The Perfect Knot

Here is another piece taken from a boy's memoirs on school life


Something that I do remember is the day of my thirteenth birthday.

The entire school was had been instructed to assemble once again on the parade ground at break time for failing to enter the school hall in perfect silence for morning assembly. After the morning lesson, us boys were lead out by our teachers and made to stand to attention in our form groups. And there we stood shoulders back, eyes straight forward, perfectly still for a full twenty minutes, but which truly felt like an eternity at the time.

It was a gusty, crisp late September morning and I remember our masters' gowns billowing in the wind as they watched us carefully. Suddenly, a gust of wind lifted my tie away and caused it to twirl and flutter around my shoulders, face and then over the back of my shoulder again. At first, it was rather amusing and it drew a few side-long glances from my classmates. Of course, I had to leave it since we were all expected to remain perfectly silent and still in our lines for a number of minutes as we were made to reflect on our lack of respect during that day's morning assembly.

"Bishop!"

I heard the voice of Miss Fowler, the mistress who had taken us for history the previous lesson and who was responsible for us. Upon hearing my name, I reacted like any other boy from our school upon hearing his name from a figure of authority. I immediately pulled my shoulders back and stood even more firmly to attention, eyes forward all the time and answered my mistress.

"Yes, Mam!"

Miss Fowler then made her way towards me, the sides of her gown buffeted by the same wind that had caught my tie. Albeit the youngest of the three lady teachers that taught at senior level, she nonetheless commanded our respect and had no qualms about correcting a lad when displeased.

"Put your tie back into your blazer, young man!"

I managed to take hold of the erstwhile tie and tucked back in as best as I could. Miss Fowler approached me a little more and then shook her head slowly from side to side with what might have eve been a small imperceptible smile somewhere behind her eyes.

"Bishop . . . Bishop . . . Bishop . . . Bishop" Miss Fowler continued to whisper my name in a near maternal-like way as she moved in closer and then, to my surprise and undoubtedly to that of my classmates who were watching unguardedly by now, she slowly knelt down and, one by one, hitched each of my socks up and even tidied the school ribbons. She then stood up again and, with both hands, lifted my shirt collar and proceeded to redo my school tie in expert fashion, it has to be said.

"What are we going to do with you, Bishop?" she said calmly as her fingers slid my tie into a tidy, regulation knot which she then tugged into place until perfectly flush against my collar.

At that moment, the school bell sounded and we were marched away towards the building in time for our next lesson. I caught sight of myself in the window of a door. My tie was perfect. Both its position and knot was of an order of perfection that only an English school mistress could have achieved in that day and age. As I entered though that same door, I then began to feel acutely aware of the tie around my neck and the uniform that I was wearing.

I nodded my head a little as I thought back to my history mistress and whispered, "Thank you, Mam," under my breath and understood why I felt so proud of my uniform. I was no longer wearing it because I had to; I was wearing it for her and the values that she represented in all of our minds though the examples that she keenly taught in her lessons – order, self discipline and a keen sense of duty.

Bishop