• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

The name stayed in my head after the bell went. When the afternoon register was called, I said 'here, Ghastly' instead of 'here, Mr Grange'. Calamitous mistake! Form 4G laughed in the fakey way children do when they're mocking rather than amused. Mr Grange – ghastly Mr Ghastly – gave me Lines.

I have to write 'I will show respect at all times for the teachers of Coal Hill Secondary Modern School' a hundred and fifty times.

I'm writing this to put off doing the lines.

I had better get on with it.

Later –

Grandfather looked in while I was doing the Lines.

He saw the half-covered paper and harrumphed.

'Can't see the point of that homework, Susan,' he said. 'Surely they don't use by-rote subliminal commands to enforce mental discipline in this day and age? It's brainwashing, that's what it is. And very dangerous. Your mind is like a fine watch. It shouldn't have sand poured into it.'

I told him it wasn't homework, but punishment.

'Ah, that's different. Carry on, convict.'

Grandfather never stands up for me. He has no idea what it's like in School. He said he'd go to the parents' evening last month, but forgot.

That's a black mark against me. He forgets a lot of things.

He's in a completely different world. I really mean that.

I don't forget things, but sometimes I can't remember.

There are white gaps in my head. When my train of thought leads into one of the fog-patches, pain flares up behind my forehead as if I'd eaten ice cream too fast. If my mind is a library, there's a roped off grown-up section where I can't go. I know day-to-day things like when we need to get a pinta from the shops or that I should take plimsolls in on Tuesday and Thursday for P.E., but beyond that the fog gets thicker.

Some questions are dangerous to ask. Even of yourself.

Like 'where do we come from'?

A burst of pain behind my eyes stopped me from thinking dangerously, and I got back to the Lines. When my mind strayed momentarily, I lost count. In the end, I did a hundred and fifty-three lines. I scissored the extras off the last sheet of paper. Ghastly is so ghastly he'd probably add extra punishment for exceeding orders. The point of Lines is to instil mindless obedience. You're not supposed to ask questions.

'And how did Constantinople get the works?

That's nobody's business but the Turks!'

Last week, Gillian slammed her desktop up and down in a rage and it came off at the hinges. Ghastly gave her the Strap, three times across the palm of the hand in front of the whole class. It didn't matter that she was ill-treating the desk because she was angry with F.M. for jabbing her b*m with his protractor. She was taking it out on something she couldn't hurt because she was really, sincerely trying not to get in any more trouble for fighting. As it turned out, she should have given F.M. a black eye – she'd have had the satisfaction of getting the protractor-stabber back and she'd have been punished less severely. According to the rules, attacking School Property is worse than anything you do to another pupil. When F.M. thumped Little Titch Critchley and broke his glasses, he only got Lines.

I can't write any more. My hand is wrung out.

I will show respect at all times for the teachers of Coal Hill Secondary Modem School.

I will show respect. I will hide my True Feelings.

Thursday, March 28th, 1963

Morning Assembly. Hymns murdered by the whole School to the piano poundings of Mrs Bellwether, the Music Teacher: 'He Who Would Valiant Be', which is about being a Pilgrim (and Means Something Secret to me), and 'There Is a Green Hill Far Away, Without a City Wall', which is about Easter, which is coming up fast (in this context, 'without' means 'outside'). A Bible reading from Leslie Culver, a Year Five R.E. swot who stammers. Cold weather additions to the School Rules from the Headmaster, Basil James Carker (M.A., Oxon). No running, no snowballs, no skating, no whistling. No exceptions and no complaining.

'Jawohl, mein Führer,' mumbled