Ingrid became
book monitor in class
and used to get the books
from the cupboard
and hand them round
to each kid in class.
I watched her get them out,
that dedication to duty,
that intenseness of seriousness
I never had,
and she’d place
the books down,
face up,
place them down carefully,
not slam them down
as I would have done,
if being pressed
into service.
And I heard kids murmur
as she walked past,
few would say thank you;
I did, out of some
secret love thing,
and she would pass
and her eyes,
large behind the glasses
she wore,
would glimmer,
then be gone behind
to place books
on other desks.
Miss Ashdown,
would be chalking stuff
on the blackboard
for us to copy down,
and her plumpness
showed all the more
as she moved,
now and then on tiptoe,
like some ballerina elephant
in a tutu.
Ingrid sat down
on the other side
of the classroom,
and I could see her
out of the corner of my eye,
satisfied she had done
her bit,
opening up the book,
and finding the page.
Whilst I looked ahead
at the white chalked
writing on the board,
that slope in
the Y like a tail,
and Miss Ashdown,
facing us
in her flowered dress
moving like a yacht’s sail.
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 3:05 AM UTC
Ingrid became
book monitor in class
and used to get the books
from the cupboard
and hand them round
to each kid in class.
I watched her get them out,
that dedication to duty,
that intenseness of seriousness
I never had,
and she’d place
the books down,
face up,
place them down carefully,
not slam them down
as I would have done,
if being pressed
into service.
And I heard kids murmur
as she walked past,
few would say thank you;
I did, out of some
secret love thing,
and she would pass
and her eyes,
large behind the glasses
she wore,
would glimmer,
then be gone behind
to place books
on other desks.
Miss Ashdown,
would be chalking stuff
on the blackboard
for us to copy down,
and her plumpness
showed all the more
as she moved,
now and then on tiptoe,
like some ballerina elephant
in a tutu.
Ingrid sat down
on the other side
of the classroom,
and I could see her
out of the corner of my eye,
satisfied she had done
her bit,
opening up the book,
and finding the page.
Whilst I looked ahead
at the white chalked
writing on the board,
that slope in
the Y like a tail,
and Miss Ashdown,
facing us
in her flowered dress
moving like a yacht’s sail.
Boy and girl in London in school in 1958
Request permission to use this poem