The Passionate Year Read Online Free PDF

perhaps equally due to that
curious barometric sensitiveness that made his feelings so much more acute
and clairvoyant than those of other people.
    At dinner in the Masters’ Common-Room he had met the majority of the
staff. There was Garforth, the bursar, a pleasant little man with a
loving-kindness overclouded somewhat by pedantry; Hayes-Smith, housemaster of
Mllner’s, a brisk, bustling, unimaginative fellow whose laugh was more
eloquent than his words; Ransome, a wizened Voltairish classical master,
morbidly ashamed of being caught in possession of any emotion of any kind;
Lavery, housemaster of North House (commonly called Lavery’s), whose
extraordinary talent for delegating authority enabled him to combine laziness
and efficiency in a way both marvellous and enviable; and Poulet, the French
and German Master, who spoke far better English than anybody in the
Common-Room, except, perhaps, Garforth or Ransome. Then, of course, there was
Clanwell, whom Speed had already met; Clanwell, better known “Fish-cake,” a
sporting man of great vigour who would, from time to time, astonish the world
by donning a black suit and preaching from the Millstead pulpit a sermon of
babbling meekness. Speed liked him; liked all of them, in fact, better than
he did Pritchard.
    At dinner, Pritchard sat next to him on one side and Clanwell on the
other. Pritchard showed no malice for the incident of that morning’s
breakfast-time, and Speed, a little contrite, was affable enough. But for all
that he did not like Pritchard.
    Pritchard asked him if he had got on all right that day, and Speed replied
that he had. Then Pritchard said: “Oh, well of course, the first day’s always
easy. It’s after a week or so that you’ll find things a bit trying. The first
night you take prep, for instance. It’s a sort of school tradition that they
always try and rag you that night.”
    Clanwell, overhearing, remarked fiercely: “Anyway, Speed, take my tip and
don’t imagine it’s a school tradition that any Master lets himself be
ragged.”
    Speed laughed. “I’ll remember that,” he said.
    He remembered it on the following Wednesday night when he was down to take
evening preparation from seven until half-past eight. Preparation for the
whole school, except prefects, was held in Millstead Big Hall, a huge
vault-like chamber in which desks were ranged in long rows and where the
Master in charge sat on high at a desk on a raised dais. No more subtle and
searching test of disciplinary powers could have been contrived than this
supervision of evening preparation, for the room was so big that it was
impossible to see clearly from the Master’s desk to the far end, and besides
that, the acoustics were so peculiar that conversations in some parts of the
room were practically inaudible except from very close quarters. A new Master
suffered additional handicap in being ignorant of the names of the vast
majority of the boys.
    At dinner, before the ordeal, the Masters in the Common-Room had given
Speed jocular advice. “Whatever you do, watch that they don’t get near the
electric-light switches,” said Clanwell. Pritchard said: “When old Blenkinsop
took his first prep they switched off the lights and then took his trousers
off and poured ink over his legs.” Garforth said: “Whatever you do, don’t
lose your temper and hit anybody. It doesn’t pay.”
    “Best to walk up and down the rows if you want them to stop talking,” said
Ransome. Pritchard said: “If you do that they’ll beat time to your steps with
their feet.” Poulet remarked reminiscently: “When I took my first prep they
started a gramophone somewhere, and I guessed they’d hidden it well, so I
said: ‘Gentlemen, anyone who interrupts the music will have a hundred lines!’
They laughed and were quite peaceable afterwards.”
    Speed said, at the conclusion of the meal: “I’m much obliged to everybody
for the advice. I’ll