I taught them to cook vidya4 - Flipbook - Page 5
Except for the boys. Boys don’t bring baskets or cookery stuff
to school. Boys rarely take their cooking home. If I want them to
cook then I’ll need to shop and they’ll pay me back.
‘Can we eat it now? We’ll clear up, honest.’ It’s Bert and I’m wary.
So while other teachers gossip, snack and smoke in the
staffroom, Bert and his mates transform my cookery room into
an eatery. Tables are set with blue seersucker tablecloths, green
Beryl Ware plates, forks and spoons, water jugs and glasses. This
is a proper sit down meal. It wasn’t allowed in my last school, but
I’m in charge here and yes, we’ll do it properly.
‘Let me show you how the Italians eat spaghetti. Don’t cut it
– Italians think that’s rude.’
I twirl my fork round the great long strands and slurp it into
‘This foreign food’s alright Miss. I might cook it tonight.’
Bert and friends clear away and charge out the room as the
bell goes for my next lesson.
The queue is jostling outside waiting to make rock cakes and
Me dad will give this to the dog