was all for him, in this desperate transaction. ‘The poor man! He must love the baby terribly to do that with his taily.’
‘Oh no, the man likes it!’
‘How do you know? You’re not a man!’
‘No, but I told you – Daddy says it’s nice.’
This was where her lying was blatant and I became incredulous with anger. ‘Daddy would never say it was nice to stick his taily in a hole between a lady’s legs.’
‘He says it’s nice.’
‘Bring him here. I have to hear him say it.’ I was almost in tears. ‘He won’t say it, he can’t say it because it’s not true. You’re fibbing!’
‘I’m telling the truth. And one day you will find out for yourself …’
‘Do you mean that one day I’m going to take my taily and stick it in a hole between a lady’s legs?’
‘Yes, I expect so.’
This was the last straw. This made me so angry she must have regretted, for the sake of my immobility and my health (which seemed to be the same thing), that she’d ever started discussing human reproduction. I shouted, ‘Well I won’t won’t won’t ! It sounds really horrid and I’m never never never going to do it! And I don’t want you telling your rude lies to Peter!’
Where the baby comes out
She bustled out of the room but she was back in a minute or two. ‘I’ve asked Dad. He says it’s very nice and not rude at all.’
‘What sort of nice? How can it be nice? It must be horrid.’
‘Let me think of something you really like. That’ll help you understand .’
She fetched Dad’s Mason Pearson hairbrush and softly brushed my hair with it. ‘When Daddy does the thing with his taily, it’s even nicer than this.’ How could it be nicer than this? Then she spoiled it by saying, ‘He puts it in where the baby comes out.’ Both of us had lost track of the fact that there was a lady involved, and that she had a place for Dad to put his taily, and that the lady in this case was Mum. I tried to concentrate on this important part of the absurd story. Making an effort to sound like Dad myself, no nonsense, all business, I said, ‘I think I’d better see this pocket where the taily goes.’
‘Well, I’m not going to show you!’
‘You can’t tell me and then not show me. That’s not fair.’
‘You just have to trust me.’
‘Well I won’t. You showed me your ears, remember.’ If she’d exposed the one hole, surely she could do the same with the other. ‘You’re just going to have to show me where the taily goes. Or else I won’t believe you ever again.’
‘You can believe what you like. I’m just trying to save you getting into a muddle later on.’ I wondered why she was so shy about showing me the pocket, really . Perhaps she had a little taily of her own.
The only bit of the story I liked at all was the idea that the bag beneath my taily (the family word was ‘scallywag’) was full of seeds. Otherwise it was obviously rubbish.
Dot-ditty-dash
From Miss Collins’s point of view I must have been a faintly alarming child to teach. Teachers usually like a responsive pupil, but in me the hunger for knowledge had got entirely out of hand. Mine was a desperate case. It wasn’t just that I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know anything, anything at all.
Miss Collins brought a little portable blackboard with her, which I thought was a thrilling piece of equipment. I loved the dot- ditty-dash noise the chalk made as she wrote, and the way she wiped the board with a hanky tucked into her sleeve. The noise of her dancing chalk was like the tapping of Morse code. Dad had a proper Morse tapper which he let me use, until Mum said that I was getting too excited. He said that to be really good at Morse you actually had to think in the code. He was probably thinking in Morse the whole time.
Miss Collins was rather set in her ways – not a surprising thing, considering that she had spent most of her life in charge of rooms where she was hardly likely to be
‘Oh no, the man likes it!’
‘How do you know? You’re not a man!’
‘No, but I told you – Daddy says it’s nice.’
This was where her lying was blatant and I became incredulous with anger. ‘Daddy would never say it was nice to stick his taily in a hole between a lady’s legs.’
‘He says it’s nice.’
‘Bring him here. I have to hear him say it.’ I was almost in tears. ‘He won’t say it, he can’t say it because it’s not true. You’re fibbing!’
‘I’m telling the truth. And one day you will find out for yourself …’
‘Do you mean that one day I’m going to take my taily and stick it in a hole between a lady’s legs?’
‘Yes, I expect so.’
This was the last straw. This made me so angry she must have regretted, for the sake of my immobility and my health (which seemed to be the same thing), that she’d ever started discussing human reproduction. I shouted, ‘Well I won’t won’t won’t ! It sounds really horrid and I’m never never never going to do it! And I don’t want you telling your rude lies to Peter!’
Where the baby comes out
She bustled out of the room but she was back in a minute or two. ‘I’ve asked Dad. He says it’s very nice and not rude at all.’
‘What sort of nice? How can it be nice? It must be horrid.’
‘Let me think of something you really like. That’ll help you understand .’
She fetched Dad’s Mason Pearson hairbrush and softly brushed my hair with it. ‘When Daddy does the thing with his taily, it’s even nicer than this.’ How could it be nicer than this? Then she spoiled it by saying, ‘He puts it in where the baby comes out.’ Both of us had lost track of the fact that there was a lady involved, and that she had a place for Dad to put his taily, and that the lady in this case was Mum. I tried to concentrate on this important part of the absurd story. Making an effort to sound like Dad myself, no nonsense, all business, I said, ‘I think I’d better see this pocket where the taily goes.’
‘Well, I’m not going to show you!’
‘You can’t tell me and then not show me. That’s not fair.’
‘You just have to trust me.’
‘Well I won’t. You showed me your ears, remember.’ If she’d exposed the one hole, surely she could do the same with the other. ‘You’re just going to have to show me where the taily goes. Or else I won’t believe you ever again.’
‘You can believe what you like. I’m just trying to save you getting into a muddle later on.’ I wondered why she was so shy about showing me the pocket, really . Perhaps she had a little taily of her own.
The only bit of the story I liked at all was the idea that the bag beneath my taily (the family word was ‘scallywag’) was full of seeds. Otherwise it was obviously rubbish.
Dot-ditty-dash
From Miss Collins’s point of view I must have been a faintly alarming child to teach. Teachers usually like a responsive pupil, but in me the hunger for knowledge had got entirely out of hand. Mine was a desperate case. It wasn’t just that I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know anything, anything at all.
Miss Collins brought a little portable blackboard with her, which I thought was a thrilling piece of equipment. I loved the dot- ditty-dash noise the chalk made as she wrote, and the way she wiped the board with a hanky tucked into her sleeve. The noise of her dancing chalk was like the tapping of Morse code. Dad had a proper Morse tapper which he let me use, until Mum said that I was getting too excited. He said that to be really good at Morse you actually had to think in the code. He was probably thinking in Morse the whole time.
Miss Collins was rather set in her ways – not a surprising thing, considering that she had spent most of her life in charge of rooms where she was hardly likely to be
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