* Kalima Bassey
The wooden bench, that was painted periwinkle blue, was the one I preferred. Even though it was derelict with two laths missing, situated in a dead end, it had become my companion.
Every Friday, I would sit on the periwinkle bench, staring at the church clock. And when the tenth chime would echo, it would finally start.
I would turn around, and peep through the half-open window of the basement at number 78.
Soon, she would walk through the old room with her long curly ginger hair and her freckles, wearing a warm and motherly smile, and all the children would follow her. They would sit quietly on cushions around her, and she would ask one child to choose a country on the globe.
Then, the child would say : « Erin – or « Madam » for the shiest - , tell us a story from Rajasthan ! » or « from Peru », « from Botswana », « from Iceland », « from New Zealand », « from Portugal »…
And the teacher would start. She would tell them fairy tales, folk tales, myths and legends from all around the world. Fairy tales full of princesses, damzels in distress and handsome knights freeing them from horrible witches or dragons. Fairy tales with Baba Yaga, the Russian witch chasing children. Fairy tales with magic carpets, magic lamps and djins, princesses and palaces. Legends that explain why camels have two humps or why elephants have a mane. Legends that explain where rice comes from, or why sea water is salty. Legends highlighting the courage and bravery of Maasai warriors or samurais.
Mrs Pettycoat’s voice was magical and spellbinding ; thanks to it, she was able to make the students travel the world for free, despite the impoverished background. Time would stop for half an hour or so.
But not only would she tell them marvellous stories that would spark fire in their innocent and curious eyes ; she would also make the children participate into the story ; little eight or nine-year-old girls would turn into princesses or fairies, and little boys would be knights or even dragons.
Mrs Pettycoat had that power to make them feel valuable, get a higher sense of their self-worth. She would help the shiest students to grow self-confidence week after week.
During that magical half hour or so, the children would once travel to the snowy and steep mountains of Russia. Some other time, they would walk through the Mojave desert in the U.S.A., the White Desert of Egypt or the Hoggar Desert of Algeria.
They would smell the mouthwatering, spicy meals from the market in Cairo, or the delicious bortsch by an open window in Moscow.
And so would I, before Mrs Pettycoat would take a piece of chalk and start a Maths or an English lesson. Eventually, I would leave the bench and walk away. I would walk half an hour, then sit on the cold, luxuous, stainless steel bench in the corridor of my place of work, eat my sandwich alone, and go back to my office, to work alone, but with my mind filled up with dreams and a new wonderful story.
The wooden bench, that was painted periwinkle blue, was the one I preferred. Even though it was derelict with two laths missing, situated in a dead end, it had become my companion.
Every Friday, I would sit on the periwinkle bench, staring at the church clock. And when the tenth chime would echo, it would finally start.
I would turn around, and peep through the half-open window of the basement at number 78.
Soon, she would walk through the old room with her long curly ginger hair and her freckles, wearing a warm and motherly smile, and all the children would follow her. They would sit quietly on cushions around her, and she would ask one child to choose a country on the globe.
Then, the child would say : « Erin – or « Madam » for the shiest - , tell us a story from Rajasthan ! » or « from Peru », « from Botswana », « from Iceland », « from New Zealand », « from Portugal »…
And the teacher would start. She would tell them fairy tales, folk tales, myths and legends from all around the world. Fairy tales full of princesses, damzels in distress and handsome knights freeing them from horrible witches or dragons. Fairy tales with Baba Yaga, the Russian witch chasing children. Fairy tales with magic carpets, magic lamps and djins, princesses and palaces. Legends that explain why camels have two humps or why elephants have a mane. Legends that explain where rice comes from, or why sea water is salty. Legends highlighting the courage and bravery of Maasai warriors or samurais.
Mrs Pettycoat’s voice was magical and spellbinding ; thanks to it, she was able to make the students travel the world for free, despite the impoverished background. Time would stop for half an hour or so.
But not only would she tell them marvellous stories that would spark fire in their innocent and curious eyes ; she would also make the children participate into the story ; little eight or nine-year-old girls would turn into princesses or fairies, and little boys would be knights or even dragons.
Mrs Pettycoat had that power to make them feel valuable, get a higher sense of their self-worth. She would help the shiest students to grow self-confidence week after week.
During that magical half hour or so, the children would once travel to the snowy and steep mountains of Russia. Some other time, they would walk through the Mojave desert in the U.S.A., the White Desert of Egypt or the Hoggar Desert of Algeria.
They would smell the mouthwatering, spicy meals from the market in Cairo, or the delicious bortsch by an open window in Moscow.
And so would I, before Mrs Pettycoat would take a piece of chalk and start a Maths or an English lesson. Eventually, I would leave the bench and walk away. I would walk half an hour, then sit on the cold, luxuous, stainless steel bench in the corridor of my place of work, eat my sandwich alone, and go back to my office, to work alone, but with my mind filled up with dreams and a new wonderful story.
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