Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [26]
On the first day back, they were studying light waves in Mr Marshall’s Science class. The teacher pointed to Ernest Roberts, who was sitting next to Johnny.
‘Roberts. Take off your glasses.’
‘But I won’t be able to see the blackboard then, sir.’
‘That’s the point, Roberts.’
Ernest took off his specs, and the teacher threw a square of cardboard in his direction. Without his glasses he couldn’t catch it, and it dropped to the floor. Johnny picked it up.
‘Well, Swanson. Tell us what that is.’
Johnny was bemused. ‘It’s just a piece of cardboard, sir.’
‘Look carefully. Do you notice anything special about it?’
Johnny examined it closely. ‘It’s cut from a packet of hair restorer, sir.’ He read out the label. ‘Vivatone Radio Active Hair Restorer. Grey banished. No dyes. No stains.’
Everybody laughed.
‘The other side, Swanson. Look at the other side.’
‘It’s just plain, sir. But there is a little hole in the middle.’
‘Exactly, Swanson. A hole. What we call a pinhole. And why do you think it’s called that?’
‘Because you made it with a pin?’ shouted Albert Taylor.
‘Well done, Taylor. I made it with a pin. Now, Roberts. Look through that pinhole and tell me what you can see.’
Ernest Roberts shut one eye and looked through the pinhole with the other.
‘I can see you, sir. Perfectly clearly.’ He read the heading off the blackboard: ‘Optics. It’s magic, sir.’
‘No, Roberts, it’s not magic,’ said Mr Marshall. ‘It’s science,’ and he drew a diagram on the board to show how the pinhole concentrated the light waves so that they hit Roberts’s retina at just the right spot.
‘Cheaper than a pair of glasses, eh, Roberts?’ he said. ‘Someone should put it on the market. Talk about money for old rope.’
Johnny was already devising a new advert in his head: The Secret of Instant Sight. There was plenty of old cardboard in the shop. He knew Hutch would let him have it for nothing.
And the remark about ‘money for old rope’ wasn’t lost on Johnny either. He found some twine in the graveyard. He cut it up into short lengths and tied them into bracelets, to be worn on painful wrists and ankles. The potato-vest man bought one, and wrote again, convinced that his arthritic joints were much relieved.
Despite being back at school, Johnny couldn’t stop himself. He saw financial opportunities everywhere. Reynolds’s News had a popular feature:
MAUD DAWSON’S LOVE ANSWERS
Is your burden too hard to bear? Let me share it!
The answers to the questions seemed like downright twaddle to Johnny. He was sure he could do better than Maud Dawson, and charge people for his advice. He put an advert in the Saturday Post (calling himself Ada Ardour), offering advice on anything, in return for a shilling and a stamped addressed envelope. He was overwhelmed with requests for help. Some of the letters were several pages long, and went into embarrassing detail about love affairs. This was typical, if less explicit than most:
Dear Miss Ardour,
I am engaged to be married next year. My fiancé says he loves me, but he is insisting that I must give up cycling when we are married, and he says we cannot have any pets, though I love dogs and cats. We argue about all these matters. Should I give in? I worry that if we continue in this way he may cease to consider me sweet natured, and that we may be getting into a habit of dispute which will continue after the wedding.
Yours in desperation,
Anxious of Ambleside
Johnny had no doubt that Maud Dawson would advise ‘Anxious of Ambleside’ to be dutiful and to yield to her fiancé’s demands. He took a different view, and wrote back:
Dear Anxious of Ambleside,
This man does not sound very kind. Leave him, keep your bike, and get a dog. This may cause you embarrassment now, but you will thank me in years to come.
Confidentially yours,
Ada Ardour
He was pleased with his reply, and let his mind play with the scene in Ambleside as