The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2071 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Tom agreed to collect the girls that afternoon, which meant that I could carry on marking until I finished my load–always assuming I didn’t go mad from the experience. It explains why teachers and especially university teachers are sometimes a bit strange. Of course I’m the exception which proves the rule–I was strange from the beginning.

However strange I might have known myself to be, it felt very uncomfortable to be walking across the playground at St Claires again an hour after I’d dropped my brood off. I spoke to the secretary who took me through to Sister Maria’s office

“If you have time, I’d like you to stay for a second short meeting,” she greeted me.

“What sort of meeting?”

“With the parents of the girls who were doing the bullying.”

“How much are you going to tell them?”

“About Cynthia’s situation–absolutely nothing; about yours, everything.”

I gave her a horrified gasp and she tittered.

“See it is possible to shock you,” she chuckled to herself. “I want to tell them about all the work you’ve done raising money for us to be able to offer places to girls from poorer families.”

“I’m not sure how that is going to help the situation.”

“Look, if I go on about them accusing Cynthia of being gay or transgender, it will as good as confirm their suspicions and they’ll do it all the more. If I go on about them picking on her because she’s a scholarship girl, they’ll have more sympathy and possibly stop their children teasing another.”

“So why do I have to stay?”

“Because, having a title implies you’re well off and their social better, so they’ll behave themselves.”

“They’ll do that anyway, won’t they?”

“With me, why? I’m just an employee aren’t I?”

“But one with the power to suspend their darling daughters.”

“Sadly not from a gibbet–oh, hush my mouth,” she said blushing.

“I’d have thought burning at the stake was much more in your tradition, auto da fé and all that.”

“No we had to stop that because the bonfires were increasing the greenhouse effect.”

“Ah, yes of course.”

A knock on the door stopped our silliness and I sat up straighter and adjusted my skirt–yeah, I was wearing a suit and trying to appear sophisticated as behoves an aristocrat’s missus. I did a quick check–phew–I had taken my slippers off and was wearing shoes.

“Do come in,” invited Sister Maria. “This is Lady Cameron who is one of the trustees of our bursary fund.”

In walked two women, presumably Cynthia’s mum and oh no, the old lady from the cafe. “This is Mrs Highsmith, Cynthia’s mum and Mrs Perkins, her grandmother.” We shook hands and all settled down in the chairs arranged about the office. Before we could get started, the secretary arrived with a tray of coffees with sugar and milk and chocolate biscuits.

“I asked Lady Cameron to attend because although she regularly raises money for our bursary fund, she doesn’t often meet the recipients. I thought I’d rectify that, if you don’t mind?”

It appeared they didn’t, well they couldn’t until I’d finished my coffee–as they say, ‘I’ve started, so I’ll finish’.

“Is um, Lady Cameron–um, does she know about our Cindy?”

“Yes, and she has experience of teaching transgender students at the university.”

“Oh, so they take them in university?”

I felt it was my responsibility to deal with that question. “Er yes, we have a strict policy of non-discrimination of minority groups be they ethnic, gender or sexual orientation, or by faith.”

“Oh, that’s good,” smiled Mrs Highsmith, whose name was Brenda.

Her mum was Dorothy, and she gave me a good look, “You seem familiar.”

“Lady Cameron has done several talks here and last year starred in the Macbeth play we put on, she’s also made films for television and appears on telly when they want to know about dormice or other mammals. She’s a leading biologist.”

“And they made you a lady for that?” asked the old lady.

“Uh no, they made me a lady for marrying a viscount.”

“Not the Cameron’s who own the bank?” she said almost in awe.

“Why yes, is that a problem?”

“No, they just sent Brenda a grant towards Cindy’s new school uniform.”

“Our bursary scheme is working,” smiled Sister Maria and I returned her smile, though I had no idea of any of it.

We chatted about Cindy’s situation and much of it was familiar territory although she didn’t have the advantages Trish had had, she didn’t have the disadvantages I’d suffered in that Brenda was trying very hard to understand and support her daughter.

Thankfully it didn’t come out that it was my daughters who’d rescued Cindy. In fact, no mention was made of my interest in the school other than as a trustee. The meeting finished at ten thirty and Cindy appeared briefly to see her mum and gran. I had a quick look at her and she passed unremarkably as a slightly plain, long faced girl with mousy hair. Nothing about her appearance gave her away so it must be the way she conducts herself and I didn’t see her long enough to comment.

The second meeting was very different. The two girls who’d been suspended were a Belinda Symes and Melody Beeching. Their mothers and fathers arrived together and were angry about their children’s suspensions.

“Your girls were suspended because they were bullying another girl. This school has a policy of zero tolerance of bullying.” That shut them up for a moment. So far apart from being introduced, I’d said nothing.

“Belinda said the other girl was making lewd suggestions to her in the changing room.”

“Yes, Melody said the same,” agreed the Beechings.

“I think your children were mistaken, because we have a witness who says they were bullying her because she receives a scholarship–which I expect you’ll agree is unacceptable.”

They all nodded. “Lady Cameron is here in her capacity as a trustee of the bursary scheme which her husband’s bank helps us administer.”

They suddenly realised I was a member of the third most wealthy family in the kingdom and thus a very powerful one. I almost felt their reverence grow, they didn’t quite genuflect, but you get the impression. Pure snob value, which was zero with Cindy’s family, they were just grateful for the help they got and thanked me, this lot of wasters wanted to impress me. Sadly, for them, they failed.

After they left Sister Maria thanked me for my time and help. I’d done nothing except act as a visiting goddess for the second meeting and a fairy godmother for the first. Ah well, it was different.

Back at my pigeon coop at the university, I was soon back to earth as I struggled with the rantings of strange minds we hadn’t so much corrupted as completely passed by. One almost felt it was a poorly researched history paper, not biology, that candidate received twenty marks, seventeen of which were for getting his name right and turning up on time. I doubted he’d be invited back for another wasted year.

Of course the clever ones mentioned my papers on dormice or mammal distribution, though two of those spelled my favourite mammals, doormice. They did scrape a pass but not by much.

The danger of quoting chapter and verse on something not mentioned during a lecture or in the handouts, or even the textbooks, is getting the context correct. Quoting a paper on the distribution of short eared owls because of prey distribution is worthless without mentioning the actual prey species–short tailed voles. The numbers of owls are correlated to the rises and falls of the vole population which runs in a five year cycle. If they’d said that, I’d have given them extra marks–they didn’t, so neither did I.

I crawled home at seven having marked probably fifty exam scripts, thank goodness I’d got a day of rest from them tomorrow.