The Unlikely Hero

THE UNLIKELY HERO

Caspar Wylie was proud of his achievements. He had always wanted to be a school teacher and had remained at the same school for nearly thirty years, five of them as a senior master.

He did not have time for idle chit chat, small talk was in his opinion a waste of time. He liked to see his students stand to attention, though his conscience did prick him when he saw a student cower in fear, it meant that the child would never come to him when he, as a teacher, was needed. Having said that he had many students both to teach and supervise so he did not dwell on what was a fleeting moment: preferring instead to walk along the corridors, hands behind his back, his nose in the air like an Army General, (no not the Salvation Army, you fool!). He was Anglican from birth until death no tambourines and the like, (oh my) and as for open-air meetings…

Oh, what was he thinking of? He was at school, after all. “Pay attention Caspar,” he thought.

“Good Morning Mr Wylie.”

Good Morning, Johnson, your tie is not straight.” the observation was automatic therefore so was the reply.

“Mr Wylie.”

“Yes Johnson, what is it?”

“I feel sick Sir.”

“Then go to the sickbay, old chap,” Caspar said with just a hint of concern. He beckoned one of Johnson’s mates “Winterton, could you please take Johnson to the sickbay.”

“Oh, Sir look at his colour. He’s gonna puke.”

“Oh, yes, he might.” Caspar felt helpless, he was after all a confirmed old bachelor and likely to remain so, he could not handle sickness at all.

“Can I help anyone?” it was a young teacher speaking as he approached.  Before Caspar could reply the newcomer said: “Johnson, I think you need some fresh air and soda water.” the smile was genuine “come with me.”

Later Caspar saw the young teacher “Mr Smith, thank you for looking after the boy this morning.”

“Oh, no worries Mr Wylie. The kid looked pale a classic migraine sufferer.”

“Do you suffer from them?”

“Not now I had a chiropractor sort me out!”

“A Chiropractor? Are they not quacks?” Caspar’s chin went up, therefore, his nose did too.

“Nah, you are thinking of ducks.” Smith smiled “It is all down to the good or the bad in a profession, Mr Wylie: after all, you must have had your share of good and bad teachers along the way, I know I did. I guess we just have to be determined to be a good teacher, one who will be remembered even when the students of today are themselves old and grey.”

“Yes, indeed.” said Caspar “very wise words, Scott.”

Scott Smith looked at him in surprise. It was rare for the senior master to call anyone by their given name. They said their goodbyes and went their 'merry' ways.

The following day, as Caspar sat in the staff room, he overheard a conversation between two colleagues.  Ordinarily, Caspar did not indulge in eavesdropping, however, he thought the subject was about the boy with the migraine, and curiosity got the better of him.

He approached one of the teachers and smiled.

“I say Mrs Briggs am I right in thinking you are speaking of er …Sam Johnson in the sixth grade?”

Mrs Briggs giggled “I think you are speaking of the Australian actor Mr Wylie.  Brett Johnson is in sixth grade and yes I was speaking of him to Pat Gibbs.”

“I saw him yesterday he said he was feeling sick. Mr Smith said it was a migraine.” said Caspar

“He may have had a headache.” replied Mrs Briggs “no, the poor kid lost his Dad three months back and as they were great mates, Brett grieves his wee heart out at times.”

“I see.” said Caspar horrified “was I informed?”

“Yes, I think so, you were at the funeral.” Doris Briggs did not mean to sound harsh, but the effect of her words had an impact “could I get you something Mr Wylie, you look shocked?”

“No Mrs Briggs, thank you that is very kind. It is not shock so much as disgust, in myself: how could I be so stupid, so insensitive?”

“If you were stupid you would not have risen to Senior Master and maintained the position, Mr Wylie.” said Doris “there is no age limit to making mistakes and learning from them.” she smiled

“Children are resilient, he will be fine.”

“Yes, that is what we teachers say because in most cases it is true.” Caspar replied ruefully “I am particularly cross with myself because…” he had a breath intake “I was about Brett’s age when my father was killed, during the war.” he looked at Doris steadily “I will look out for the boy. Well, good day to you. The second form will be tested on the Tudors today. I like the subject, but they might not.”

They laughed as they left the staff room.

Later at lunchtime, Caspar had reason to get something from his car. He noticed a group of youngsters arguing. Sensing he should investigate he moseyed down to the end of the playground in time to see the makings of a fight.

“Baby Baby Johnson, Cry baby Johnson, A tissue a tissue he has a snotty nose.” laughter and teasing then “Baby baby Johnson Cry Talcum Johnson A tissue…”

They neither heard nor saw Caspar’s approach.

“What is the meaning of this?” Caspar was not used to fury he prided himself on remaining calm.

“It’s a play on words …on a nursery rhyme, Sir”

“For pity’s sake I KNOW that.” replied Caspar “Mason, Rogers, Winterton, I am surprised at you, get into my office at once.”

“We have a maths test, Sir,” said Winterton

“Tough I will supervise your detention this evening; you can do the maths test then. Now get inside to my office, except you Brett.”

Caspar indicated that they sit on the nearest bench.

“Are you okay? Was this the reason you were unwell, yesterday?”

Brett began to cry, then stopped realising where he was. Caspar smiled.

“There is no shame in tears old chap, it’s just many men think they cannot indulge. I had forgotten your circumstances, I feel ashamed that I was not as supportive as I might have been to you, you see I was your age when my father died.”

Brett had stopped crying, though the tears were still evident.

“It’s okay, Mum says we have to move on.”

“In a way she is right, but it takes time. Can you do the maths test? Or would you rather go home now?”

“Yeah I’m good at maths, I will stay.”

“Good Oh,” said Caspar “would you like to stop by  my office before you leave, I have something which might belong to you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The ringleader of the tribe Rogers, stood to mock attention, as Caspar entered the office and closed the door.

“Why are we here?” he demanded.

“You don’t know?” enquired Caspar as he walked around them, hands behind his back, studying their demeanour. “I will refresh your memory then.  I caught you rubbishing one of your mates, just now. I caught that same mate looking decidedly ill yesterday and we sent him home. Were you lot responsible for causing his nausea and distress?”

Winterton, clearly embarrassed looked at his shoes.

“Yes Sir” Winterton replied, “but he is a sook.” Then, Winterton looked up, aghast.

“His Dad?"

“Yes, died three months ago.  In the future, it would be wise to consider a person’s circumstances before you mistake their sadness for stupidity. Now get out of my sight, and don’t forget, detention at three-thirty.”

Suddenly he felt tears forming, that would never do Caspar Wylie did not cry. Stiff upper lip, you know.

He reached into the top drawer of his desk, finding the picture of his father. It was shabby now but he remembered the sea captain blue eyes, the gentle voice, of the only man his mother had ever loved, the one whom Casper could rely on under any circumstances, be that a need for comfort or discipline. He also found the parcel he had bought himself for his birthday. What would he need that for? He could always get another frame more suitable for his age and status.

His heart said, “Give it to Brett.”

A silver frame, with the words The Unlikely Hero.

Every boy should have a hero, if not their own DNA father, then one who fits the bill. He, Caspar Wylie might never attain that status, but he was determined to be as good a teacher to the boys in his charge as possible; especially those like Brett Johnson.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Caspar looking up, smiling.

“Ah Brett, just the man I was looking for.”

Claire Tennant 01 July 2020