Sheep magazine archive 1: issues 3-9

42
just to save you two dobbers from yourselves.”
He pushed the branches of the bush to the side
and stepped out of the den they had burrowed
out beside the school gates. “Cmon then lets get
back before Mrs Price spots us sneeking in at the
back of the line”.
They made it just as the last of the line were
feeding in through the glass front of the school.
Mr Gladstone, was waiting at the door of the
class tapping his ruler impatiently on his black
teachers gown. “Come on now laddies, the
wonders of music await within and you are all
late and you, he said to Brad grabbing his hood,
are the latest of the lot”. Brad stopped dead in
the door.
“Mr McGlaughin , I have a special seat for
latecomers just here ...” he said, pointing to a
stool beside his desk …
Brad cursed under his breath. “What was that Mr
McGlaughin … did I hear you say something?”
“But I wasn’t the only one who was late”.
Gladstone looked over the class , his hand still
clutching the back of Brads hoodie. He was a
tall Highlander with a head like a fat radish.
What little hair he had left was a wispy tuft that
flopped one way and then the other much like a
sail swings back and forth following the wind. “I
see a class of children whose minds are eager to
learn. So eager, Mr McGlaughlin, that they are in
class, in their seats on time each week. And each
week, Mr McGlaughlin, you drag youself in just
at the very point when I am about to send out a
search party for you. Some would say that this is
a talent but it is not one that you are likely to be
able to use in the years following your time at this
school. Some would say, Mr McGlaughlin, that
you do not like my class and that is why you are
consistently late to arrive. Mmm ... is that it? Do
you think that you already know everything there
is and all that matters about music?”
Brad was smart enough to say nothing. He tried
to step back so that the hood of his top wasn’t
pulling tight around his neck but everytime he
moved, Gladstone would adjust the angle of his
grip. “Sit , Mr McGlaughlin, sit beside me and
grace me with your presence. Each week, from
now on, if you are last to arrive you can sit in
this stool where I will direct questions to you and
you alone. You can share your enclyclopedic
knowledge of musical theory with your classmates
…” He let go of Brads hood and Brad stumbled
forward. He sat on the stool which was a foot
smaller that the rest of the school desks and
looked up into the faces of the front row. Brad
usually sat at the back of the class. He barely
recognised the front row who all wore blazers,
even the girls. They all looked impossibly tall
and healthy. His eyeline was level with the desks
and had a uninterrupted view of the girls legs.
Brad wasn’t quite sure how he felt about this. In
turn the fresh-faced pupils in the front row eyed
him with amusement and fear. Like watching a
dancing bear.
The lesson began and Brad, hunched down in his
seat, watched the shaft of winter sun cut across
the class from the narrow windows that ran along
the classrooms length above him. Chalk dust
drifted slowly in the warm air thrown up from
SHEEP IN THE ROAD : NUMBER 3