(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