First the news had to be broken to the bereaved one. Like Tennyson’s dame
“(She) wept like a child for the child that was dead before he was born.”
She was frantic with grief, and her friends trembled for her intellect, such as it was. But the assistant was a girl of much resourcefulness. Her father was a prominent official in the body that looks after the Thames: she went to him, and told the piteous tale. My colleague—but he was an imaginative man—alleged that they dragged the river from Teddington Lock to the Nore, but caught nothing. Finally it was decided that a sea-gull had detected a meaty flavour beneath the paper cover and had carried it off.
I am glad to say that after prolonged correspondence the Department issued a duplicate.
Of all endorsements the most difficult to frame was the initial entry. At the end of the term of probation the teacher had to give a formal lesson on any topic or object that he chose: it was supposed to last for twenty minutes, and H.M.I. was expected to sum up his opinion of the lesson and of the teacher’s general capacity in one compact sentence. Very often one disregarded the formal lesson, for the teacher might be all but speechless with fright, and the verdict had to be based on the general results of the year’s work.
In one such case I was in great doubt. The mistress was very young and very pretty. She had light hair and blue eyes, and it follows that she was very nervous. I cannot say that her school did very well. I think it was deficient in Arithmetic: but she was very charming. Should the parchment be issued? My Assistant was susceptible, and soft-hearted: he pleaded for her: she was all alone in this country school: her Certificate examination at Whitelands—one of the leading Colleges—showed that she had plenty of brains: she had done her best, and she would improve. Finally I gave way, and suggested as the endorsement: “Miss X. is a pretty fair teacher.” He agreed rapturously, and so it was written. But the next year my chief visited the school, and according to custom called for the parchment. And (so the assistant told me) when he read the entry, and caught sight of the “pretty, fair” one in front of her class, it smote him suddenly, and he retreated hastily to the Infants’ class-room.
All endorsements are now abolished; I am not sure whether there is even a parchment certificate. It is many years since I saw one.
Oh, Miss O’Flaherty! do you remember your bon mot at St. Petronius’ school? I asked, you know, whether you had any poetry to say as part of the examination for your certificate, and you replied with a twinkle of your Irish eyes: “I’ve got all the certificates I want—(and you added softly)—except one.”
CHAPTER XXIV
SINGING
“I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.”
Much Ado.