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QUALIFICATIONS
Your son must be alive on arrival at our school. We can accept no responsibility for dead arrivals as we have not yet found a way of making the dead useful."
I compared the two courses. If I sent two sons on the M.L.F.T.F. course I would be able to afford the best antigravity car on the market ; on the other hand if I sent them on the L.C.O.T.F. course my status would rise considerably in the district. I decided to send one of my sons on the M.L.F.T.F. course and another on the L.C.O.T.F. course. All that remained was to find two of my sons and pack them in their crates.
THE SPAZ-LADS OR PLEBS
It all started when most of IIA couldn't get a game of football with bigger boys on the small square. We decided to have our own game of football. To begin with we kicked a bit of wood around ; then gradually we progressed to a rolled up pad, a table tennis ball, and finally a small rubber ball.
If you think our football is the same as anyone else's, you're wrong. In our version of the game, the ball is little bigger than a golf ball, thus making it more difficult to control or shoot. The smallness of the ball also makes it much easier to over-run. This makes the game seem funny to outsiders.
After a while people began to notice how pathetic our football was, and they christened us the " spaz-lads."* The football died away, but we continued as a gang, going around together. We went out on pass to Dunblane, and on hikes to Sherrifmuir, and we were photographed together.
Of late we have been calling ourselves the " Plebs." One day we were doing Latin History, and we came across the word " plebeian" meaning common people. We saw the aptness of the name straight away, held council, and changed our name from the " Spaz-lads " to the " Plebs." As the society of the " Plebs " is still going strong, we feel this is as much as you need know.
Watch out for further details in future
" Victorians."
K.L.R.
weakling. A common term of abuse.
STALAG-LUFT Q.V.
After I had read a war comic, I dreamt of the
dormitory inspection the next day. It had a
difference, for all the prefects and masters were Germans, and we were British prisoners-of-war.
The Feldwebel shouted : " Get up you lazy lot and tidy your lockers or you will be shot."
Tidy them yourself if you want them tidy," replied an angry prisoner.
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" Who was the dog dat said dat? " asked the Feldwebel.
"Shut up and get out. We'll tidy our lockers later," said a prisoner who was lying on his bed reading.
It was the inspection day. We were lined up at the ends of our beds. The Feldwebel was late. Everyone decided that we would lie on our beds smoking. Then the Camp Commandant and the Feldwebel walked in. Everybody started slowly to get off his bed.
The Feldwebel shouted, " You have ten to be fallen in !" Then they walked very slowly round the dormitory, if you could call it that. The Feldwebel said, " Tonight you will all be shot for having untidy beds and lockers and dirty shoes."
That night everybody ate his last meal. It was not much. It was Klim, weak potato soup, and two slices of mouldy black bread, with a little helping of margarine.
About 10.30 p.m. we were lined up to be shot. The alarm bells went suddenly. I put on my greatcoat and shoes and went out with everyone else for the fire-drill.
C.J.R.
YOUNG BROTHER
My brother is nine years old, thin, small and cheeky. The trouble with him is that he copies me in everything I do and follows me everywhere I go, which irritates me very much.
If I go to the cinema, I have to be very secretive about the whole idea. Just as I am leaving the house, a voice yells out, " Where's he going? He's going to the pictures, isn't he? I'm going too." So off he goes with me to the cinema.
In the summer holiday, I spent my leisure hours swimming with him. He isn't a very good swimmer. So I have to keep an eye on him all the time, and I can't leave him in case he gets into difficulties and drowns.
The most depressing time is when we go on a bicycle ride. His bike is very small in comparison with mine, and we have to stop every five minutes so that he can get his breath back. It takes us hours to get from one place to another. I can't stand his chain-guard. It rattles every time his pedal does a turn.
Shopping with him is very tedious. He wants everything. " Can I have this, and can I get that ? " " Will you buy me a dinky toy? " If I don't, he just sulks, and he is very obstinate. If I buy something, he wants it too and will try anything to get it. I bought a guinea pig ; so naturally he had to have one too. Now I have to clean out the cage, and he won't lift a finger for it.
But he isn't a bad wee fellow. He isn't a miser. He will always share his things.
I.H.C.R.
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