allocated to each table, in the midst of which sat an outsize dice. Merry, clipboard in hand was, I noted with apprehension, taking our group, accompanied by an assistant, someone I hadn’t seen before. Gliding smoothly to the front of the room, she took up position in front of the blackboard and such was her chilly presence that chatter, laughter and chair scraping promptly died.
“I expect you’re tired after this morning’s efforts,” she smiled tightly. “So, we’re starting this afternoon with a game.” She paused, if she was waiting for a hurrah, it was unforthcoming. “Each team, girls against boys, is going to try and get the dice off the table. But, no hands – you have to blow.” She puckered lips and blew an example in case we were in any doubt. “First team to get their dice off the opposite side of the table and onto the floor gets the prize. Now,” she paused and looked around, “Everyone, hands behind backs.”
The dice were heavier than they looked. With the best will in the world and enough co-ordinated huffing and puffing to blow the house down, it was well-nigh impossible to move them. It was obvious to me, full of recently acquired knowledge, what it was they were hoping some of us would do to compensate. Flushed faces around me bore testimony to effort if not results and there were howls of accusation when one set of boys, using their initiative and not their hands, tilted the table with their knees. I couldn’t always see Merry as she moved around the room, but sensing her fish-eye on me more than I liked, decided it couldn’t do any harm and might take the heat off to introduce the odd red herring.
Continuing to puff energetically and non-productively, I turned my attention to the dice on the table next but one to ours, giving it a hefty nudge or two and sending it toppling over the edge of the table. As it hit the floor, three triumphant girls shot to their feet in excitement. Then an uneasy thought occurred. Might that not have been such a cunning plan after all? Might one of those girls right now be attracting rather more of the Merry interest than would be comfortable? I couldn’t risk that. So, working to a somewhat muddled theory based on needles in haystacks, I did a swift round of the room. In no time at all, three other tables were diceless too.
The room descended into noisy chaos and excitement with Merry having to raise her voice to make herself heard and get everyone re-seated. Tight-lipped, clipboard rammed to chest, she surveyed us for a moment in silence. Someone, she suspected, was making a monkey out of her and although I kept my eyes studiously down, I thought she looked at me a little longer than the rest and, for a moment, I picked up her confusion and the strength of her cold anger. Merry with the laughing eyes was a scientifically-minded individual and for her, there always had to be pattern, consistency, logic and reason even within the field in which she was working. Today wasn’t panning out that way and anything that didn’t fit her parameters disturbed the order of things, provoking a violent frustration, the force of which I sensed, alarmed even her. As she moved her head, I could see where sharp, starched white shirt collar had scored an angry red mark below her chin. I hoped it was sore.
“Well,” she unclenched her jaw, “I don’t think we’ve ever had quite so much success on that one before. Thank you everybody. Now, Mrs Metcalfe,” she nodded and her assistant turned to gather up an armful of boxes from a pile in the corner of the room, “Is going to give each table a Snakes and Ladders game board. We’ll do girls against boys again as you’re already sitting that way. Yes,” she snapped in answer to a raised arm, “Of course you can use your hands this time.”
Now, here was another fine dilemma I’d got myself into, what exactly were they looking for this time? Would it be a good idea to lie low and do nothing or should I rig some scores
“I expect you’re tired after this morning’s efforts,” she smiled tightly. “So, we’re starting this afternoon with a game.” She paused, if she was waiting for a hurrah, it was unforthcoming. “Each team, girls against boys, is going to try and get the dice off the table. But, no hands – you have to blow.” She puckered lips and blew an example in case we were in any doubt. “First team to get their dice off the opposite side of the table and onto the floor gets the prize. Now,” she paused and looked around, “Everyone, hands behind backs.”
The dice were heavier than they looked. With the best will in the world and enough co-ordinated huffing and puffing to blow the house down, it was well-nigh impossible to move them. It was obvious to me, full of recently acquired knowledge, what it was they were hoping some of us would do to compensate. Flushed faces around me bore testimony to effort if not results and there were howls of accusation when one set of boys, using their initiative and not their hands, tilted the table with their knees. I couldn’t always see Merry as she moved around the room, but sensing her fish-eye on me more than I liked, decided it couldn’t do any harm and might take the heat off to introduce the odd red herring.
Continuing to puff energetically and non-productively, I turned my attention to the dice on the table next but one to ours, giving it a hefty nudge or two and sending it toppling over the edge of the table. As it hit the floor, three triumphant girls shot to their feet in excitement. Then an uneasy thought occurred. Might that not have been such a cunning plan after all? Might one of those girls right now be attracting rather more of the Merry interest than would be comfortable? I couldn’t risk that. So, working to a somewhat muddled theory based on needles in haystacks, I did a swift round of the room. In no time at all, three other tables were diceless too.
The room descended into noisy chaos and excitement with Merry having to raise her voice to make herself heard and get everyone re-seated. Tight-lipped, clipboard rammed to chest, she surveyed us for a moment in silence. Someone, she suspected, was making a monkey out of her and although I kept my eyes studiously down, I thought she looked at me a little longer than the rest and, for a moment, I picked up her confusion and the strength of her cold anger. Merry with the laughing eyes was a scientifically-minded individual and for her, there always had to be pattern, consistency, logic and reason even within the field in which she was working. Today wasn’t panning out that way and anything that didn’t fit her parameters disturbed the order of things, provoking a violent frustration, the force of which I sensed, alarmed even her. As she moved her head, I could see where sharp, starched white shirt collar had scored an angry red mark below her chin. I hoped it was sore.
“Well,” she unclenched her jaw, “I don’t think we’ve ever had quite so much success on that one before. Thank you everybody. Now, Mrs Metcalfe,” she nodded and her assistant turned to gather up an armful of boxes from a pile in the corner of the room, “Is going to give each table a Snakes and Ladders game board. We’ll do girls against boys again as you’re already sitting that way. Yes,” she snapped in answer to a raised arm, “Of course you can use your hands this time.”
Now, here was another fine dilemma I’d got myself into, what exactly were they looking for this time? Would it be a good idea to lie low and do nothing or should I rig some scores
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