Education education education. Part 3

I followed behind Marilyn like an obedient dog as we made our way to a nearby classroom. As we neared the door passing a row of parallel frosted glass windows I could hear and see familiar sounds of voices of people commuting between rows of chairs trying desperately hard to make themselves heard above other equally as determined voices. I was immediately transported back to my childhood days at Jean Street Primary School in my home town of Port Glasgow on the west coast of Scotland, some thirty five something years ago. When given the opportunity to chatter in the absence of a teacher for whatever reason, our classroom would descended into a cacophony of sounds that has truly up until that point been replicated in any other environment in which I had found myself over a great many years. The buzz from the classroom floated, dipped and rose with excitement and the need to communicate some vital or mundane piece of news. As Marilyn pushed open the door a wall of sound was replaced by loud unmoving still silence that halted people and sentences from completing their mission, in some strange way this was momentarily louder than the original collection of sounds, or movements. I could see row upon row of faces looking at us as though we had thrown a switch to dampen and suppress the sounds from within. I peered over Marilyn’s head as she stood in the frame of the door.
“Right you lot quieten it down” she said entering to room.
“This” she said smiling first at the occupants of the room and then toward me
“This man is called Sam” she said finishing her small sentence
“In you come” she said gesturing at me as she made her way toward a desk festooned with paper and box files, while displaced pupils crept back to their seats.
“Sam will be joining us for the part two of the course” she concluded leaning back ever so casually against the front of the desk.
“Sam is the new student” Marilyn said almost proudly.
I looked at the sea of faces in front of me and immediately began regretting my decision to opt for academic education at my age. The faces appeared to scrutinise me seemingly to focus on me somehow intent on finding a weak point in my appearance. The reason was not known to me at this point in time, perhaps I thought they are weighing up the prospect of dinner money extraction, or a new classroom amoeba to torture at selected times during the academic day. Whatever it was it slightly unnerved and triggered my sense of vulnerability. Not that I consciously gave them any encouragement to focus on, oh no they would have to silently probe deeper to uncover any shortcomings or any weak areas to probe. However it must be said that I was acutely aware that I was among other things, ‘old man bald’ as opposed to ‘thinning hair bald’, the latter being where the hair sort of thinned and was quite transparent but still looked like hair. I, on the other hand had been blessed with a perfect horseshoe of hair that rose to its highest point to the top of my ears from the back of my neck. Going northward over the crown of considerable skull, my bereft scalp shone like the arse of an albino monkey entering a very dark tunnel. This coupled with the painful truths that I had sticky out ears, a long time bent, broken nose that wheezed when I exhaled and to cap it all off and just for good measure, I was old enough to be the father of each and every one of them, aside from Marilyn who it seemed to me was up to something.
“Hiya” I said trying to look at ease, but feeling very tense.
“Sam’s Scottish” Marilyn said as though introducing a serial killer to a ward full of wide eyed bed ridden cripples. I somehow felt compelled to say something along the lines of ‘Ock I the noo,hoots mon do ye ken’ in a broad Scottish accent to confirm I was indeed Scottish, but thankfully I resisted. I just gave a nervous feeble smile in an attempt to mask my growing unease. The expression ‘can’t see the woods for the trees’ was very apt as in this instance I could only see featureless faces fused together staring at me everywhere I looked. “There’s a seat at the back, I heard Marilyn say in a far of voice. I looked at her and followed her outstretched arm pointing toward the back of them class room. Focused on the one and only vacant desk in the classroom, I became oblivious to the room, its contents as I made my way to the sanctuary of the desk. I busied myself emptying and repacking my bag on to the desk just to be doing anything. Marilyn was deep in conversation talking about year one course elements to some of the students. For some unexplained reason I expected to find an old fashioned desk like the one I had had at school where you lifted the lid and deposited your pencil case, books, sandwiches and anything else you happened to have. I could remember my desk in Mrs Wilsons room in my old school, some previous pupil had written in bold letters ‘ go piss up a rope’ inside the desk, and it never failed to make me chuckle. As it was my desk consisted of a flat rectangular piece of plied wood with a semi circle cut out, into which you were able to access the seat some 10 inches below. Access that is provided you were a size 8 and had no discernible folds that resembled an apprentice beer belly in making. When finally I managed to squeeze into the golf ball sized space provided I skidded of the polished seat and if it were not for a proud button being pushed against the desk by my oversized midriff I would have been examining the undercarriage of my desk and chair from ground level. Hoping that no one had noticed I was at last able to regain a little composure and found the courage to look up over of my desk. Marilyn smiled at me as though waiting for me to speak. I smiled and could feel my head begin to lower inexorably toward the desk.
“Well you guy’s” Marilyn said with her arms opening as thought encompass the classroom “I’m sure you lot, like me; would like to know a little bit more about Sam there” she said pointing at me with a lowering of her voice and a wink. By now I was sitting with my arms on the desk, my hands clasped as in prayer. There was a regimented turn round by three quarters of the classroom at the mention of my name. I felt the brow of my head touching the thumbs of my hands as my head began ever so slightly to bow. My intertwined fingers were clenched so tightly, as were the cheeks of arse, that a walnut would have stood little chance of defending its nut had it been caught in either grasp. I momentarily closed my eyes and hoped for a speedy death to visit me or at the very least a whopping blinding faint that would render me unconscious, leaving me gibbering and salivating. When at last I looked up there were expectant faces, smiles with Marilyn looking for all the world like a chat show presenter as she gave me a ‘take it away’ gesture. I began by saying who I was, that I was married, had 3 kids and had worked at various industries over the years. I mentioned the Miners strike of 1984-85 and told them that I had been on strike for a year trying to try and stop pit closures, adding that it all had been in vain as the Tories (Conservatives party) had decided that all the collieries in the North East of England were to close in the wake of their victory over the miners. As a result of the closures I had decided that I would go to college and try to ‘re-educate’ myself I told them hoping for candid support, but getting only blank looks that appeared to say ‘we don’t give a fuck’ you unusual Scottish person. A stony silence fell over the classroom punctuated only by the sound of rain hitting the windows.
“Well I thought that was very interesting Sam” Marilyn said looking sympathetically
“Very interesting” she reiterated
“How many of you would be prepared to strike for something you believed in? She asked the assembled students, all the while looking very inquisitively for signs of response of sorts.
“What about you Kate, would you go on strike?”Marilyn probing for an answer
Poor Kate was finding the spotlight as uncomfortable as me as faces looked to her for a response.
“Eh no Miss I wouldn’t because I’ve never had a job”...