Part 24 (1/2)
”Well, what word should I use then?”
”Just say you've got dirt on your shoe.”
”But it's not dirt, is it? It's s.h.i.+t.”
Oh dear, I thought for the umpteenth time that day, another fine mess I have got myself into.
Mrs. Wilson, who had obviously been privy to this exchange, suddenly appeared at my side and whispered in my ear, ”Perhaps he could say ”excrement on his sole” or ”faeces on his feet” or ”poo on his shoe”. I feel certain it will be somewhere in that inspectors' handbook of yours, Mr. Phinn.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
I decided to persevere and turned back to Sam. ”What does your mum say if you have it on your shoe?”
”Have what on mi shoe?”
”You know what.” I pointed to his feet.
”She makes me tek mi shoes off.”
”Well, take them off, Sam, get your reading book and come into the Reading Corner with me.”
When I had finally prevailed upon him to come on the carpet, he stood close to me with an expressionless face. ”Yes?” he asked.
”Would you like to read to me?”
”Not particularly.”
”Well, I would really like you to.”
Sam took a bl.u.s.tering breath. ”No, I don't think so. I've bin heard reading already today by Mrs. Wilson and I'm not in t'mood for another session at t'moment. Mebbe later on.”
With that he walked away, retrieved his shoes, examined the soles critically and returned to his desk.
Just before lunch Sam arrived with a rather dog-eared reading book with a grey cover. It was called Dan and Nan have Fun.
”I'll read to you now if you want,” he announced. ”But I'm not reight good. I'm a slow reader that knaws and I'm still on the Reading Scheme books. Most others in t'cla.s.s are free readers. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to tek to reading.”
”Don't worry about that, Sam,” I said, pleased to see him, 'just try your best.”
”I'll come on t'carpet an all, cos I've seen to mi shoes.”
”Right,” I said.
”Mrs. Wilson let me sc.r.a.pe off all the sh-”
I jumped in as quick as a sudden crack of a whip. ”That's all right, then.”
His book was one in a series called the Funtime Reading Scheme. Judging by the cover, it did not appear to justify its t.i.tle. There were other books in the series about pirates and princesses, gypsies and wizards, fairs and picnics, holidays and festivals. Perhaps the dreary cover of Dan and Nan have Fun belied a fast-moving story of adventure and excitement, but I strongly doubted it. When Sam, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes and furrowing his brow, started to bark out the words, I realised that the grey cover reflected the contents accurately. He read the text with steady determination, quickly flicking through the pages without pausing to look at the pictures in an effort to get it over with.
Here is Dan. Dan is a boy. Here is Nan. Nan is a girl. , Dan is a boy.
Nan is a girl.
Dan is Nan's brother.
Nan is Dan's sister.
They have fun.
Here is a house.
Dan and Nan live in the house.
They live near a river.
They have fun.
Dan has a canoe.
Dan and Nan go in the canoe.
They go on the river.
Dan paddles the canoe.
They have fun.
Nan sings a song.
Dan catches a fish.
Dan chops some wood.
Dan lights a fire.
Nan cooks the fish.
They eat the fish.
They have fun.
The pictures depicted a sparklingly clean little boy dressed in his school blazer and cap. He wore a spotless white s.h.i.+rt, neatly knotted tie, highly polished shoes and knee-length socks rather inappropriate attire for a fis.h.i.+ng trip in a canoe, one would have thought. He was beaming from the page. Nan, too, was gleaming, dressed in a colourful floral frock, bright blue shoes, dazzling white stockings and she was sporting great red ribbons in her long blonde plaits. She, like her brother, looked ecstatically happy.
”You read that very well, Sam,” I said when he had finished.
”Aye, I try,” he replied philosophically.
”Yes. You do try very hard,” I said, but thinking to myself what a pity that the material was so dry and dreary.
”What do you think of the story?” I asked.
”b.l.o.o.d.y stupid!” I was just about to repeat the earlier exchange of' Don say that word' but thought better of it. The book was 'b.l.o.o.d.y stupid'. He could not have described it better. He shook his head before continuing. ”I mean going in a canoe on a fast-flowing river is asking for trouble. And you'd never catch a carp in them waters wi that rod. He wunt catch a cold wit hat And as for chopping wood up with that gret axe. He could have taken his fingers off. I wouldn't let 'im loose wi penknife never mind a ruddy gret 'atchet. And another thing, that should never light fires near a forest. They wants to get some work done them two instead of prat ting abaat all day havin' fun. I have to collect eggs on our farm, feed sows, fill troughs and coop up hens afore mi tea.” He paused and looked around him and sniffed the air. ”Can that smell owl, Mester Phinn?” he asked.