’ll get good old Dick.’
Sue Pickard
‘Golly,’ said Lavinia Twyfield-Jones, shining with importance as she entered the train carriage. ‘A new term at St Winifred’s! I can’t wait to start prefect duty.’
‘It will be spiffing,’ agreed her best friend Audrey. ‘Even if there have been teacher strikes, long-term pandemic effects and chronic underfunding. And Clarissa Carstairs got an Asbo for playing pranks on the French mistress.’
‘I’m sure everything will be fixed by a midnight feast,’ said Lavinia stoutly.
‘They’ve been banned for health reasons,’ Audrey warned. ‘It’s on the parents’ WhatsApp.’
‘We shall raise money for the school with a play and a fete,’ Lavinia decided. ‘How much is needed?’
‘About fifty million pounds,’ said Audrey.
‘Oh crumbs,’ said Lavinia. ‘Even Daddy hasn’t that much. At least I have a lovely tin of peaches in my tuck box.’
‘I have sushi, brie and smoked salmon,’ said Audrey.
Lavinia considered sending her friend to Coventry.
Janine Beacham
‘As is our invariable custom here at Linbury Court,’ intoned the Headmaster, ‘we begin term with an amnesty. Errare Humanum Est. I will turn my back and you boys will kindly deposit the peashooters, catapults, spud guns and other paraphernalia that you have misguidedly imported from home…’
It was a miserable haul. It always was nowadays. But Mr Pemberton-Oakes had had an informative summer hols. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘we will repeat the process for Bluetooth earpieces, AI-enabled spectacles, fountain-pen digital scanners and associated devices. Mr Topliss has already dispatched the drone hovering outside Matron’s window, with a fowling piece.’
‘Ozard squared,’ groaned Jennings. ‘How can I survive Treble Citizenship with old Wilkinson with no smart watch? One prang and it’ll be a whacking.’
‘They’ve moved the cane,’ whispered Darbishire reassuringly: ‘It’s a lifestyle choice hobby now, on Thursday afternoons. With Miss Slammer, the new rugger mistress?’
‘Wizard!’ said Jennings.
Nick Syrett
‘Jack us a couple euros for dollops,’ cried Tanko, ever on the scrounge for tuck shop money. It was the first term for Cordwainers’ School at its new home on the outskirts of Dublin, whither it had fled to avoid charging VAT. Already terms like culchie and langer were creeping into school parlance. Perky frowned. He was planning an escape tunnel from the old grotto on Small Side, to emerge in MacFhlannagáin Street, where the Luas tram could take them into the city for a night’s craic. He didn’t need the attention. He did need the money for tools. ‘Bag it, Tanko’ he replied.
‘Is that soil under your princes?*’ enquired the malicious Tanko.
‘You always were a miserable dreb. Here’s €5 and it’ll be a buttering for Tanko if he blabs to the dons.’
A buzzer summoned them to Banquets.
*Author’s note: Prince of Wales = nails.
Frank Upton
Back to skool! pearson still look like a squashed tomato, the new bugs are lying on the floor holding there tedy bears and waiting for us to walk on them. They kno there place. Fotherington-Tomas, hello flowers, hello clouds, premoted to head boy chiz and double chiz.
Cheers! Hurrah! Whizz-o! Mr GRIMES hav decided to withdraw his contribushun to the improvement of our innercent young minds. New head beak Mr Burn’em (Cantab. Eng) is giving us cheep tickets on the skool bus cheers but he mite move the skool to Manchester, so the maters and paters will hav to travel further to visit there little darlings chiz for them.
New beak Ms Rainer is bilding sum new classrooms, but Mr Heely hav got his eye on our pockit money chiz. Meanwhile sundry beaks entertane us with Lat. Fr. Science and other instruments of tourture. Welcum back to st custards!
Sylvia Fairley
No. 3470: Jolie laide
You are invited to submit a very pretty lyric poem about something ugly or unpleasant (16 lines maximum). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by 30 September.
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