like. Boys of twelve come in two main categories; tall, half-formed young men, loose limbed, with voices already broken; or they can be children still, little boys with scraped knees, scrubbed innocent faces and high, piping voices.
Cyril at first sight was decidedly in the latter category; not exactly small for his age, but compact and wiry, with the innocent, inquiring face and agile body of the pre-pubescent child. Beneath a mop of fairish hair the wide-spaced grey eyes, alert and inquisitive, sparkled out at the newcomer, assessing her, measuring her up against some inscrutable yardstick of childhood judgement.
He was polite enough, though, shook hands nicely, smiled a neat smile, and did not interrupt while his mother launched into a long — and by now surely familiar? — dissertation on the demerits of a classical education. He spoke only when she at last turned to him with a direct question:
“So why do you want to learn Greek, Cyril? See if you can explain to Mrs Saunders. Because we all know, don’t we, that Science and Maths are —”
“‘The essential qualifications for the new technological age,’” he quoted in a clear childish treble, whose innocent tone very nearly cancelled out the underlying impertinence of the interruption . “Science and Maths are the gateway to tomorrow’s world.” Here he stopped quoting, looked straight at Alice and spoke in his own, slightly less child-like voice: “But you see I don’t specially want to live in tomorrow’s world. I don’t think I’m going to like it. But I do like Greek, especially Plato and Herodotus, and I want to learn to read them properly.”
Chapter 11
“So I’ve got two jobs!” Alice announced that evening as she, Brian and Hetty gathered round the kitchen table for a midnight feast of doughnuts and the remains of a jumbo packet of crisps, washed down by the much-stewed pot of tea with which Hetty had been regaling all comers ever since ten o’clock. “And pretty well paid, too,” Alice continued. “At least one of them is. It’s funny you know, the mother doesn’t really seem to approve of the boy learning Greek at all, and yet she’s quite happy to pay the earth for it.”
“It figures, though, doesn’t it?” Brian suggested. “I’ve had mothers like that too. Having tin ears themselves, they have no idea of what music is for, or why anyone should want to spend time on it, but on the other hand they’re dead scared that their kid might miss out on something, or be traumatised by the sound of the word No — that kind of thing. So what they can’t provide in understanding and intelligent support, they fall over themselves to provide in money. Paying off their own guilt-feelings. Inadequacy-feelings, rather. For lots of people it’s the same thing. Anyway, congratulations, Alice! Long may Mrs Whats-it’s guilt feelings screw her up, and long may Master Whats-it —”
“Cyril, actually,” Alice interposed. “Rather a prissy name, isn’t it, for nowadays, but then they’re rather prissy people, what I’ve seen of them. Anyway, I start this Saturday as ever. Oh, and I’ve got a dear old chap as well, not so much money, of course, but he’s dead keen. He’s coming to me, thank goodness, so if you run into a slightly Worzel Gummidge sort of figure on the stairs on Wednesdays and Saturdays —”
“Which reminds me,” Hetty broke in, “figures on the stairs, I mean. There’s a piece of good news! This fellow, quite a nice-looking fellow actually, well, not too bad, anyway. A bit yellow, perhaps, unless it was the light; that one without a shade, you know at the turn of the landing, puts years on anyone that light does. So maybe he was fairly young, really; on the old side of fairly young, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I’ve always said that an age difference doesn’t really matter all that much, provided there’s common interests … Presentable he was, anyway, quite neat and all that. A bit on the small
Cyril at first sight was decidedly in the latter category; not exactly small for his age, but compact and wiry, with the innocent, inquiring face and agile body of the pre-pubescent child. Beneath a mop of fairish hair the wide-spaced grey eyes, alert and inquisitive, sparkled out at the newcomer, assessing her, measuring her up against some inscrutable yardstick of childhood judgement.
He was polite enough, though, shook hands nicely, smiled a neat smile, and did not interrupt while his mother launched into a long — and by now surely familiar? — dissertation on the demerits of a classical education. He spoke only when she at last turned to him with a direct question:
“So why do you want to learn Greek, Cyril? See if you can explain to Mrs Saunders. Because we all know, don’t we, that Science and Maths are —”
“‘The essential qualifications for the new technological age,’” he quoted in a clear childish treble, whose innocent tone very nearly cancelled out the underlying impertinence of the interruption . “Science and Maths are the gateway to tomorrow’s world.” Here he stopped quoting, looked straight at Alice and spoke in his own, slightly less child-like voice: “But you see I don’t specially want to live in tomorrow’s world. I don’t think I’m going to like it. But I do like Greek, especially Plato and Herodotus, and I want to learn to read them properly.”
Chapter 11
“So I’ve got two jobs!” Alice announced that evening as she, Brian and Hetty gathered round the kitchen table for a midnight feast of doughnuts and the remains of a jumbo packet of crisps, washed down by the much-stewed pot of tea with which Hetty had been regaling all comers ever since ten o’clock. “And pretty well paid, too,” Alice continued. “At least one of them is. It’s funny you know, the mother doesn’t really seem to approve of the boy learning Greek at all, and yet she’s quite happy to pay the earth for it.”
“It figures, though, doesn’t it?” Brian suggested. “I’ve had mothers like that too. Having tin ears themselves, they have no idea of what music is for, or why anyone should want to spend time on it, but on the other hand they’re dead scared that their kid might miss out on something, or be traumatised by the sound of the word No — that kind of thing. So what they can’t provide in understanding and intelligent support, they fall over themselves to provide in money. Paying off their own guilt-feelings. Inadequacy-feelings, rather. For lots of people it’s the same thing. Anyway, congratulations, Alice! Long may Mrs Whats-it’s guilt feelings screw her up, and long may Master Whats-it —”
“Cyril, actually,” Alice interposed. “Rather a prissy name, isn’t it, for nowadays, but then they’re rather prissy people, what I’ve seen of them. Anyway, I start this Saturday as ever. Oh, and I’ve got a dear old chap as well, not so much money, of course, but he’s dead keen. He’s coming to me, thank goodness, so if you run into a slightly Worzel Gummidge sort of figure on the stairs on Wednesdays and Saturdays —”
“Which reminds me,” Hetty broke in, “figures on the stairs, I mean. There’s a piece of good news! This fellow, quite a nice-looking fellow actually, well, not too bad, anyway. A bit yellow, perhaps, unless it was the light; that one without a shade, you know at the turn of the landing, puts years on anyone that light does. So maybe he was fairly young, really; on the old side of fairly young, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I’ve always said that an age difference doesn’t really matter all that much, provided there’s common interests … Presentable he was, anyway, quite neat and all that. A bit on the small
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