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A Visit to the Headmaster
Picture the utopia of being a fly on the wall in the Headmaster's study. Coming in through the open window, I arrived at Grayfriars Grammar early one morning...

There was a stark silence in the school's main corridor. From above a wooden staircase to my left came a powerful early morning light through a long stained glass window. Walking down the corridor, I observed several empty classrooms, each housing neat rows of desks with their accompanying wooden chairs pushed under them. The polish from the shining wooden floor gave off an atmospheric aroma. From white walls hung paintings, many of which had been created by former pupils. On the walls, too, were exceptional academic pieces, which bore testimony to the school's excellence. Its orderly appearance gave the impression that it did not tolerate slack, sloppy attitudes and that moral standards and respect were high on the curriculum.

In the distance could be heard the faint sound of footsteps. Now they grew louder and more rapid. The heels, crashing on the hard surface, drew closer, heavy and pounding. This person was obviously in a hurry. The fury of the footsteps was coming from the masters' study block. Then in a flash, a tall thin man appeared from around the corner, dressed in a mortarboard and gown. He passed under a wooden alcove and it was here that I observed he was the Headmaster. His crashing heels continued to echo, breaking the hushed silence, as he moved with the speed of a panther. His black academic gown swayed in the breeze he created. He bore a grim look, similar to that of an exorcist on a mission to seek out what was evil. He carried several books under his arm as he strode purposefully in the direction of the lecture hall.

A din from inside the hall could be heard as the Headmaster drew closer to his destiny. As soon as he entered through the two swing doors there was an immediate cessation. A silence fell. Not a single whisper from any of the pupils. This was the disciplined environment that the Head demanded: total respect for the man in the gown who now climbed the steps to the stage, and then looked down at the pupils. He gripped the dais, which bore the school crest and its Latin motto.

The Head surveyed the scene: three hundred boys and girls up to the age of eighteen stood in a sea of maroon and grey. The Head cleared his throat. However, he would not speak until he had their complete attention. By his high standards, although he had complete silence, there was still too much twitching and fidgeting going on. Bushy eyebrows narrowed. He wore a deep frown of impatience. Then at last he was satisfied.

He spoke in a rich, clear voice that filled the hall, but today there was something harsh about his tone.

"Before we proceed, the following girls will leave the lecture hall immediately and report to my study."