Sing Me To Sleep (formerly From Maggie May to Penny Lane)

Chapter 4 - Miss May

Miss Thorne got to her feet at once and made for the door after telling Miss Marsh, “I’ll leave her in your hands, Cheryl.  You can show her the ropes, so to speak.  Afterwards, I’d like to see you in my office.”  And she was gone without another word.

Miss Marsh got to her feet too and moved over to a filing cabinet where she proceeded to pull out a folder and a pack.

“Come with me, dear.” She smiled, nodding out to the corridor.

“May be I should go.  I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”

“Absolutely not.  She knows you’re the right one for the job.”

“Am I?  I don’t think Miss Thorne sees it that way.”

“Dear,” she started, leading me down the small narrow corridor, “she doubts and underestimates the youthful.  She’d rather have old worn old warts, like myself, have them retire a year or two later and go through the whole process all over again.  But I can see you here for a long time.”

“As long as I pass my first year.”

Cheryl sighed.  “Something like that.”

“Is there anything I could’ve said or did…?”

“It’s not you, dear.  Other than being youthful, she’s comparing you to your father.  Yes he was an excellent teacher and his students respected him but…”

“But?”

“He didn’t set much store for the rules.  He had a real penchant for pushing Joan to the edge sometimes.”

“Such as?”

“Such as when he requested sheet music and new materials for the choir.  He wanted to bring something new and fresh to the table rather than the same old boring classical music that Joan and half the school board prefer.  When she only came up with more classical music, your father went behind her back and printed it all off on his computer.”

“He must’ve been very passionate about doing this for the choir.” I commented as Cheryl led me past the canteen, down another corridor full of classrooms and out into a sort of courtyard facing the two red brick buildings.  “He’s normally the one to toe the line but I guess he must have gained a bit of my mothers’ daringness before she died.”

“Oh, yes,” she laughed, “you’re father certainly became a bit bolder in his quests over his last few years.  As music teacher you will be taking over the choir, of course.  It’s more money of course, if you’re interested.”

“Absolutely.”

“This way.” She said, leading me towards the building on the right.  “The building on the left is for science classes.  This one is for the arts and other recreations.”

“What is the main building used for?”

“The lower levels are for students between the ages five and eleven and the upper levels mostly contain lecture rooms and some more classes should anything happen to these two buildings.  But since it’s been in such disrepair it hardly gets used except for the primary students or others coming to the canteen for lunch.”

Conversation about my fathers’ antics at Cossling Academy were left behind us as we entered the front entrance to the second annex.  The ground floor was home to the P.E. departments’ swimming pool and gym as well as the schools’ theatre.  There were some tennis courts and a running track on the other side of the building, surrounded by gardens of the most fragrant plants and flowers.

Cheryl led me up the stairs past the first level, which she was saving for last.  The second level belonged to the art department.  There was one class room, one room for painting, one for photography and other such things as clay models.  On the third level I found the foreign language section that comprised of three classrooms; Italian, French and German.  At the other end of this level were the literature department and a large library with a grand selection of books.