Headmaster’s Study
written by: Mark Patterson
@markDBS
James Jones knocked nervously on the door labelled Headmaster and waited. His palms sweated holding the paper he had collected from his pigeonhole earlier that morning. He knew what it said, it was after all, brief, succinct and typical of the writer. Still, he unfolded it and read it again as he waited.
See me.
JK
He had heard that a note from the Head signed JK was not indicating wrongdoing, while if it had all his initials, the recipient was guilty of a transgression and a punishment was going to be meted out.
‘Come in, please,’ rang out the secretary’s voice, warm and inviting as it always was. James opened the door and strode through before closing it with a whisper of a click.
‘Good afternoon, Ma’am. The Headmaster left me a note to come and see him.’
A smile spread across Mrs. Crichton’s face. She had been in this position for the five years that James had been at the school. His previous interactions with her were trivial compared to what he felt about this one. They had involved delivering sick notes or a letter from his parent asking permission to leave the school early to attend a Doctor’s appointment.
‘Good afternoon. It’s Jones, isn’t it, from the sixth form? Sit over there and I will tell the Headmaster that you are here.’ She waved a hand towards the chairs by the coffee table and pushed a button on the intercom.
‘Yes?’
‘Jones is here to see you, Headmaster.’ She returned to her typing. James sat on the chair and looked around the office. Her desk was tidy. A neat pile of files was at one side of the desk and an in-tray at the other. To the right of her desk was a polished black door that led to the Headmaster’s study. A green and a red light were over the door. Neither of which was glowing.
Several minutes passed as Mrs. Crichton finished typing and pressed a print button. The printer in the corner resurrected itself and spat out two sheets of paper. A buzzer sounded and the light over the door turned green.
‘Headmaster will see you now. Please go through.’
‘Thank you.’
James stood up, straightened his blazer, combed a hand through his hair, and with a deep breath knocked on the door.
‘Enter!’ came the reply. James opened it and took a timid step onto the thick carpet of the study before closing the door.
‘Come forward,’ said the voice behind the desk four metres away. Jonathan Kirk had been the Headmaster for ten years and had a fearsome reputation for discipline and extracting maximum performance from his pupils. This reputation resulted in St. Michael’s Senior School being regarded as one of the top three in the country.
James took four steps forward and stopped a metre from the desk. The desk was bare apart from the pad that the Headmaster was writing on, and a cane was positioned a few centimetres ahead of the pad. Maybe two initials meant punishment. Time will tell.
The Headmaster was writing with a fountain pen. James liked fountain pens and had a small collection he guarded at home. The one Headmaster was using looked like a Mont Blanc but it didn’t appear to have the trademark white star on the cap.
Without looking up, the Headmaster picked up the cane with his left hand and lined it up on the paper before drawing a line with the pen.
‘I couldn’t find my ruler this morning so I needed to improvise.’ He swished the cane at shoulder height. ’That noise, full of pain anticipation, has straightened out many a young boy. But that is not how we discipline today. Not that that is what you are here for.’
‘Understood, Sir. Yes, Sir. I mean, what is it that you want from me, Sir?’
‘Jones, you have written an essay on the environment for the County competition on Saving the Environment. It fails to come up to the standard that is expected of pupils at this establishment. I am going to give you the benefit of my years of experience preparing boys for competitions like this.’
‘Thank you, Sir. What is needed to improve it?’
‘You waxed on about using reusable packaging, recycling, reduced plastic waste, energy, etc. All the popular buttons that are rammed up our noses every day. Yet you have failed to mention the need for water and its protection. You should be aware, Jones, of the immense contribution made by the Romans in ensuring that we have the potable water that we enjoy today. The first Roman water project was a drainage canal called the Cloaca Maxima. I suggest you make notes, Jones, your head is worse than a sieve at what it retains.’
Jones took out a notebook and his pencil and started to write.
‘You need to do research on the aqueducts that they built and the devices that they used to get them filled with good quality water. Give a history of the construction including the siphons, arcades, and that most of the aqueducts were in fact underground. Are you keeping up, Jones?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Jones turned a page in his book and scrawled further.
‘Don’t spend too much on the engineering side of it but more on what they used to solve the problems. It would be best if you emphasized how important water was for those living in Rome. It is imperative that you also mention how cutting off viaducts by enemies during wars was an effective tool. It shows how strategic water is or rather the lack of it, as a weapon. I suggest you also research how they determined the good water rather than the bad water to use. I believe it is essential that you highlight the incredible waste of water. You obviously can cover the pollution with plastic, etc.’
‘Is that not the crux of the piece, Sir?’
‘I don’t believe so. Pollution of any form is dangerous to the most precious commodity. Be it plastic, or mud landslides caused by increased global warming. The pollution affects the rivers and the water table in the aquifers deep in the earth. The Romans knew this, and it is time that you expose what they knew about water and its essential role in our lives. How they moved it is not that different from what we do today.
‘Now I have given you enough to get a second draft prepared. I expect you to leave it in Mrs. Crichton’s inbox by 9 am tomorrow. There is no time for procrastination now, Jones, you have a lot of work to do. I must warn you that I expect that there will be at least another edit needed to get the content worthy of submission.’
‘Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.’
Jones turned to exit knowing that his afternoon and evening would be tied up in research and writing. He walked towards the door. On the wall was a framed diploma for the Headmaster.
‘And Jones, make it about three thousand words.’
James looked at the diploma that read the recipient’s name Jonathan Eric Richard Kirk.
He smiled.
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