Guesteur Guessed Dressed

(Josie Sayz: More archiving. This was a piece from my ‘Humour Writing’ module. I had to write a poem (which I called ‘Bad Boy Frank: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2016/01/bad-boy-frank.html) and a flash fiction piece. This one is loosely based on my History teacher/form tutor, Mr. Corfield, in secondary school. I had fun re-reading this piece).

Glancing down at my new timetable I sighed. It was the first day back at school after the summer holiday and my first lesson was History. Now don’t get me wrong, I like History; it’s my favourite subject. It’s just that our school’s History teacher, Mr. Guesteur, he’s… well, he’s a little bit weird, to put it lightly.

We entered the classroom at nine o’clock, but Mr. Guesteur was nowhere to be seen. “Yes,” someone cheered, “Maybe he’s away and we’ll have a cover teacher.” That’s what I hoped. That’s what we all hoped.

On the white board read the words ‘GEORGIAN ENGLAND.’ Perhaps this was a sign that Mr. Guesteur wasn’t here. Maybe it was a clue left behind, so that the cover teacher could find textbooks for us to copy out of. Although, to have your teacher missing on the first day of school did seem a little odd.

Several minutes passed and still we were teacherless. “This is it,” someone announced. “If no one turns up in a minute I’m leaving.” As if in response to their comment, the classroom door swung open.

“All rise,” came a male voice. Heads turned. A dark figure stood in the doorway. “I said: All rise!” Stunned by his strictness we did as he commanded. Then he entered the room. Before us stood a short man in a navy three-quarter-length justacorps, with golden edging. He wore a waistcoat and breeches, with a white wrist ruffled lace shirt. His low-heeled leather shoes fastened with golden buckles and his white stockings matched his powdered curly wig, which tied back with a black ribbon.

Someone sniggered, “Mr. Guesteur what’s that you’ve got on your head?”

“That is no way to speak to a Georgian member of the Commonwealth! For your information this is a powdered wig, all the rage during the Georgian period. Men used to wear them in order to improve their social status,” Mr. Guesteur told him with a nod.

“But this isn’t the Georgian period, Sir,” someone shouted at him. “It’s the twenty-first century.”

“Silence!” he roared. “Did I say you could speak? You’re lucky I do not have a cane, or I would whip you for your rudeness.”

The trouble with Mr. Guesteur was when he taught a certain period, he not only dressed as if he was from that period in time, but he also acted as if he was from that period in time. But what was worse, was that he actually thought that he was cool.

A week later, in our next History class, again, Mr. Guesteur was not there when we arrived. “Maybe they’ve sent him to the loony bin,” someone said. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at the whiteboard to find out what period we would be studying.

‘What absurd outfit will he be wearing this time?’ I began to wonder. Whatever it was it, I decided, it couldn’t be worse than the last time.

Five minutes crept by, then as people became restless the door opened. “Behold, sit down quietly class. For we doth have much Medieval history to cover and not a lot of time.” There was an echo of groans, as Mr. Guesteur clattered into the room. The full suit of plate armour, which he was wearing, rattled as he walked. Struggling to the front of the room Mr. Guesteur stood boldly, smiling, pleased with his entrance. Sinking lower into my seat, I sighed with defeat. I was wrong. It could get worse.

The next History class came, and the one after that and the one after that. Each time Mr. Guesteur came in a more bizarrely dressed outfit. For the Elizabethan period he wore a waist length royal-red cape with a jerkin, box pleat neck ruff and a flat cap. He also wore trunk hose, a codpiece – which most of the class laughed at – and netherstocks (which were really just stockings, but don’t let Mr. Guesteur know I said that). He strode around the room with a wooden tankard in his hand, cursing ‘The Virgin Queen.’ Then, he wore a venetian red buff coat, rounded helmet, tassets and baldric with an imitation sword, carbine and a powder flask, when studying the British Civil War. And then when we studied Ancient Rome, he came to class wearing a toga.

Some guys in my History class have even started having bets as to what Mr. Guesteur would be wearing to each class. However, even Mr. Guesteur, himself, exceeded our expectations when it came to studying World War II and he arrived at class dressed as Hitler.

Having suffered countless Monday mornings of History with the unpredictable Mr. Guesteur (or Mr. Jester as he was now known amongst our class) I now dreaded Mondays. The week before Christmas break came; I entered my History class and sat in the corner. It wasn’t fair. All other classes would be having free time, or watching films, as it was the last of lessons before the half term holiday, but not us. Marked on the board was the topic, ‘EGYPTOLOGY.’ Having noticed a sarcophagus standing upright at the front of the room, I dreaded to think what kooky outfit Mr. Guesteur had in store for us this week.

Aaron and Ben, known throughout school as the school’s bad-boys had been betting with sweets, what outfit Mr. Guesteur would be wearing to each lesson. This week, Aaron had bet Ben a bag of Skittles that Mr. Guesteur would come dressed a sphinx. Ben, on the other hand, had bet him a packet of Fruit Pastilles that Mr. Guesteur would come dressed as Tutankhamun. We sat and we waited.

Five minutes passed by and still Mr. Guesteur was nowhere to be seen. “Aaron,” Ben began, giving his friend a nudge. “I dare you to open that coffin.” Ben pointed at the Ancient Egyptian stone resting against the whiteboard.

“It’s a sarcophagus,” I told them, but they didn’t listen.

“What’s in it for me?” Aaron asked him. Since starting their betting game, neither Aaron nor Ben ever did anything anymore without some form of bet being in place or with some form of junk food being at stake.

“Packet of Walkers crisps?” Ben suggested. Aaron shrugged.

“Easy,” he boasted. Getting up from his chair Aaron swaggered over to the mummy’s casket. Clasping his fingers around the stone lid Aaron gasped, “This is heavy,” before heaving the door open. He yelped, as the contents revealed itself. Inside, staring back at him was a bandaged corpse – a preserved Ancient Egyptian mummy. Many laughed at Aaron’s fear. Aaron turned around to face us laughing off his fright. “Mr. Guesteur’s more of a freak than I thought,” he snorted. “He’s got a real mummy.” Heads arched as they tried to see the ancient mystery. Turning back to face it, Aaron, leaned forwards, examining it more closely. “Yuck!” he exclaimed, “It reeks too.”

“Touch it,” Ben said.

“I’m not gonna touch it.”

“Touch it!” Ben said again. “I bet you a Mars bar you’re too chicken.”

Returning his sight to the mummy, Aaron shuddered. Not wanting to seem scared in front of the whole class, and wanting Ben to buy him a Mars bar, Aaron leant into the case and prodded the mummy’s face. The mummy moved. Flinching backwards, Aaron screamed. Several people sniggered. With a fierce glare, Aaron spun around to see who had laughed. Everyone gasped. Not at Aaron, but at the mummy. Its head titled to the side and its shoulders wriggled. Aaron staggered backwards; his mouth open. Bending its knee joints slightly, the mummy hopped forwards. Everyone screamed.

Shaking away his fear, Aaron tried to regain his cool. “Whatever,” he said with a shrug. “I wasn’t scared,” he laughed nervously. Realising that this must be Mr. Guesteur’s costume for the day, Aaron put on his tough-guy-act and projected, “I knew it was you all the time, Sir.”

Just then, the classroom door opened. “Sorry I’m late class,” Mr. Guesteur began. “I was having trouble with my costume,” he said wearing a pharaoh outfit, complete with nemes head piece, shendyt royal apron and a sceptre. Aaron’s jaw dropped as he looked over at Mr. Guesteur. Then as Aaron turned back to the mummy, he fainted.

- Josie -

Significant Object

(Josie Sayz: More archiving. More university flash fictions. Another one from my ‘Life Writing’ module. This one is about my most significant childhood object.)

I’ve never been a people person. When I was little I hated nursery, I hated school. In fact, I hated anything that involved the need to talk to other people. But that does not mean that I was lonely.

Watching other children playing games and then crying when someone cheated, someone changed the rules, or just wasn’t being nice, made me glad that I wasn’t like them. I had my own companion. He never cheated in games, or pushed me over, or got me into trouble and he was always there when I needed him. Unlike any human, he was the best friend anyone could ever ask for. His name was Purple Teddy. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the most creative of name choices, but names don’t always reflect personality.

Purple Teddy went with me everywhere; to the shops, to the park and even to nursery – that is when I went to nursery. Every day, Purple Teddy and I would hatch a new plan to try and stay at home. We tried pretending to be sick, but Purple Teddy gave us away, he wasn’t very good at fake sneezing. Then we pretended to have spotty-itous, but my felt tip smudged when Mommy made us wash our hands. So then we tried to pretend we had tummy ache, but Mrs. Low never believed us. I had liked my teacher, Mrs. Low, until I discovered that she was really a wicked witch. She was aware of my distance from the other children and was determined to put an end to it.

One day, after I had finished making a commotion over having to come to nursery, Mrs. Low snatched Purple Teddy away from me and stuffed him in a box, out of sight. It wasn’t fair! Other boys and girls were allowed to bring things with them to play with and they never got taken away. Their things were less important than mine too: a yo-yo, a pack of cards, a toy car. These toys often lay forgotten on the floor, only to be remembered at home time.

My pretend tummy ache turned real and I clenched my hands into fists, as I watched Mrs. Low disappear into the Teachers-Only-room with Purple Teddy. However, this time I decided I didn’t want to cry… I wanted to get even. No one was allowed to take Purple Teddy away from me, not even Mommy. Mrs. Low had crossed the line and I needed a plan to get him back. The only problem was, Purple Teddy was better at coming up with plans than me. He was always the one who came up the schemes to try and get us to stay at home, but now, I was on my own. It was up to me to save him.

The wicked witch prowled the playroom, spying on all of the other boys and girls. While she told Tiffany off for throwing sequins and glitter around the room, I made a dash for the make-pretend room.

Lifting her head out of the dress-up box, Sophie asked me to play shop keeper with her and David in the pretend shop. I didn’t want to play, but I hoped that if I dressed up Mrs. Low would think that I was someone else and wouldn’t find me. Then I would have time to think of my rescue mission. Putting a floppy straw hat on my head, a spikey feather scarf around my neck, I knew that I was now undetectable. Buying a plastic apple, I handed Sophie my play money, as I looked over my shoulder through the door of the playroom. My eyes froze open as they faced the figure in the doorway. There, stood Mrs. Low in her ‘nice lady’ disguise that witches have, and smiled at us. My disguise had worked – she didn’t recognise me.

After Sophie and David became bored playing shop, I managed to sneak off into the play castle. It wasn’t really a castle, there were no turrets for princesses to hide, or moats full of crocodiles or dragons, but there was a corner, known as the ‘den’, piled high with cushions and blankets for when the princess needed to sleep on a pea. I traded the straw hat and prickly scarf for the princess’ cone hat and crawled inside the den.

I thought I was safe to conjure my plan, until Derrick, Jack and a nasty bully named Adam ran into the castle declaring a fight between the King and the Cannon Shooters. Balls were hurled around the make-pretend room, destroying the castle and the den. Scrambling out from the den, I ran to seek shelter elsewhere.

There wasn’t anyone sat on the carpet, where the books were kept, so I decided to continue my mission from there. The book rack was next to the Teachers-Only-room, where Purple Teddy was held captured, so I decided to keep guard. I leant all of my weight against the door, but it wouldn’t open and I was too short to reach the lock. Even if I piled all of the books on top of each other, I still wouldn’t be able to reach the lock. Knowing that I might be able to use an idea from a story to free Purple Teddy, I grabbed several books from out of the rack and set them around me on the floor.

Just as I was about to discover how Tiny Ted freed the trapped mouse, Mrs. Low gathered everyone onto the carpet and swept the books away from me, placing them back in the rack. Once everyone was quiet she explained that because Derrick, Jack and Adam had destroyed the make-pretend room, we all had to stay on the carpet until it was home time.

At first, I thought this was good news. Sometimes if someone brings in a toy that’s too big (like a bicycle or a scooter) it gets placed in the Teachers-Only-room until the end of the day. At the end of the day, we all sit on the carpet and Mrs. Owl makes us sing ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’, or ‘One Finger, One Thumb Keep Moving’, then people get their toys back. But today, Mrs. Low has made us sit in a circle and talk about our favourite foods, then our favourite colours, whether we liked the sun or the rain and what makes us happy or sad. I wanted to say that Mrs. Low made me feel sad for stealing Purple Teddy, but I knew that she would never give him back if I did, so when it was my turn I just repeated whatever someone else said and prayed that it was home time soon.

Hours seem to drag by as we went around the circle sharing what Mrs. Low called ‘friendly thoughts,’ and what I called: ‘secrets.’ Eventually, punishment was over as Mrs. Owl entered the room. She made us all gather around her to sing our end-of-nursery-song, whilst Mrs. Low went into the Teachers-Only-room.

When Mrs. Low returned, she wore her ‘nice lady’ disguise again and handed Louise and Adam their bicycles and Luis his scooter, but Purple Teddy was still held captive. After the song was over, Mrs. Owl led everyone to the coats and bags room, before going outside to meet their parents, but Mrs. Low made me stay behind. My arms went all bumpy and started to shake. I felt my insides twist in knots as my tummy ache came back. The evil witch, Mrs. Low, was going to capture me too.

Once everyone had left the room, Mrs. Low crouched down to my height and placed her hand upon my shoulder. I squinted my eyes shut and turned my face away from hers. “My, haven’t you been a good girl today,” she said in her smiley voice. “You’ve been playing with Sophie and David, haven’t you?” I gasped and jerked my head to face her. Mrs. Low had seen through my earlier disguise. How could she? She must have cast a spell on me. “See,” she continued. “You don’t need to bring your bear with you. You can play with the other boys and girls.” Releasing my shoulder from her grasp, she went back into the Teachers-Only-room and gave me back Purple Teddy. Amazed, I closed my eyes, squeezing him tight – I was never going to let her or anyone else steal him again.

Before Mrs. Low could change her mind, I ran into the coats and bags room to put on my coat, so that I could go home. On the way home I told Purple Teddy everything that happened during my attempts to save him and he revealed the torture that he had been through whilst trapped inside Mrs. Low’s lair. Once home, we declared that we would never be separated again.

Seventeen years later, I find myself having a bad dream about a wicked sorcerous trying to capture me at university. Having been chased around campus, I finally found a dark room to hide inside. As the tremble of her footsteps near, my heartbeat races and I jump as my alarm clock drums in my ear. Waking up, I flinch, knowing that something is missing. I turn frantically from left to right trying to restore normality. Reaching down onto the floor I clutch my purple bear tightly in my hand, before giving him a squeeze and placing him back on my bed.

- Josie -

First Food Memory

(Josie Sayz: I’m currently archiving – that’s probably obvious from the number of old, university pieces that have been cropping up the last couple of weeks. This is no exception. Following on from last week, this flash fiction piece also comes from a ‘Life Writing’ class. As told by two year old me, this is my first food memory.)

I am in some café place. My Mommy says it’s called, ‘McDonalds’. She says that this place is only for unhealthy people, not people like me, so I wonder why I am here.

I’m sat at a table with Jessica (who is my Aunty, but I’m not allowed to call her Aunty. Daddy says it’s because she’s only two years older than me) and my cousin, Jade. I’m glad that I got to sit at the table with them, because I don’t know any of the other big kids. I recognise a couple of them. They’re all Jessica’s friends, here, for her party.

I didn’t want to go. I don’t like crowded places with lots of people. Or loud noises. Mommy said that I didn’t have to go, but Daddy said that if I didn’t I would be being rude. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I know it has something to do with my Nanny and Aunty Tracey. I don’t want to be like them. So here I am.

Bored, from listening to Jessica and Jade talking, I look around for the adults. Behind me, at a table, is my Mommy with my Nanny and Aunty Tracey. I don’t know where Daddy and Grandad are, but I wish that I was with them.

I don’t like Jessica and Jade. The grown-ups think that we should do everything together, because Jade is a year older than me and Jessica is a year older than Jade. They all want me to be just like them. But I don’t want to be. They speak really loudly; I want to cover my ears. And I don’t like their yellow hair, stuck on top of their heads like the tops of pineapples. Mommy tied my hair on the top of my head, but I pulled my bobble out. It looks silly.

Jessica and Jade look at me, knowing that I have not being listening, and start laughing. They sound like that animal at the zoo. Mommy said that it’s called a hyena. I didn’t like it – it was too noisy. I turn back again to look at the grown-ups.

When I turn back, a tall lady hands us all our food. Jessica’s looks icky. She has this thing that looks like a bread roll, but it has chickenpox on the top and inside it there’s a brown circle thing that’s touching something gooey and yellow, which is touching some lettuce. There’s white stuff dripping down it too. She tells me this is a burger. I shut my eyes tight, so that I don’t have to see it. I hate it when foods touch each other.

Then I turn to Jade. She’s eating these things that I have. Mommy says that they are called chips, but really they are just potatoes made into thin rectangles. I know I like potato. But I don’t understand how they make it into tiny rectangles. My potatoes at home look like mushy clouds. Jade dips her chips in this slimy stuff that looks like blood. I squirm away to Jessica’s side, but she’s dipping her chips into brown slimy stuff that reminds me of a mud pie.

I look down at my food, so that I don’t see them. I look at my chips, but I can’t eat them. They’re sprinkled with white stuff. They have the chickenpox too, like Jessica’s burger. Worried that everyone will think I’m strange, because I’m not eating the food that they are, I quickly look around the room. I notice people drinking their drink. That’s one thing that I know should be okay. My drink is called fizzy orange. I’m not sure what the difference is between it and the orange that Mommy and Daddy give me at home, so I drink it.

After taking a sip, I clasped my hands over my mouth. Millions of bouncy balls are bouncing around in my mouth. I want to spit it out, but I know I’m not allowed – that’s naughty. I’m scared. The bouncy balls are trying to escape. Hoping that there is more room for the balls to bounce in my tummy, I swallow. Maybe having bounce balls in my tummy won’t be so bad. But the bouncy balls don’t go down to my tummy. I feel them in the top of my nose. They’re bouncing more now. Squeezing my hands over my nose, I cry.

As Mommy comes over, Jessica and Jade start making that horrible zoo animal laughing noise and are pointing at me. Then Jessica’s friends start laughing too. Mommy takes me to the grown-ups table and makes me sit with her. She tells me off for crying and smacks the back of my hand. Now Nanny and Aunty Tracey are laughing at me too.

The bouncy balls are gone now, but I don’t know where. People keep looking over at me and laughing. I snuggle my head down on my Mommy’s lap and cry myself to sleep.

- Josie -