M and the "broken arm" prank I often saw M sitting around in the staffroom, busily marking books and throwing out dry witticisms to passing colleagues in her inimitable English voice.
I never spoke to her much, except on one occasion when I happened to be leaving in rather a hurry, and my heavy bag swung round suddenly, knocking her arm as I passed her.
"Oh, I am sorry. Are you okay?"
"No, no," she whispered melodramatically. "I - I - I think it's broken!"
"Are you serious?"
Feeling awfully guilty, I rushed to console her and offer my apologies.
Moaning like a kind of anguished Marley's Ghost, she clutched her arm. I eventually figured I'd been had when I saw her colleague looking on amusedly at her impressive performance.
"Boy, I'll be tempted to break your arm for real next time," I said, trying to join in the humour.
"You do, my lad, and --" she said threateningly, her words tailing off as I left the room.
"Goodnight, then," I said, still chuckling away under my breath. And I left, partly surprised and partly genuinely amused by this post-middle-aged woman pulling a gag worthy of one of my most mischievous Year Sevens. I think that was our only conversation.
This morning, the atmosphere in the staffroom was subdued. Here and there, around the room, teachers could be seen quietly sobbing, wiping away a tear, some of them comforting and consoling one another. M was discovered dead in her home this morning after failing to turn up for school.
I shall cherish the memory of the "broken arm" prank. Looking back, it gives me a little insight into why this fifty-something lady had won the obvious affection of so many.
Goodbye, M.
Dave
9:17:19 PM 
|
