With my customary apologies to Geoffrey Willans and Ronald Searle.
You may or may not recall that the last time I wrote, St Custards was under the control of a feirce dicktator from the US of A and skool life was going to hell in a handycarton, which as any fule kno is prity much par for the coarse in this neck of the woods. I would like to sa things hav improved but that would be a bigger lie than the one Molesworth 2 told the Chemistery master about what really happen to the skool dog in the fume cupboard (a story for another day, lets just sa that the experimint leave him with a v. high pitched bark and less fur than a skool sossidge. The skool dog. Not mi bro.).
So what hav happen?, I hear you ask. What hav befallen the brave lads and the miserible array of dolts and wets that comprise the teeching staff since the last time I put nib to paper?
The plot, as they sa, thicken agane…
Our old new head (or ‘principle’ as he insisted we call him) was one Ralph N. Geigerhammer the 3rd, an Amurcan from the Deep South and a religous tartre if ever there was one. Once, as I reported before, we found him digging up the skool playing field to make what he call “a mound” rite on a legnth down middle and leg at the oak tree end, which made gillibrand weep and wail and nash his teeth. The only person who was hapy under his rain was the Relig. Ed master becos he was alowed to teech the Old Testerment version of how the mirical of life came to bee. Anyway, as is ushually the case with our heads, one day he was there, the next he was no more. He went away for a special “vaaaaycaaaaayshun” and never came back. Acording to a rumer our History master herd on the grapevine, he had gone to Amurca to storm the capital for presidant Trump on jan 6th and is now helping the FBI with what they call their “ink wiries”. We shall draw a discrete vale over all of that as we have all been sworn to secrisy by the skool lawyer, who was hired by Grabbers pater.
Long story short we hav a new head and he is as bonkers as its posible to be without ackshually being carried off by men in white cotes. His name is dominick cummings and he used to be something in guvverment but had to leeve under a cloud. He look like he hav been dressed by the skool caretaker and he is a man of ideas which he keep warm under a brite green boble hat. Far be it from me (GRAMMER) to be critical, but most of them are ideas even mi mate peason (a well known nutbox) would be embarased to claim as his own. On his first day at asembly mr cummings ask the Relig. Ed master to step away from the piano and he sa to us “boys, you kno how we will make music while I am head?”
We stare at him in polite anticiaption. You never kno what you may get with a new head but it is ushually a bit unexpected, or at leest it tends to be here at St Cs.
He reech behind his lectern and pull out a sledgehamer. “THIS is how we will make sweet sweet music!” he declare, and then set about the piano like a man posesed. Wood shater and fly everywhere, wires go snap and zing past our heads. fotherington-tomas was hoping about and waling like a banshee as ivory keys bounce off his curley golden locks and it all sound a lot like one of those Stockhousing rekords our Musik teacher inflict on we noble lads when he is miserible (most thursdays which coincerdently is the day we do musik. chiz chiz). It was very impresiv and we all cheer and clap like teechers at gillibrands latest sport finale. This was very unushual for Day 1 even by St Custards standerds. Grabber was taking bets that the head wood not last till lunchtime. “he may not even get to taste the skool sossidge!” he sa. “lucky him” we thort.
After a bit all was silent except for fotherington-tomas whimpering like a gurly and the Music teacher saying things under his breath which I canot repeet here, genital reader.
The head put down the sledgehamer, wipe his mitey brow and sa “there you go, boys. Your first leson under mi leadership. To make it, you must first brake it! I want you to brake things, boys! Take a bulldozer to convention! Throw away the old ways and never look back!”
I heard the Woodwork teacher sa under his breath “so no change there then”. The Philosophy master laugh like a drane. “this is going to be interesting,” he reply.
To everyones surprize, three weeks later mr cummings is still head. We also have a new Latin Master, some beanpole called rees-Moggy who wander around the skool coridors saying things like “vainy, veedy, vichy” and “quiz custardiet ipsos custardes” (posibly our skool motto) like some sort of mad Roman talking chrismas craker. He look like he will be a rite on brand addishun to St Custards halowed line of idiot Latin masters. I will update you on his progress in due coarse. In the meantime, I am late for Geog. chiz chiz.
Yours, as ever
Brilliant! Molesworth lives again 😆
I think you’ll find it’s spelt “agane” 😉