He loves asking riddles, is fun to talk to after the lesson and used to be chairman of a large football club.
Mr Keesing and I were often at loggerheads when it came to…talking during the lesson. In the space of three days, I had six warnings. He was so fed up that he assigned me the usual two-page essay. I handed it in during the next Maths lesson, and Mr Keesing, who can take a joke, laughed heartily at my essay, which had a paragraph in it that went something like this: ‘I should indeed try hard to break myself of the habit of talking, but I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about it, since it’s a hereditary disease. Because my mother also loves to talk, I assume I must have picked it up from her. So far, she hasn’t been cured of the habit either.’The topic of the assigned essay was ‘A Chatterbox’.
During the next lesson, however, another opportunity for a cosy chat presented itself…Mr Keesing went over to his book and wrote, ‘Miss Anne Frank: an essay entitled “An Incorrigible Chatterbox”. Due tomorrow.’
As behoves a good student, I duly handed in this essay too, but the malady struck again during the next lesson, whereupon Mr Keesing wrote in his book, ‘Miss Anne Frank: a two-page essay entitled “Quack, Quack, Quack”, Said Mistress Chatterback.’
What could I come up with now? I realized all too well that it was meant in fun, as otherwise he would have assigned me extra arithmetic problems, so for that reason I took the bull by the horns and answered his joke with a joke of my own, i.e. by writing my essay (with Sanne Ledermann’s help) in verse. The first part went like this:
‘Quack, quack, quack,’ said Mistress Chatterback,
Calling her ducklings from the deep.
And up they came, ‘Cheep, cheep, cheep.
Well, do you have any bread for us,
For Gerald, Mina and Little Gus?’
‘Why, yes, of course I do,
A lovely crust I stole for you.
It’s all I could find, you’ll have to share,
Now please divide it fair and square!’
So, following their mum’s advice,
They did their best to be precise,
Eating and calling, ‘Cluck, cluck, cluck,
My piece is bigger, I’m in luck!’
But, oh, along came Papa swan,
Scowling at their noisy goings-on.
Etc., etc.
Keesing read it, then read it out loud to the class, and again to a couple of other classes, and finally called it quits. From that moment on, I was given a lot of leeway. He overlooked my chatter and never punished me again.
P.S. This shows what a good-humoured man he was. Thanks to Mr Keesing, everybody calls me Mistress Chatterback.
Thursday, 12 August 1943
WHEN THE TIME came to decide whether or not to let our big back room, we had to fight hard to overcome our pride, for who is used to having a stranger, much less a paying one, in the house?
But when times are hard and the rent is badly needed, you have to put aside your pride, and lots more besides. Which is just what we did. The back bedroom was cleared out and furnished with odds and ends, though there were far too few of those for the stylish bed-sitting-room we had in mind.
So my father set off, poking around auctions and public sales, coming home one day with this gem, and the next day with that one. After three weeks, we had a pretty wastepaper basket and an adorable tea table, but we still needed two armchairs and a decent wardrobe.
My father set out again. This time, as a special treat, he took me along. We arrived at the auction hall and sat down on a row of wooden benches, next to a couple of frazzled junk dealers and assorted shady characters. We waited, and waited, and waited. We could have waited till a new day dawned, because they were auctioning only porcelain that day!
Disappointed, we retraced our steps, only to return the next day, not very hopeful, to try again. But…this time we were in luck, and my father was able to snap up a really beautiful oak wardrobe and two leather club armchairs. To celebrate our new purchases and what we hoped would be the speedy arrival of our lodger, we treated ourselves to tea and cake and went home in good spirits.
But, oh dear, when the armchairs and wardrobe arrived the next day and had been moved into the room, my mother discovered that the wardrobe had these strange little traces of sawdust. My father took a look…and found that it was indeed riddled with woodworm. It’s just the kind of thing they don’t put on the tag, nor is it possible to see these things in a dark auction hall.
After this discovery, we took a closer look at the armchairs. Surprise, surprise, they were also infested with woodworm. We called the auction hall and asked them to pick up the items as soon as possible. They came, and my mother heaved a sigh of relief when the auction furniture was finally through the door. My father couldn’t help sighing either – at the thought of how much money he had lost.
A few days later, my father ran into a friend who had a few pieces of furniture he was willing to lend us until we could find something better. So the problem was finally solved.
Then we sat down and wrote an ad to be hung in the window of the bookshop on the corner, and agreed to pay for it to be displayed for a week. Soon people were coming to look at the room.
1 comment