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Young Ruth's big day
Local Government Chronicle -
10 November 2005
The Head Girl was barely able to contain her excitement as she saw the school hall fill up. She had put on a pleated skirt and her best starched cotton blouse with just a thin gold necklace for ornament. She had tried to have a bite of lunch but was so busy going over parts of the speech in her mind that she had left most of it uneaten.
Only one thing slightly puzzled her as she cast another eye over the hall: the Lower School was in obviously boisterous mood but the Upper School looked sullen and resentful, despite the pep talk it had received that morning from the Headmaster himself about the need to show enthusiasm in front of the parent body when the Head Girl outlined the school’s development programme.
But, thought Ruth Kelly, as she ran over her remarks for the umpteenth time, it really was a little hot in the hall. The air conditioning had broken down and the janitor, a rather surly character called Prescott, seemed to have gone on strike. At least, he showed no urgency about fixing the problem and had been behaving quite aggressively even with the headmaster. She had caught him once or twice in muttered conversation with the Bursar, Mr Brown. She had given him one of her most disapproving looks but he only glowered back at her.
Still it was going to be a big day – a seminal moment, she remembered the Headmaster saying – in the life of the school of St Anthony and St Gordon-without-the-Walls. Of course the Headmaster, Rev. Tony Blair, had already outlined the proposals to the really key people – the governors, captains of industry and the most influential parents – but it was a great honour to address the ordinary parents and, of course, the pupils.
The staff had been truly supportive, especially the women members. Mrs Hewitt, who taught domestic science and acted as Matron, and Mrs Jowell, who was head of the girls’ boarding house, had been particularly sweet. And the Games Mistress, Miss Hazel Blears, had positively bubbled with enthusiasm and said she could skip hockey practice if she needed more time to rehearse.
She might have expected a bit more support from the male members of staff, though. Mr John Reid seemed to spend most of his time practising “guerrilla warfare” with the Combined Cadet Force: both Mrs Hewitt and Mrs Jowell were upset by the way he kept letting off loud bangs just outside the classroom windows. Mr Blunkett seemed to have lost interest in everything except detention arrangements while poor Mr Straw spent so much time on field study trips abroad that he was barely around to teach geography and the new NVQ in extreme tourism.
But it was Mr Brown’s behaviour which was the most curious. Half the time he went around the school as if he owned it, greeting staff and pupils alike with surprising geniality, only to relapse into periods of moody self-absorption when he would only talk to a handful of immediate associates. Rumour had it that the school budget projections were not looking as solid as had been hoped but since no-one else was allowed to look at the books – even the Headmaster – this was only hearsay. No-one could voice any concern without getting his head bit off.
She suspected that the Head Boy, David Miliband, who looked rather pleased with himself, had attended Rev Blair’s briefing for VIPs: he looked a bit flushed so Ruth wondered whether he had been allowed a glass of sherry before the Headmaster’s lunch. He kept telling her how important the whole day was for the school and said he had a check-list of the most important points – a “tool-kit” he called it – to circulate to parents after the Speech Day while they were having their cup of tea and finger sandwiches.
Ruth took a final sip of water and took her place on the stage. The Chairman of Governors laboured, perspiring, to his feet and gripped the lectern. “Today is a very special day for the school,” he said, “and without more ado given that it is very hot in here I am going to ask our Head Girl Ruth Kelly to tell you all about it.”
Ruth’s big moment had come. She cleared her throat and noticed out of the corner of her eye Prescott fiddling with the dials behind the curtain. “Thank Goodness,” she thought, “he’s going to fix the air conditioning at last.”
Just then the lights went out. The Lower School let out a howl of derision.
Prescott slipped quietly away. A look of serene contemplation came over the Bursar’s face.
Poor Ruth felt quite let down.
© Local Government Chronicle
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