All very modest dentists must not eat spinach after portions of rhubarb tart

Mr McMorine did not exist until the day he spoke French tall nondescript brushed back black hair glasses suit passed for any businessman teacher prime minister anywhere stringy frayed black gown shiny shoulder stains tattiest in school a thornback ray in the corridor breeze. Mr McMorine mumbled English apologising when he spoke it French a different matter appeared in class took register stood up paced back forth before the blackboard a patrolling raven head down:

36 “Jeunes hommes. Messieurs. Aujourd’hui, nous allons commencer à apprendre une nouvelle langue—la langue française.”

Stopped in tracks by the rolling liquid sound. Mr McMorine mumbled English again they were going to learn French everyday words phrases the French use “what is that?” “hello” “how are you?” “where are you going?” “how much is this?” on the blackboard

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

“Bonjour”

“Comment allez-vous?”

“Où allez vous?”

“Combien est-ce que c’est?”

Gobbledegook words no hypnotic sounds spoke again there they were flute-like strains concentrating the “mind” memorising music like butterflies escaping. McMorine asked them to write down French phrases for their first homework get used to the next stage individual words in phrases what they meant. Impossible to make a connection between writing and the sound of Mr McMorine’s French voice you can’t “write” beautiful music “Q-u-e-s-t-c-e-q-u-e” came out “quest kee kew” what was this compared to what fluttered by? Went to his room away from brawling through the walls recall the sounds when the music returned began to write it down.

Kes … ker … say … kesskerrrsay … kesskerssay!

Each sound given the treatment a list of beautiful sounds finally his own collection of butterflies.

Kesskersay?

Bonn jewer

37 Komm on allay vooh?

Oo allonn nooh?

Komm bee ann esskerssay?

Fair copy under pillow went to sleep relief always relief preferred sleep to anything awake frightened him another interminable threatening day not this one waited in line hand in homework no one could have worked harder. Mr McMorine looked at the homework looked at him looked down looked up.

“Mmm … let’s have a chat at the end of the lesson, shall we?”

Didn’t seem unhappy trotted off listen to more butterflies flew by quickly Mr McMorine signalled to come over the empty room felt strangely special him and him together French music butterflies hovering. Mr McMorine spoke gently:

“I like what you have done, but you don’t have to worry about making up the spelling of the words. The French have done this already. They have their own words. The spelling is different from spelling in English. Not only that, they pronounce their words in a way that is different to the way we pronounce English, as you’ve heard in class.”

[nods]

“When we learn French, we learn the sounds of the words, but we also learn a whole new way of spelling and writing that is all their own.”

An eye-opener the French already had their own writing! Relief confusing the homework had been hard the situation probably true Mr McMorine was the French teacher after all.

38 “I will teach you the words. You try to learn the pronunciation and the spelling and, when we look at whole sentences, I’ll teach you the grammar to show you how sentences work.”

“Yes, sir.”

Went away even more interested in the business of French now that it had been invented. Less difficult if all you have to do is learn it! French came naturally maybe the music maybe the butterflies maybe McMorine’s interest maybe all three reeled off chunks of prose top marks twice prior to demise at sixteen. Mr McMorine wrote red biro hints praise didn’t interfere didn’t tick him off didn’t order him about it worked proud of French first proud thing in life. Looked forward to butterflies and Mr McMorine’s deadpan humour like a man in a suit from Monty Python’s Flying Circus announced gravely one day.

“All very modest dentists must not eat spinach after portions of rhubarb tart.”

Children giggled McMorine serious stark raving mad barmy hoot what was he up to? Less interesting was that some French verbs don’t take “avoir” in the past tense but “être”. Aller, venir, monter, descendre, mourir, naître, entrer, sortir, arriver, partir, rester, tomber their initials dreamed up the mad poem his pupil went around for days declaring all that which very modest dentists must not do. Never saw McMorine laugh wasn’t unhappy a serious man didn’t feel much about him in love with Carragher McMorine shambled Carragher dazzled McMorine’s influence lasted Carragher’s didn’t. McMorine interested him in a subject for its own sake no loyalty obedience helped him to think gave him a small French-English dictionary 39fitted his pocket didn’t know what to do kept it always tried learning German fusspot teacher never satisfied with the ridiculous sentence construction no music quick death. Thought he was interested in geography unaware it was a vehicle to love Carragher maps figures graphs periods tables Cambrian pre-Cambrian implications of rainfall on population growth in the Far East no relationship couldn’t ask for help didn’t know help tried to earn love be good no trouble shone in Carragher’s eyes he thought sucked into opprobrium shamed by work he had to get right couldn’t get right had to couldn’t had to mistake after mistake poor marks dismay lifelong self-criticism wasting his one chance with a man of decency by sixteen spiral decline swift unstoppable exam results wretched decision absurd put him in the “Sixth Form” class pupils for “Advanced Level” passport to university do you hear this? Hopeless period the death of imaginary Carragher tie two most humiliating years at grammar school written off dragged around school building refugee in a compound ignominy public failed spectacle seen to fail criticised for failing bullied cowed crowed at longed to be anywhere else anywhere nowhere he could think of.