The Flyer Read Online Free Page A

or manner or absolute, meant nothing to him.
    ‘What is the tense, boy?’ Norris demanded. ‘Surely even you can tell us that.’
    ‘The tense, sir?’
    ‘Yes the tense! You know what that is, don’t you? They must teach you something at a village school. There are only three possibilities for goodness sake.’
    ‘We wasn’t taught any Latin, sir,’ William mumbled. We wasn’t tart any Latin, soir.
    ‘Weren’t, Reynolds! The subject is plural. Of course you weren’t taught Latin, you dolt! What on earth would a farm boy need with Latin? Unless, perhaps, you rear an extraordinarily educated breed of pig.’ Norris looked around at the other boys, wearing a thin, sarcastic smile, inviting them to enjoy his mockery. ‘I am referring to English grammar, boy.’ He fixed his eye on Yardley. ‘You boy, be so kind as to enlighten our ill-educated friend in the mysteries of tense.’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Tense, boy! For goodness sake, it is not a difficult question. There are three of them! What are they?’
    ‘Past, present and future, sir,’ Yardley stammered as understanding dawned.
    ‘Precisely. Now, Reynolds, surely even you can discern which of those applies in this case.’ Norris strode to the board and took up a short cane which he used to point at the fourth word. ‘What is this?’
    ‘Est,’ William said. Ust .
    Norris rolled his eyes. ‘Est Reynolds! The word is est. You are not in the fields now, boy. And what does it mean?’
    Silence. Norris advanced on him, his gown flapping like crows’ wings. He rapped his cane down hard on William’s desk, making him flinch.
    ‘Get up, boy! Get up and come here!’
    William obeyed, limping on his crutch to the board, where Norris made him face the rest of the class.
    ‘The phrase translates as; “It is sweet and becoming to die for one’s country.” It is. Present tense. Repeat it, Reynolds.’
    William did as he was told, though he didn’t sound anything like Norris. ‘Ut is sweet und becoming to doi fer one’s country,’  
    At the stifled sniggers from the other boys, William’s face burned with humiliation. Norris muttered furiously under his breath, as if to himself, though loudly enough for the entire class to hear.
    ‘Good Lord, listen to him. Am I meant to perform miracles?’ Out loud he said, ‘Do you understand what it means, Reynolds?’
    But William didn’t. Tears pricked his eyes and his throat was tight, strangling his voice.
    ‘Horace is speaking of honour and duty to one’s country, noble sentiments that extend far beyond the notion of the individual. I don’t expect you to comprehend the subtle beauty of the idea, Reynolds, such things are beyond a person of your class. However it has fallen to me to drum into your cabbage-like brain some knowledge of the Latin language, though what good it will do you is beyond me. Hold out your hand.’
    William obeyed, and Norris raised his cane and brought it down sharply three times, each stroke causing a vivid red welt to appear. It irritated him that William uttered no sound, even though Norris hit him harder with every stroke. Frustrated by his stubbornness, Norris ordered William to take a chair and sit in the corner with his back to the class. ‘And before you return to this classroom, you will write the phrase with its English translation a hundred times.’
    With difficulty, William dragged his chair from his desk, and for the remainder of the lesson the room was silent except for the scratch of nibs against paper as the other boys faithfully copied down a translation of a passage from Ovid’s Metamorphoses.   
     
    *****
     
    During the week the boys attended chapel within the confines of the school, but on Sundays they went to morning services at St Peter’s church by the market square. The sonorous tones of Reverend Beamish filled the great empty space above the stone arches on either side of the nave. He was preaching a sermon, reminding the congregation of the love of Christ