behind.
“That’s good Dad. But I
actually quite like the candlelight,” Ben lied, trying to put on a
brave face. His father patted him on the back.
That night his parents stayed
up very late unpacking in the candlelight, while Ben sat in his new
bedroom, wrapped in his own thoughts, with Paddy dosing on his lap,
and Toby sleeping next to them on a makeshift bed of boxes and what
his mother had managed to find of the bedding. Toby would have
happily slept inside a box that first night, surrounded in a nest
of neatly packed towels and sheets, Ben mused, with a smile.
Unwilling to make a start on his unpacking, he lay down, and
finally drifted off.
The next morning was a rush.
Ben’s parents had fallen asleep underneath an old photo album they
had uncovered, and had slept through several alarms. The tour of
Ben’s new school was scheduled to begin at 9am sharp, and Ben’s
parents did not want to be tardy and upset Ms Villeneuve, the
school headmistress. There was a whirlwind of bread and peanut
butter for breakfast, and Toby and Paddy were hastily handed over
to Ben’s Auntie Maggie to look after, before Ben and his parents
jumped into their rusty VW Polo and raced over the speed bumps
towards the school.
As soon as they had found a
parking spot in the school car park, Ben and his parents joined a
small group of other parents and children lined up in a neat row
before the steps to the main school building, waiting for Ms
Villeneuve, who was to escort them on the tour herself. The main
building was an enormous old structure three times the size of
Ben’s primary school, and he imagined that it and the other
buildings in the grounds could probably hold thousands of children
like him, in classes of hundreds, sitting at rows and rows of old
wooden desks like little learning machines, in front of scary white
haired men who probably still dressed like the teachers used to a
hundred years ago and taught them nothing but ancient Latin. This
was not going to be a fun place to go to school, he decided, as he
looked around. Still, he did his best to look enthusiastic as his
parents grinned at him excitedly.
He glanced up at the clock
tower that rose above the left side of the main building. The tower
had been one of the most ancient parts of the school, his parents
had said after they had done the first school tour a few months
ago, and it looked like it was leaning dangerously to one side,
ready to collapse on top of some unfortunate students at any
minute. To the right of the clock tower above what looked like the
main doors, there were the remains of a crest containing a book and
some kind of winged animal, and below them something written in a
language Ben didn’t understand.
There were several large stone
arched windows along the front of the building, with odd diamond
shaped pieces of glass that shimmered in the morning sun like the
scales of an enormous snake that had squeezed its way inside to lie
in wait for them. Around the top just before the roof began there
perched the ruins of a row of gargoyles, which were probably more
likely to squash anyone walking below who had managed to get past
the treacherous clock tower than scare off any evil spirits in
their crumbling condition, Ben thought.
On the sharply pointed
slate-tiled rooftop directly above the main doors he caught sight
of a man painting one of the chimneys, while sitting very
precariously on the pinnacle of the roof. For a moment the man
paused to look down at the tour group, and Ben wondered how on
earth he had got up there, with no scaffolding or ladders in sight,
and nowhere near a window. Then the man turned his attention back
to the painting, and Ben turned his attention to the other families
joining the Silverstones on the tour.
There were now three other
families in the tour with them. The first was dressed so
immaculately it appeared as though their clothes had been sewed and
ironed while they stood there. They must have arrived first, and
were
“That’s good Dad. But I
actually quite like the candlelight,” Ben lied, trying to put on a
brave face. His father patted him on the back.
That night his parents stayed
up very late unpacking in the candlelight, while Ben sat in his new
bedroom, wrapped in his own thoughts, with Paddy dosing on his lap,
and Toby sleeping next to them on a makeshift bed of boxes and what
his mother had managed to find of the bedding. Toby would have
happily slept inside a box that first night, surrounded in a nest
of neatly packed towels and sheets, Ben mused, with a smile.
Unwilling to make a start on his unpacking, he lay down, and
finally drifted off.
The next morning was a rush.
Ben’s parents had fallen asleep underneath an old photo album they
had uncovered, and had slept through several alarms. The tour of
Ben’s new school was scheduled to begin at 9am sharp, and Ben’s
parents did not want to be tardy and upset Ms Villeneuve, the
school headmistress. There was a whirlwind of bread and peanut
butter for breakfast, and Toby and Paddy were hastily handed over
to Ben’s Auntie Maggie to look after, before Ben and his parents
jumped into their rusty VW Polo and raced over the speed bumps
towards the school.
As soon as they had found a
parking spot in the school car park, Ben and his parents joined a
small group of other parents and children lined up in a neat row
before the steps to the main school building, waiting for Ms
Villeneuve, who was to escort them on the tour herself. The main
building was an enormous old structure three times the size of
Ben’s primary school, and he imagined that it and the other
buildings in the grounds could probably hold thousands of children
like him, in classes of hundreds, sitting at rows and rows of old
wooden desks like little learning machines, in front of scary white
haired men who probably still dressed like the teachers used to a
hundred years ago and taught them nothing but ancient Latin. This
was not going to be a fun place to go to school, he decided, as he
looked around. Still, he did his best to look enthusiastic as his
parents grinned at him excitedly.
He glanced up at the clock
tower that rose above the left side of the main building. The tower
had been one of the most ancient parts of the school, his parents
had said after they had done the first school tour a few months
ago, and it looked like it was leaning dangerously to one side,
ready to collapse on top of some unfortunate students at any
minute. To the right of the clock tower above what looked like the
main doors, there were the remains of a crest containing a book and
some kind of winged animal, and below them something written in a
language Ben didn’t understand.
There were several large stone
arched windows along the front of the building, with odd diamond
shaped pieces of glass that shimmered in the morning sun like the
scales of an enormous snake that had squeezed its way inside to lie
in wait for them. Around the top just before the roof began there
perched the ruins of a row of gargoyles, which were probably more
likely to squash anyone walking below who had managed to get past
the treacherous clock tower than scare off any evil spirits in
their crumbling condition, Ben thought.
On the sharply pointed
slate-tiled rooftop directly above the main doors he caught sight
of a man painting one of the chimneys, while sitting very
precariously on the pinnacle of the roof. For a moment the man
paused to look down at the tour group, and Ben wondered how on
earth he had got up there, with no scaffolding or ladders in sight,
and nowhere near a window. Then the man turned his attention back
to the painting, and Ben turned his attention to the other families
joining the Silverstones on the tour.
There were now three other
families in the tour with them. The first was dressed so
immaculately it appeared as though their clothes had been sewed and
ironed while they stood there. They must have arrived first, and
were
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