(for Miss Hacker who was the sole Teacher at Maxey C of E School c. 1957)
We slowly shaped the slanting letters in between the feint ruled guiding lines until they were solidly etched upon the page solid as the tine-worn dinner forks we struggled to hold in fingers chilblained red and blue with cold the scratchy nibs smudged ink between each finger there, where the mingled smells of chalk and ink and dust in unholy alliance lingered she would stop and stand quietly beside us, behind us, 4711 Eau de Cologne her presence betrayed as we sat in awe of her quiet voice ‘though never afraid merely somehow aware of her simply being always there inviting the chosen few to become Ink Monitors, Milk Monitors Monitors - that word now conjures up images of large lizards clasping rocks in foreign lands dishing out ink and milk that mingling smell and staining of our chapped dry hands as we sat with the words “eleven plus” sharp in every mind ability and perseverance left nervously behind would we be bound for Secondary School (failure) or Grammar School (success) no real choice only the shattering realisation of pass or failure letters and of disappointment in her quiet, yet resonant, voice