Scenes from Boarding School Life - 4
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come let me clutch thee:
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet in form as palpable
As this which now I draw
At school we had a system of black-marks (called ‘untidies’) which were meted out by senior girls who inspected common-rooms and cloakrooms daily just before tea. At the end of tea a senior would read out the list of miscreants - and their misdemeanours: a scarf left on the cloakroom floor, a writing-case left on the common-room table, a hockey-boot - not put away in a cloakroom locker.
These were to be reported to Group-leaders next lunchtime. (we had Groups rather than Houses - they had the embarrassingly twee names, Balmoral, Buckingham, Sandringham and Windsor.)
I usually managed two or three Untidies each term.
Oh dear, yet another. I mounted the stairs to the mezzanine where the mysterious pine-clad prefects’ study was, to report to a Buckingham Group Leader - we weren’t allowed to ask for specific people; one took pot luck This time I got the severest prefect, Carol M.
‘I’ve come to report an Untidy’ . I stood on the steps, trying to catch a glimpse of the inner sanctum.
‘Again? Which Shakespeare play are you studying in class? Macbeth? Right, bring your book to me after games..
Later I returned with ‘Macbeth’
She leafed through the book.
‘Right. I want you to learn this short passage off by heart. From ‘Is this a dagger…’ to ‘…this which now I draw’. By Wednesday.’
On Wednesday I made my way to the Study. …art thou not fatal vision.. bounded up the stairs ..or art thou but a dagger of the mind…and knocked on the door…the heat-oppressed brain..
I confronted Carol M. and handed her the book, opened at the marked page.
I took a deep breath:
‘IsthisadaggerwhichIseebeforemethehandletowardsmyhandcomeletmeclutchtheeIhavetheenotandyetIseetheestill.’
I closed my eyes to block out any distractions , and carried on, heady with my own success. I could see the end in sight:
‘…orartthoubutadaggerofthemindafalsecreationproceedingfromtheheat-oppressedbrain…proceedingfromtheheat-oppressedbrain….theheat-oppressed brain..’
But nothing more proceeded from my heat-oppressed brain. Nothing. Time seemed to stand still. I hardly knew where I was any more.
‘You may have another day - come back tomorrow.’
My brain melted with gratitude. I almost liked Carol M. now; after all, if she had chosen to she could have given me a completely new passage to learn.
I started down the stairs.
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain. I see thee yet in form as palpable as that which now I….I'd got it. I'd got it.
I remember those words 50 years later. And the many other poems and prose passages that I learnt ‘off by heart’ . I enjoy letting those words swim around in my head.
And I am grateful for that civilised ‘punishment’.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come let me clutch thee:
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet in form as palpable
As this which now I draw
At school we had a system of black-marks (called ‘untidies’) which were meted out by senior girls who inspected common-rooms and cloakrooms daily just before tea. At the end of tea a senior would read out the list of miscreants - and their misdemeanours: a scarf left on the cloakroom floor, a writing-case left on the common-room table, a hockey-boot - not put away in a cloakroom locker.
These were to be reported to Group-leaders next lunchtime. (we had Groups rather than Houses - they had the embarrassingly twee names, Balmoral, Buckingham, Sandringham and Windsor.)
I usually managed two or three Untidies each term.
Oh dear, yet another. I mounted the stairs to the mezzanine where the mysterious pine-clad prefects’ study was, to report to a Buckingham Group Leader - we weren’t allowed to ask for specific people; one took pot luck This time I got the severest prefect, Carol M.
‘I’ve come to report an Untidy’ . I stood on the steps, trying to catch a glimpse of the inner sanctum.
‘Again? Which Shakespeare play are you studying in class? Macbeth? Right, bring your book to me after games..
Later I returned with ‘Macbeth’
She leafed through the book.
‘Right. I want you to learn this short passage off by heart. From ‘Is this a dagger…’ to ‘…this which now I draw’. By Wednesday.’
On Wednesday I made my way to the Study. …art thou not fatal vision.. bounded up the stairs ..or art thou but a dagger of the mind…and knocked on the door…the heat-oppressed brain..
I confronted Carol M. and handed her the book, opened at the marked page.
I took a deep breath:
‘IsthisadaggerwhichIseebeforemethehandletowardsmyhandcomeletmeclutchtheeIhavetheenotandyetIseetheestill.’
I closed my eyes to block out any distractions , and carried on, heady with my own success. I could see the end in sight:
‘…orartthoubutadaggerofthemindafalsecreationproceedingfromtheheat-oppressedbrain…proceedingfromtheheat-oppressedbrain….theheat-oppressed brain..’
But nothing more proceeded from my heat-oppressed brain. Nothing. Time seemed to stand still. I hardly knew where I was any more.
‘You may have another day - come back tomorrow.’
My brain melted with gratitude. I almost liked Carol M. now; after all, if she had chosen to she could have given me a completely new passage to learn.
I started down the stairs.
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain. I see thee yet in form as palpable as that which now I….I'd got it. I'd got it.
I turned to go back, but the Study door was firmly closed. But I knew that tomorrow I would be OK.
I remember those words 50 years later. And the many other poems and prose passages that I learnt ‘off by heart’ . I enjoy letting those words swim around in my head.
And I am grateful for that civilised ‘punishment’.
4 comments:
One of the punishments at my school was to go for a long walk. Also quite civilised - unless it happened to be hailing.
Long walks loomed large in my education,too; particularly on Sundays, and on weekdays when it was too wet for games (it was never too wet to walk!) Also when an influenza epidemic threatened, we'd be packed off at break for a 2 mile brisk walk along the cinder track - ironically, towards the Nuclear Power Station which eventually closed the school down!
It's funny, when I think of boarding school I imagine the punishments are harsh - I'm pretty good at learning phrases, sentences, passages off by heart, I wish MY punishments had been like that!!
Instead I had to stay behind after classes and write 'talking in class is rude talking in class is rude talking in class is rude' over and over again! What is the point in that?!
Yes - 'doing lines' is rather pointless. Another 'punishment' I remember was staying behind after classes and having to read a couple of chapters of 'Wind in the Willows'! Punishment? I thoroughly enjoyed it!
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