Duncan still hadn’t appeared when, as Russell, Guy and I were shifting desks out of my room, Del arrived with the kids from Satit Chula.
‘Where do you want them?’ he beamed.
‘Umm, well, the teenagers in room nine with Duncan,’ I said, gesturing over my shoulder and thinking that they were actually bloody early, and I didn’t really want them anywhere just yet, ‘And the younger ones in here with me’.
‘Okay’, he grinned, and disappeared back out to fetch them.
The next thing I know, he’s shepherding some very, very large children into my room.
‘Shit,’ I think. ‘They’re not going to go for Goldilocks and the Three Bears.’ Then I realise he’s got the rooms mixed up and they’re actually Duncan’s high school students.
Mix-up sorted out, Russell appears at my side and goes all soppy over the little ones (who still aren’t actually quite as little as I’d anticipated).
‘Aw, Pippa, look at them. They’re so small. They’re adorable. Oh Pippa, you’re so lucky!’
Yes, Russell. I’ll remind you of these words the next time you mutter about having to do a placement test with a chronically shy six-year old, you big softie.
Cutting the boss some slack, I head back into the staffroom to call Duncan, but he has finally turned up looking somewhat flustered, to say the least. It had taken him half an hour just to get a cab. The taxi drivers in his soi, being unused to anyone wanting their services at such an ungodly hour, hadn't been sitting there waiting for a fare as they might have been later. The news that twenty-odd teenagers were already in the classroom waiting for him to start entertaining them, wasn’t exactly the greeting he needed.
I go back into room 1 and start getting acquainted with the kids. Confidence in Goldilocks takes another small knock. These guys are good. Really good. Eight-year olds you can have a conversation with. ‘Most of us are eight. Some of us are seven, but most are eight.’ Ken, 8, who has enough confidence for all of us, takes charge, and spends much of the next couple of hours advising me on when to turn the page on the flipchart (usually long before we’d finished the activities connected with the current page). Thanks Ken.
Still, I’m undeterred. It’s a special occasion, after all, and no-one is going to mind very much, if, just this once, a class of eight-year olds spend an hour doing something that’s a bit too easy for them. It’ll just make us all look even more amazing than we really are!! And, there’s the play at the end of the lesson…
Besides, it doesn’t matter. Russell’s right. They’re lovely. The moment I start talking to them, what few nerves I have accumulated just evaporate, and I know we’re going to have fun.
Meanwhile, there’s still over an hour before the ceremony kicks off. I do a couple of rounds of ‘Guess The Drawing’ – how come they always get ‘elephant’ so quickly? – before getting them up and drawing for themselves in ‘Please Draw’.
One little girl leaves the entire class (and particularly me) on our knees with laughter.
‘Please draw seven bananas.’
She draws one banana.
She draws a second banana.
She pauses, glances around, grins and whips a real banana out from god knows where.
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| Action Shot with Banana Girl! |
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