Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 770 by Angharad

I spent a good hour working the dough for the bread rolls, and by the end of it, my temper had eased. I couldn’t do anything until Sister Maria had spoken to all concerned. I had confidence in her to do her best, but I was also concerned the Mrs B-C would be less than helpful.

I spent the rest of the day doing housework or amusing Mima. I’d forgotten to organise her nursery place, another thing that would require speaking with Sister Maria. I was obviously losing the plot somewhere along the line – I mean how can anyone forget to organise one’s daughter’s nursery place?

I called the school and spoke with the secretary. She could do the organising for me, but she felt I ought to read the guide to the school’s fees etcetera. How do you explain that money shouldn’t be a problem as the family owns a bank? I didn’t, I accepted that she would leave a pack for me for when I came to collect the girls in the afternoon. I thanked her, at least the registration system had been started.

I explained what I’d done to Stella at lunch time, she said she was putting Puddin’ down for Eton and The Guards. “Stella, I think she might have problems with the physical, especially for the Guards,”– usually, that meant the Coldstream or Grenadier Guards, although there was also the Scots, Welsh and Irish to choose from.

I somehow couldn’t see Puddin’ marching up and down outside Buckingham Palace wearing a red tunic and bearskin – the busby or headdress of the guards’ uniform. Still, who knows where equality and emancipation will take the next generation of women, probably beyond mine.

Then again, as a previous transsexual woman, I might be expected to have hang ups about doing masculine things, such as joining the military, fighting, playing football and farting. Yet I know that in recent years more and more women have been doing all of those except perhaps the flatulence.

I fiddle with bikes and ride them, and if I’m correct could actually race them as a woman, being post op and taking hormones for a couple of years. Whether my body produces more testosterone than a normal female, I have no idea and I’m not sure I want to know. I know that I probably have a slightly larger heart and lungs but given my lack of muscle – it might be irrelevant in any case.

I suppose the truth is stereotyping roles is anachronistic, there are house husbands, male midwives and health visitors, in the same way we have women fighter pilots and boxers. I was horrified to hear that women’s boxing will be an exhibition event at the London Olympics – call me old fashioned, but the idea of two grown men knocking seven bells out of each other is distasteful – so to have two women doing it beggars belief. Yeah, okay, I’m old fashioned but I think violence is rather primitive – but then so are humans.

I heard today of a little girl who jumped off a road bridge because other girls were bullying her, to her face and via various networking sites. She ended her life because it seems she couldn’t cope with it. It strikes me as dreadful that other children can do such a thing and will probably then declare it was nothing to do with them. I hope they’re happy now and this stain remains with them for the rest of their lives.

It makes me even more determined to stop the bullying of Trish or any of my children – it would also make me just as determined to stop my kids being the bullies. Bullying is unacceptable to me in any shape or form.

Finally, just as my nerves were fraying, it was time to go and get the girls. I arrived expecting to have to avoid broadsides from Mrs B-C, but the Range Rover wasn’t there, nor did I see Petunia come out of school. When my two emerged, they told me the headmistress wanted to see me. We went along to her office and knocked. On hearing a call of, “Enter”, I did so.

“Ah, Lady Cameron, do come in. Girls, could you go and read a book for a few minutes while I talk with your mummy?” They both nodded and disappeared. “I’ve spoken with Petunia’s mother who claims that your girls have been picking on her. However, I have no substantiation for any of her claims – which is the opposite for Trish, there are loads of witnesses.”

“Have you asked Trish about it? She’s pretty honest, especially if you load the question first.”

“Oh yes, and I’m well aware of manipulating children, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be much of a teacher, would I? Although I prefer to empower than manipulate them.”

“So what did Trish say?”

“She hasn’t bullied anyone, Petunia and one or two of her friends have, and she gave me the names of some other children who have also been on the receiving end of bullying by Petunia’s coterie. Much of what Trish said has been verified. Now I’m aware that this could be a setup, Trish is very clever – certainly, far brighter than Petunia will ever be – although I read somewhere that transgendered children often are brighter than average – I don’t think it is. I’ve spoken with several parents of the children involved and they wondered if their girls were being bullied. So I’m fairly convinced Petunia is involved in disapproved activities.”

“Don’t you mean criminal activities?” I asked, upping the ante.

“I believe children have to be at least ten to recognise criminal behaviour.”

“Okay, but surely her mother is old enough?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I was sure that the girls were acting without their mother’s knowledge, I couldn’t believe that any mother would let their girl bully another if they became aware of it. Until you told me that she accused Trish of such behaviour, I wouldn’t have thought Petunia’s parents knew – now I’m not so sure.”

“I don’t understand what this is all about, Lady Cameron. Why have you two mothers got such a downer on each other?”

“Hang on Sister Maria, I don’t have a downer on anyone. The woman upset me the first time I brought the kids in. She was quarrelsome for no reason. I admit I didn’t like her manner, but I didn’t retaliate until she became insufferable.”

“So it was you who let her tyres down?”

“I suspect it was someone who was fed up with her poor parking and selfish attitude.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, I am rather unimpressed by it.”

“I thought it was very funny, if a little juvenile.” I took this as a partial rebuke.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked changing the subject.

“Petunia has been withdrawn from the school for a couple of days at the behest of her mother.”

“Which achieves what, exactly?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the child excluded because that just means she takes her attitude somewhere else. I wanted her taught to change her behaviour.

“If the problem ceases, we’ll have more evidence to ask for an exclusion.”

“That’s poor scientific methodology.”

“Is it, how?”

“If you believe A and B are interrelated, and you take away A and observe B stops, then it could be coincidence, it could be because of C you didn’t know anything about, so you need to do more experimentation. You’d need to reinstate A and see if B starts up again, if it does then there is more of a proven relationship. If you remove or change B and A is the same, you could still be mistaken and so on.”

“No wonder you don’t believe in God, is this what you do at the university?”

“Sort of, when I’m not counting dormice or propagandising agnosticism.” She smiled at my joke.

“So how do I prove Petunia is the cause of the problem?”

“Indirect observation.”

“I can’t install cameras, that raises all sorts of problems.”

“You don’t need to. Direct observation is where the subject knows they are being observed; indirect is where they don’t. It just means you watch surreptitiously or less obviously.”

“It has a potential for being wrongly interpreted.”

“So does everything we do, especially with children. Look, I don’t want the girl to be kicked out, I want her to mend her ways but I suspect that means her mother has to first.”

“You obviously believe in miracles despite your agnosticism?”

“No, I believe in the power of education and persuasion.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“That isn’t an option, it has to.”

“But I suspect you have a fallback position?”

“Of course, but I’d prefer not to discuss that now. Tell the mother that her daughter has been bullying and it isn’t allowed and if it doesn’t stop there will be consequences.”

“Isn’t that threatening?”

“No, it’s pointing out cause and effect reasoning – very simplistic but effective. I have to go, the girls will be worrying, and I have another child to look after, too.”

“Oh, there’s a package for you on the desk.” She indicated a large envelope.

“Thank you.”

“So are you going to send number three here, as well?”

“That was the plan, I might have to reconsider now.”

“That’s your prerogative.”

“Yes, I know, although I see it as my responsibility rather than prerogative.” We shook hands and I left to find my two, expecting them to be on tenterhooks – they were both sitting with their noses in a book and hardly heard me approach them, and grumbled when I made them come home. So much for knowing my own children.