All Together, Unfair.

The unfortunate result of not going straight back to the classroom meant your absence would be noted by the teacher. The bullies meanwhile, returned to their class. Unfortunately these particular bullies were not in mine, and obviously re entered their classroom as innocent lambs. My delayed return, as I attempted to dry my shirt, the woollen jersey being an possible task given that the only towel system was a single wrap of fabric, was difficult enough. I had towel dried my hair, after rinsing it in fresh water, to remove the trace of any potential urine (although the multiple dunkings and flushes, tended to mean the final washes had been in relatively clean water). But it was the actual area of wetness of my shirt, that could be immediately identified by the other students (those whom had been victimised already, and those who had not, yet). The teachers could not have been ignorant to the fact that a student walking into the classroom with wet hair, shirt neck and upper chest area soaked, would not have done such a thing for their own amusement (particularly in the cold climate of a winter day in Port Chalmers). But it was the tardiness of the eventual return to the classroom that drew the ire of the teacher and the subsequent punishment. Of which, the cleaning and washing of the blackboard was the start. 

There I was being punished unfairly (again), this time because I had been bullied. Could I squeal and advise the nun? Of course I could. I began to say what had occurred. To which she said to me, "Enough! Do you want a bit of Muddy, Doo?" (See blog 21st February 2013) I did realise immediately that it was wiser to stop. Definitely unfair, but wise. I would have to take this up with a higher authority (and I wasn't referring to God). The principal. I asked permission to go and see him. To which the answer was a sharp whack on the legs from the vicious 'Muddy Doo' and with a squeal, I was sent to my seat to sit and drip dry with the nun demanding I would be staying after class to clean the blackboard and attend to 'other' tasks. Unfortunate as that was, there was obviously worse to come. I sat there seething (righteously, as it happens - about the only thing I really had in common with the religion I was being made to partake in). 

The bell for the end of the school day was carried raucously around the classes (literally around each levels walkways) by the privileged child from one of the upper levels. This was a bestowed honour by the principal, and a significant mark of importance. The school day was ended, but no one in my class dared move, until they were given permission by the nun. We sat and listened as other classrooms emptied and happy children (no longer in their class, and delighted no doubt at not being in ours), left to escape this fearsome place until tomorrow. Eventually the nun in charge of our class would allow the students to stand and exit the room. Today however she held us there longer. She looked sternly about the classroom. Then she delivered her decision.
(Continued tomorrow)