The R Word (On Hold)

Chapter 10 - Three

“Nice of you to join us Miss…” Andrew’s hearty voice trailed off, obviously waiting for Jane to say her name. She sat quickly down in her seat in front of the desk and sighed, “Jane Parkinson, sir”

“Sir” he bellowed cheerfully, obviously a stranger to the title, “No Sir. Just Andrew”

Jane nodded with a slight smile and took out her notepad and pencil case; ready for the lesson. Andrew, having written the date and his name in black marker on the whiteboard, turned to face his class.

“Right, I’m Andrew Mills and what I will be teaching, maybe not the best and the most interesting topic, but I will be teaching Poetry. Hooray!” he cheered, clapping his hands once and smiling at the grim expressions of his class. Jane hid a smile. As she did about Debbie, Jane had a good feeling about Andrew. He was slim for a man about fifty. He had a whitening beard with round glasses and rosy cheeks. His hair, white and grey in places was thinning out but he didn’t seem to care.

He chuckled, “Yes, Debbie said we were a quiet bunch. I’ll change that. Okay, if you look on the back wall there is a display”

Everyone automatically turned, seeing four images of people atop a dark blue paper background. Jane recognised one immediately. It was William Shakespeare with his Elizabethan collar and odd hairdo. She almost laughed, seeing the resemblance between the poet and her tutor. Andrew cleared his throat and the class looked back.

“Those four up there are the poets we will be studying this year. Shakespeare, you should all know. The others are Christina Rossetti, W.H Auden and Carol Ann Duffy. Now poetry, I know is not everyone’s favourite. I know I didn’t enjoy it when I was your age, but in time I came to appreciate just how useful and…releasing it really is”

A couple of boys jeered under their breaths at the word “releasing”; obviously thinking of it in a dirty way. Jane just rolled her eyes and looked to Andrew as he continued; completely oblivious.

“Poetry, in many ways, is the best way to describe a feeling or an event or a person. You can use as many words as you like, until the reader develops an instinctively vivid image in their minds.  For example from Rossetti’s poem Goblin Market, she lists fruit after fruit almost like a chant; trying to bewitch readers. She uses effective and delicious adjectives like ripe, fresh…sweet and luscious to capture the reader’s attention” said Andrew, using his hands to describe and illustrate his point.

Just thinking about fruit made Jane’s mouth salivate and again, she suppressed a laugh at how right Andrew was speaking. She looked around curiously, seeing almost everyone licking their lips in thought.

Andrew smiled, seeing the famished looks on their faces, but quickly moved on “Poems can also be written to address an issue like oppression, gender, violence. Carol Ann Duffy is one poet to write about all three. Now, my personal favourite is Havisham, based on the character in Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. Writing from Havisham’s perspective, Duffy writes of her hatred towards the man who abandoned her and the effect he’s left on her. At the same time of still loving him, she hates him and wants him dead. It’s like an obsession gone wrong. Very wrong” Andrew shivers loudly, almost acting for the class and they respond with a quiet chuckle.

He laughs and retreats back to his desk, where a pile of anthologies waited. Andrew, balancing them carefully in the nook of his left arm, walked around the class; handing them out to each student as he went. Jane is one of the last to receive her book and by the sounds of it, the only one to say thank you. Andrew nods at her, before sitting at his desk; his hands at his chin.

“For the next year, the book in front of you will be like your bible. Of course, we won’t be doing every poem” he stresses, seeing some students’ eyes widen at the prospect, “But do feel free to browse. Each poem holds its own ideals and views on issues you could possible relate to. Maybe reading about them will help solve your own”

Jane, without meaning to, looked up at Andrew; drawing his attention from the rest of the class. He stared at her, patiently, “Yes, Jane? Do you have a question?”

She swallowed, “No, sir. I mean Andrew”

She quickly stopped her gaze and occupied her thoughts by turning through the pages slowly, seeing illustrations in the corners every page or so. Andrew watched her carefully for a moment or two, trying to decipher what he’d just seen. In her eyes, he could only describe it as hope. Hope, that the anthology in her hands could actually solve her problems.

Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, he thought. He shrugged it off and returned his attention to a class, who were finding their voice. They were discussing some of the poems they had seen. Some exclaimed at how long a poem was or how rude and violent another was. Andrew took in a breath, feeling proud of himself. But at the corner of his eye, he saw Jane still flicking through her book; not talking or acknowledging anyone around her. Yet again, no one was making the effort with her either.

“You are allowed to make annotations in these by the way” his voice bellowed and the class fell silent, “just as long as they are in pencil. You will have to return these at the end of the year. Are there any questions?" 

The class shook their head and Andrew smiled, “Okay then. For the rest of the session I would like you all to sort yourselves in groups of four and turn to Rossetti’s Jessie Cameron. Take it in turns to read and write down your ideas of what the poem is suggesting”

Jane felt her chest heave, as people started to move around the room to work in their friendship groups. In the end, there were four groups of four and one group of three. The group of three was made up of a boy and two girls; one girl being the redhead who answered Debbie’s question about love the day before. As the boy and other girl started to chat, the redhead looked over at Jane to see her reading the poem by herself; her hands held in tight fists on her thigh. Andrew had noticed too and looking at the girl as she did him, the redhead stood and walked over to Jane.

“Hey” her voice squeaked nervously. Jane looked up hesitantly, “Hi”

“We have a group of three” she murmured, pointing back, “Did you wanna join us?”

Jane, gobsmacked looked behind her, to see the other two waving at her. The boy had dark brown skin and short hair, whereas the girl beside him was pale with freckles and blonde hair. Nodding and finding a smile, Jane stood and moved across the room with the redhead; ignoring the stares and taunts of the other students. As she sat down the boy and other girl smiled at her; opening their books to the correct page. The boy started to read first.

“I’m Holly by the way” said the redhead, looking at Jane with a timid smile. She looked back and held out her hand, “Jane”

“I’m Becca” whispered the other girl, not wanting to interrupt the boy next to her. He looked up and smiled, “Name’s Tariq”

“Jane” she repeated with a smile and a slight blush in her cheeks. 

For the rest of the morning session, Andrew sat back and let the students teach themselves. They discussed the poem like he’d hope, but the longer he left them the sooner they began talking about themselves. His gaze kept returning to Jane’s group. Where they were first quiet and uncomfortable, they were now talking like they were oldest of friends. Andrew, to his surprise, actually saw Jane smile. The redhead Holly talked a lot, but neither the boy, Jane or Becca seemed to mind. They laughed together and shared ideas; something Andrew had hoped for the moment Jane joined their group.

He wanted the class to change, to open up. With a hearty laugh to himself, he said under his breath, “I’ve done it. Like Hell, I’ve done it”