My Name Is Mina

Sats Day, Glibbertysnark & Claminosity!

It was always writing that got me into trouble with Mrs. Scullery. She said I just EXASPERATED her.

“You could be one of my very best pupils, Mina McKee – one of the very best I have ever had, in fact. But you are a constant disappointment! You let the school down, you let your poor mother down, and most of all you let YOURSELF down, time and time and time again. You are a silly and wayward and undisciplined child. Instead of concentrating on the task in hand, you spend your time playing about and drawing attention to yourself and your silly foibles!”

Draw attention to myself? That was just about the last thing I wanted. I wanted to disappear. I didn’t want to be there at all!

The day that brought it to a head was SATS day. SATS Day, the day she started out so calm and sweet, the day she ended screaming out loud in front of the whole class, the day she snarled that I was full of nothing but stupid crackpot notions, the day she put her hands on her hips, glared straight into my face and growled,

“Mina bloody McKee. You are full of sheer bloody daftness and you are an utter bloody disgrace!”

Bloody. She said it in front of the whole class. It was unheard-of! A teacher said bloody in front of the whole class! That showed how bad things had become!

It was nonsense that did it. And it was SATS day! SATS day! Aaagh! Everybody just had to stay calm! It was nothing special! But everybody was so stressed out! Everybody was so scared! Everybody was so focused on making sure that the school was up to standard. Everybody was so concerned that everybody would all turn out to be better than the average of children of our age throughout the country! Everybody was so concerned that we would get Level 4 and Level 5 and Level 99! We shouldn’t get worked up about it, though! We should just treat SATS day as another ordinary school day! It wasn’t really a test at all! It was just a way of checking that things were going OK at St. Bede’s! It wasn’t really a test of the kids! It was a test of the school! So nothing to do with the kids at all! So just stay calm! So just don’t worry! Just relax! JUST RELAX! SATS Day was just another ordinary day! But SATS Day was SATS Day! IT WAS SATS DAY!

It started quietly enough. There we were sitting in class, some of the kids white-knuckled as they gripped the edge of their tables, some of them, such as Sophie, chewing their lips, some of them slouched and not caring at all. Some were poised and well prepared and smiling in anticipation, like Samantha, with new pens and pencils laid out neatly on the tables in front of them.

Mrs. Scullery looked like she’d spent the night seeing ghosts. Her hair was sticking out. Her lipstick was slashed across her chops. Her dress was buttoned up all wrong. Her hands were trembling. She goggled red-eyed from her desk at us.

“Remember,” she said to us in a high-pitched wobbly voice. “You must simply do your best, children.” She gave especially appealing glances to the ones she thought were cleverest, like me. “Just do your best. Please do your best. Please …”

I felt sorry for her. I really did. I felt that somebody should get up and go to her and give her a big hug and say,

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Scullery. It will all be all right.”

But nobody did.

Then she gave the papers out. We had to keep them facedown until she gave the word. Then she said it.

“Turn your papers over and you may begin.”

Oh my God I couldn’t stand it. Why should I write what they told me to write just because they told me to write it? What was the point of that? Why should I write because the school and everybody in it was so stupendously and stupidly stressed out? Why should I write something so somebody could say I was well below average, below average, average, above average or well above average? What’s average? And what about the ones that find out they’re well below average? What’s the point of that and how’s that going to make them feel for the rest of their lives? And did William Blake do writing tasks just because somebody else told him to? And what Level would he have got anyway?

What Level is that? And what about Shakespeare? “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble!” What Level’s that? Would Shakespeare have been well above average? And Dickens and Chaucer and Keats and Shirley Hughes and Maurice Sendak and Michael Rosen? Did any of them do stupid silly SATS! I SUSPECT NOT!

I stared out the window for a while. There were no flies dancing in the air that day, though the sunlight was particularly beautiful where it shone on the drops of water left on the glass after a little rain shower. Maybe I’d be able to write about that, or about the birds that kept flitting back and forward. And there was a lovely pattern where the paint had flaked away at the edge of the window frame. Or maybe I could write a story about Mrs. Scullery’s night with the ghosts. I heard my name whispered. Mina McKee. I looked up. Mrs. Scullery was glaring at me. Everybody was heads down getting their writing done. Mrs. Scullery whispered my name again. I looked at her. I nodded at her and sighed. Poor Mrs. Scullery. I read the first instruction on the paper. “Write a description of a busy place.” Oh my God. I looked up again. THE HEAD TEACHER was looking in through the glass bit of the classroom door. He looked like he’d been with the ghosts as well. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. He caught my eye. He mouthed the words: WRITE. DON’T WORRY! PLEASE WRITE. The poor poor man. So I smiled at him, and nodded, and shrugged, and started to write, and this is what I wrote.

In thi biginin glibbertysnark woz doon in the woositinimana. Golgy golgy golgy thang, wiss wandigle. Oliotoshin under smiffer yes! Glibbering mornikles which was o so diggibunish. Hoy it! Hoy it! Then woz won so stidderuppickle. Aye aye woz the replifing clud. Yes! Clud is cludderish thats trew. Tickles und ticklin woz the rest ov that neet dun thar in the dokniss; An the crippy cralies crippin unda the path doon thar. Howzit! Woz the yel. Howzit! Sumwun nose a sekritish thang an wil holed it unda. Aye! Unda! So hoy it! Naa. It is two riddish a thang for hoyin. So giv it not a thowt. Arl wil be in the wel in the wel ay depe don in the wel. An on it goze an on an on an on an on an on an on an on til the middlishniss is nere. An the glibbertysnark wil raze oot the woositinimana an to the blewniss wi the burds an clowds an clowds this loke lyke clowns. An wil laff laff laff. An wil yel Hoy it! Hoy it! Til the lasst ov the daze wen we wil no a ansa. So pond the glibbertysnark an the olitoshin an kip way ov mornikles. Yel howzit an hoy it! Til the bels is ringerish. An rite words for scullery an hedteechery coz ov the gosts an goolys an the sats an orl wil be wel wel wel. In conclooshun woopwoopwoopiness is pringersticks wif strattikipiness coz the ansa iz hidin in the cludderish claminosity wer the clowdiwinkling quakilstrator iz. Luk no wer wer the blippistrakor ov munomintelish plirders iz. Ther. Is dun. Hoy it! Hoy it! Hoy it! Til the coos cum bak acros the flisterin feeld unda the mistrictacular moooooon. Flap! An ther rite now its endid. Pop!

RESULT:

Mrs. Scullery:

Not Pleased. The “Mina Bloody McKee

Bloody Disgrace” Scene.

(see above)

HEAD TEACHER:

Not Pleased. The “Who Do You

Think You Are Madam I Am Calling

Your Mother” Scene.

(see below)

Grade Achieved

Level 0 Well Well Well Below Average.

Mum

Very Sad, Very Kind,

Then Very Determined.

Mina

Created new words

(Glibbertysnark! Oliotoshin!

Claminosity! Blippistrakor!)

Therefore: Very Pleased.

TAKEN OUT OF SCHOOL!

Therefore: VERY VERY

VERY PLEASED.

I thought I had done very well in such a short time. They didn’t even read it right through. Mrs. Scullery held it up like it was a poisonous thing. She did the “bloody” scene. She got to the bit where she said I was an utter bloody disgrace. Then she leaned right down so that her face was nearly right in mine. For a moment I wanted to stroke it. I wanted to give her a cuddle, I really did. She looked O so stressed out. I wanted to say, “O, Mrs. Scullery. Never mind. It’s just some writing, that’s all. It’s not going to harm you. And look, some of it’s lovely. Don’t get yourself worked up, love. Calm down. I’m sure Samantha has done some lovely level 5ish work.”

But I couldn’t get any words out. I just stared back into her eyes.

“You,” she whispered hard into my face. “You, madam.”

“Me?” I whispered back.

“Are as hard as iron.”

And she led me to THE HEAD TEACHER and gave the writing to him. He looked at it like it was another ghost come back to haunt him. He held it up and twisted his face like it was a very very dangerous stinking poisonous thing.

“What,” he said, “is this?”

“Writing,” I said.

“Writing what?”

“Writing, sir.”

“And what kind of writing do you think it is?”

He glared. He fumed. He gritted his teeth. Did he really want to know?

“It’s nonsense, sir,” I said.

“EXACTLY, MADAM. IT. IS. NONSENSE! IT. IS. A PAGE. OF ABSOLUTE. AND TOTAL. UTTER. IDIOTIC. NONSENSE!”

I could see he wanted to swear, just like Mrs. Scullery had. I wanted to tell him it was OK to tell me I was an utter bloody disgrace, if he wanted to[9]. I wanted to tell him he could use even worse words if it would help him feel better. I wouldn’t mind at all. But I thought it was probably best not to say that.

“I know that, sir,” I simply said.

“Oh, you know that, do you? So who do you think you are? And what right do you have to … ”

“I don’t know, sir. Sometimes I wonder, Who am I? What am I doing … ”

Mrs. Scullery groaned. She gripped the edge of THE HEAD TEACHER’s desk.

“Are you taking the mick, young lady?” said THE HEAD TEACHER.

“No, sir.”

Mrs. Scullery groaned again.

“Doreen!” yelled THE HEAD TEACHER.

Doreen came in from the room next door.

Doreen was THE HEAD TEACHER’s secretary.

“Yes, Headmaster?” said Doreen.

“I need this young lady’s telephone number, please, Doreen.”

I started to say that I knew it but he stopped me with a glare.

Doreen went out and came back again with the number.

“Thank you, Doreen,” said THE HEAD TEACHER. “That will be all for now.”

He lifted the telephone. He dialed the number. He spoke to Mrs. McKee about her daughter. He said he would like to see her, now, if at all possible.

“No,” he said. “She has not had an accident, Mrs. McKee, but I should like to see you in person if I may.”

He put the phone down.

“She is on her way,” he said.

“She won’t be long,” I started. “We just live—”

“We KNOW where you live!” said THE HEAD TEACHER. “We need no further contributions from you, thank you very much! Mrs. Scullery, would you like a glass of water? You look a little … ”

“Oh yes, please, Headmaster. Thank you, Headmaster,” said Mrs. Scullery.

“And do take a seat, Mrs. Scullery. Doreen! A glass of water for Mrs. Scullery, please.”

Doreen brought the water in. They sat. I stood. We waited in silence. I stared at a painting on the wall. It showed a delicious-looking bowl of fruit. I imagined that on bad days (like today, perhaps) THE HEAD TEACHER gazed at this fruit and dreamed of what he could have been instead of A HEAD TEACHER. A banana, for instance. Or a plum. Or a bunch of grapes. I tried to imagine THE HEAD TEACHER as a bunch of grapes. He might be much happier that way.

Minutes passed. Mrs. McKee arrived and was brought into the room by Doreen.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. McKee,” said THE HEAD TEACHER.

“That’s all right,” said Mrs. McKee. She looked at her daughter. “But what on earth … ”

“Madam,” said THE HEAD TEACHER. “We have called you in on a matter of great importance.” He held up the page of writing. “May I ask you to read … this?”

The lovely Mrs. McKee took it from his hand. She read it through. She breathed out the sounds of the nicest words. She sighed. She smiled. She shook her head. She held the page like it was something rather precious.

“This,” said THE HEAD TEACHER, “is possibly the most important piece of writing that this young lady will be asked to do all year. It may well be the most important piece of writing that she will do during her time as a student at this school. And she presents us with this!”

Mrs. McKee sighed.

“Oh, Mina,” she said. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Don’t know, Mum,” I said.

And she cuddled me, right there in THE HEAD TEACHER’s office while THE HEAD TEACHER and Mrs. Scullery watched. And THE HEAD TEACHER said,

“Mrs. McKee …”

But she raised her hand to stop him.

“You don’t need to say anything more, Head Teacher,” she said.

“So you understand the gravity of the situation?” said THE HEAD TEACHER.

“Indeed I do,” said Mrs. McKee. “So I think I’ll take my daughter home now. And I don’t think she’ll be back for some time. Goodbye.”

And we walked out of the office and along the corridor and past the classroom and out of the main door and across the schoolyard and out through the gates into the world.

We walked slowly homeward through the sunlight. We stopped in the park on the way home. We ate ice cream and we sighed at its deliciousness. We sat on a bench by a bush with lovely bright red roses growing on it. We watched people dressed in white playing bowls on the beautiful green lawn. The brown bowls clicked and clunked as they struck each other. The people in white chatted and laughed. Somebody somewhere sang a lovely song. Close by, a little boy rolled down a hill, giggled, got up, ran to his mum and kissed her, then ran up the hill again and rolled down again. It was lovely and warm in the sunshine. The sky was heavenly blue. Bees buzzed. Butterflies flitted by. A dog chased a ball. A flight of honking geese flew over us. The tops of the trees were swaying in the gentle breeze.

“This is very diggibunish,” said Mum.

“It is,” I said. “And very pringersticks, as well.”

When we got home, Mum pinned up GLIBBERTYSNARK in the kitchen. We looked at it together. It was indeed one of the most important pieces of writing I had done all year. I was now a Homeschooled Girl, which made me Very Very Very Very Very Very Pleased. Very.

Mum put her arm around me, and we smiled, and we were filled with claminosity.

EXTRAORDINARY ACTIVITY

Write a page of UTTER NONSENSE.

This will produce some very fine

NEW WORDS.

It could also lead to some very

SENSIBLE RESULTS.