My Place Read Online Free Page B

desk, I was practically brimming over with excitement. She placed my book on my desk, and I couldn’t help groaning out loud. It seemed that Dick, Dora, Nip and Fluff had somehow managed to graduate to Grade Two.
    In a way, I felt sorry for them. None of them lived near a swamp, and there was no mention of wild birds, snakes or goannas. All they ever did was visit the toy shop and play ball with Nip. I resigned myself to another year of boredom.
    There was no comparison between Miss Roberts and my Grade One teacher. If Mum had felt awkward about approaching Miss Glazberg, she was positively terrified when it came to Miss Roberts.
    â€˜Has Miss Roberts ever been in the army, Mum?’ I asked her one afternoon.
    â€˜What a strange question, whatever makes you ask that?’
    â€˜Well, sometimes she acts like a man.’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜When we line up for school. She won’t let us in the class unless we’re all straight and stiff. She pokes you in the stomach and says, “Stomach in, chest out, eyes forward”. Dad told me they do that to you in the army.’
    Mum laughed, it was obvious she thought I was exaggeratingagain. However, the following week, she confided to me over tea that it seemed Miss Roberts had, indeed, been in the women’s army. One of the cleaners at the school had told her. I found this information very interesting. Dad often talked about the army. He’d been too much of a nonconformist to take naturally to army life. Now, I understood how he felt. I didn’t like being told what to do either.
    From then on, whenever I marched into class, I would silently sing an old army ditty Dad had taught me.
    I’m in the army now
    I went to milk a cow
    the cow let-off and I took off
    I’m out of the army now!
    Jill, Billy and I loved rude songs. We often marched around the yard singing that one. Billy beat on his old tin drum and Jill and I pretended to blow army trumpets. I could play reveille, too. By placing a piece of paper tightly over a comb and blowing on it, I could produce a high-pitched, farty sort of sound that I could then manipulate into a recognisable tune. I learnt to play many tunes on the comb, but reveille was my favourite.
    Towards the end of first term, I had an encounter with Miss Roberts that wiped out any confidence I might have had for the rest of the year.
    Our school seats comprised a heavy metal frame with jarrah slats spaced across the seat and back. This proved unfortunate for me, because one day, after what seemed hours of holding my arm in the air trying to attract Miss Roberts’ attention, I was unable to avoid wetting myself.
    Miss Roberts had been intent on marking our latest tests and had failed to notice my desperately flailing arm. But one of the clean, shiny-haired, no-cavity girls next to me began to chant quietly, ‘You’ve wet ya pa-ants, you’ve wet ya pa-ants!’
    â€˜I have not,’ I denied hotly, ‘it’s just water under my chair.’
    â€˜Oh yeah, well then, how come you’ve dumped all those hankies on it?’ She had me there.
    By this time, most of the surrounding children were starting to giggle.
    Miss Roberts raised her horn-rimmed eyes and said firmly, ‘
Quiet
please!’ She stared at us a few seconds longer, obviously waiting for her eagle-like gaze to have its usual effect. When the last giggle was giggled, she pushed back her solid wooden chair, breathed deeply and said, ‘I … have an announcement to make.’
    We were very impressed with Miss Roberts’ use of the word ‘I’. For the whole term, I had been convinced Miss Roberts was even more important than the headmistress.
    â€˜I … have finished marking your test papers.’ There was complete silence after this statement. Under Miss Roberts’ reign, our weekly tests had assumed great importance. We all waited anxiously to hear who had missed the mark this time.
    â€˜I