Coincidence: A Novel by J. W. Ironmonger

Afternoon Prayers, so perhaps it didn’t matter. Luke read poetry to the children, and every morning he would tell them a tale from Aesop’s fables. ‘Today we will hear the story,’ he would say, ‘of the lion and the jackal and the donkey. All three agreed to go hunting together, and all three agreed to share the kill.’ All voices would hush and all eyes would turn to the teacher. Later they would learn more English words, and Luke would draw the pictures and write the words on the blackboard so that the children could chant them – lion – elephant – snake – bicycle – gun – fish – pencil – banana, and then the children would write down the words and there would be a lot more chanting, for Luke Folley never taught in silence except when he was telling a story.
    â€˜Can’t you teach more quietly?’ Rebecca Folley would complain. ‘How can you expect my class to learn anything with all that singing and wailing going on in the next room?’
    But Luke only knew one way to teach, and this was it, a successful enough formula for him. Six-year-old Acholi children – or children of about that age – would arrive at the start of term, often with no uniform, no shoes, no pencils, no understanding of English, no appreciation, even, of why they were there at all. Luke would apprehend the parents to explain the rules. Attendance at St Paul’s was free of charge, but certain conditions applied: the parents would need to make a solemn oath that once their children started at the school, they would continue until at least their thirteenth birthday; they would not miss classes except for a family funeral; they would wear a uniform, and they would uphold the reputation of the mission at all times. The family would be expected to make a contribution to the mission: whatever they could afford, that would be enough. The contribution could be in the form of money, or it could be produce from the family farm, or it could be hours spent working in the mission fields. Either way, Luke told them, they had to understand the value of education for the children, and what better way to appreciate value than to contribute something. Luke would base his decision on what that contribution should be on his own assessment of each family’s ability to pay. But given that most of these children were from the poorest families in a region that was already poor, and some lived not with parents but with the brothers or sisters of parents who had died, there was little expectation that the contribution would make any real difference to the mission coffers.
    There was, of course, a final condition, which would normally be that the family attend the mission’s Sunday service, but Luke was never particularly vigilant about this requirement. Pastor David would complain that mothers in Langadi were sending their urchins to the school yet were not attending the church, and Luke would hold his palms upwards, feigning despair – What can we do?
    The six-year-olds who started in Mr Luke’s class normally demonstrated an aptitude for learning that might have surprised an outsider. Language skills came quickly to them. Numbers seemed to come even quicker. Perhaps in the environment these children occupied, the ability to count and calculate was an essential survival skill.
    Rebecca Folley’s class of older children was an altogether quieter regime. Rebecca herself was no singer, and the requirement for chanting no longer applied to children who by now knew their numbers and their letters. Rebecca taught an eclectic mix of skills. She had a textbook on Ugandan history, and she taught this to the children because this was a National Requirement, and if ever a government inspector should happen to call, which was rare, it was nonetheless helpful to have the book open on the top desk and a map of Uganda already drawn on the board. Then Rebecca could select a child with