Resistance is useless

31/10/2008 by April First.

Even though it is half term and there’s still graffiti appearing.  Ms Bland has put Clarius on graffiti alert and he patrols the school with sprays and paints to remove the offending HH symbols – which I still don’t quite get.   I asked Havoc Blythe at break, and he said that it was all to do with rebellion.  According to him, rebellion is easy to break down when it is logical and has an agreed position.  When it is illogical or surreal – as with painting HH on walls in a reference to a 30 year old science fiction story – it is much harder to put down.

“The characters in the Hitch Hiker series are rebels – but against what?  Anything, everything, nothing.  How does someone as focussed and logical as Ms Bland attack that?”

It all seemed to be some sort of explanation, until the story broke at lunchtime that big white letters had been painted on the front doors of several senior managers of the school including Ms Bland, the head and the deputy.   The letters in each case were RIU – standing I suppose for “Resistance is Useless”.  Clarius was dispatched to Ms Bland’s house.

In the middle of the afternoon a note was circulated saying that all radios and radio station receiving devises were now banned from the school.  There was no explanation.

Bodger popped in, and following his guidance we turned off all our computers – since they could all receive internet radio.   He worked his way around the school passing the message on to the few teachers on the premises and helping to dismantle every computer in the school.

 

By 2.30pm everything was shut down, and that left all of us without any work to do.   Fortunately I had not finished reading the latest Artemis Fowl novel, which is a little disappointing I think.  Whereas all the previous stories in the series (which I have been devoted to since first hearing one read on Big Toe on Radio 7) have been driven forward by the action, this time we have such a complicated plot – with Artemis travelling backwards in time in order to save his mother, that we lose the thrill of the events.  But it gave me something to do.

As I left for the day I could overhear a furious row going on in Ms Bland’s office.

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Pretty little number

30/10/2008 by April First.

At last – communication from on high.  My contact came into school posing as being from the fire inspectorate – whatever that is.  She was in her twenties, had a nice friendly smile and looked tough enough to eat Ms Bland without thinking – which come to think of it was probably the best way.

 

We went out onto the playing fields so I could show the inspector where everyone would gather in the event of a fire.   Once there she said, “What you see here is happening around the country – newly formed groups moving into schools and taking them over, driving them in new directions with their own philosophies.   The department is worried.”

 

“We’re worried,” I told her.  “The whole place is wired for sound and vision – Bodger’s putting in disruption devices, but it’s never safe to assume you aren’t being watched.”

 

“Bodger’s a good man,” she said.   (She knew Bodger!  Was he one of “us”.)   “So what you got?  Books removed from the library, special ways of talking to people, complete computerisation of everyone’s comings and goings…”

 

I nodded glumly.

 

“You are fortunate you are not on your own here – but I have to admit it is a nasty outbreak,” she told me.

 

“When you say ‘not on my own’ who exactly do you have in mind?”

 

“It’s never my place to let anyone know the other agents in the field, you should know that.”

 

She looked at me sternly.  “It makes you relax too much – but you should know that when push comes to shove, its all hands to the pump.”

 

I thought of asking what that last bit meant, but decided to leave it.

 

“So who are these people who are running the school?”

 

“The New Order,” she said.  “Neo-Nazi’s with CCTV.  Nasty bunch.  Still I’m sure you can cope.”

 

“Cope?” I asked.  In what way ‘cope’.”

 

“See them off, return the school to normal.”

 

“But I was excepting back up, support, cavalry arriving over the hill, D-Day…  How am I supposed to cope against an organised take-over of a perfectly normal school in a perfectly normal town by a bunch of fascist nutters?”

 

“I’d have thought that was obviously your job.  Hardly my place to tell a field officer what to do.   After all, you’ve had your training.”

 

“No I haven’t,” I protested.  “I’ve had a twenty minute chat which told me nothing.”

 

“Tricky,” she agreed.  We were almost back at the main building.  “Still do your best.  Head man thinks the world of you after you pulled off that Slovenian stunt.”

 

“What Solvenian stunt?”  I was getting hysterical.

 

“Quite right, mums the world.   I’ll be off – and I can tell you, if you can get this place sorted and back to normal by Christmas, the head man will be thrilled.  World’s your oyster after that.”

 

And with that she got back into her car.

 

I turned round and almost bumped into Havoc Blythe who had crept up in his normal manner.  “Pretty little number,” he said.

 

“What?”

 

“The car.”

 

“Oh.”

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Resistance is useless

29/10/2008 by April First.

Tuesday

In a memo from Ms Bland, all members of staff must refer to their superiors in the school as sir or ma’am on every occasion.

There has been an outbreak of graffiti in the school – first I have seen since I have been here.  The letters HH appeared on various walls – including in the corridor outside the school office.  Derek appeared with Clarius at around 1.30 and started to paint over the offending letters.  I popped out for a quick natter.

“Don’t know who could be doing this ma’am,” he said.

“Don’t call me ma’am, Derek,” I told him.

“But you are my superior officer ma’am,” he said.  “I might get shot if I disobey orders ma’am”.

“Then I must call you sir, because in matters of graffiti you are my superior, sir.”

“No one has ever called me sir before, ma’am,” he said.

Mis Bland appeared, and together we said, “Ma’am,” to her, and she walked away scowling.  I think we felt like two 14 year olds who had just got the better of a teacher – it was wonderful.

I thought little more of it, until at 4pm I heard a couple of sixth form girls calling each other sir.   I asked Havoc Blythe about it when he popped in for his usual end of the day chat.   “Boys will be girls,” he said, in an exceedingly annoying manner.  “Resistance is useless.”

“What?” I asked.

“Read the book,” he said.

“What book?” I asked.

“Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy,” he said.  “Only it has been removed from the school library as unsuitable.  Ma’am.”

I had a copy at home – bought when it first came out – and flipped through it.  “Resistance is useless”, is said by the minion of the Vogon captain as he throws Ford and Aruthur off the spaceship.  HH = Hitch hiker.

But why?

I really need some guidance on this matter.

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Political pupils

28/10/2008 by April First.

Monday

A lecture from the Deputy Head.   “Teenage misbehaviour is not patriotic resistance,” he said, and we sat there bemused.

But it seems that there is trouble afoot in the school.  It is not that behaviour and discipline is getting worse, but rather there is something else.   The pupils are… discussing the situation.  And talking in terms that have a political overtone.  I was bemused – pupils in school talking in political terms?   It seemed unlikely, but then I am not a teacher.

Anyway, new rules and regulations are being brought in.   While staff may, if they wish, bring daily newspapers to school they must never (on pain of what I wondered) be left in the school in a position in which pupils can see them.  Meanwhile a new volunteer force is being set up to help promote “positive thinking”.

At lunchtime Bodger popped in and left a tiny box, no bigger than an Ipod on my desk.  Havoc Blythe then came in and, seeing the little device, asked if I knew what it was for.  I told him I didn’t.

“Good,” he said, and walked out.

This evening Bodger came to my house, totally unexpectedly.  I must admit that this was not an unwelcome visit.

He gave me a second Ipod, and then explained.   “They stop the recordings – at least for the moment.  The interference can be bypassed and these people – the Academicians – know a lot about technology.   So you can’t rely on them totally, but they help disrupt the listening and watching devices.”

I thanked him.  “Would you like to go out for a bite to eat?” I asked, knowing that I was simply repeating what I had been asked 20 times this year.

Sadly he said he had to visit a couple of other houses with his tricky boxes.

I put in a call to military intelligence.

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Blow out

27/10/2008 by April First.

A list of pupils from across the school was emailed to me from Ms Bland – a list of the pupils who, because of their misdemeanours have “excluded themselves” from the school and were to be “deported” (her word) to other schools. I was given the task of circulating details to the “other schools” to invite them to take the pupils. I was also instructed to inform these schools that under the Education Act 2003 they had an obligation to take these pupils, and should suitable offers not be forthcoming by Wednesday next week they would be allocated certain pupils without the chance of appeal.

It was only when I closed the file that I realised the list was actually called the Deportation List.

For a break I went to the Library. The stories I had heard about the place were confirmed: there were substantial gaps on the shelves. Someone had been removing books by the boxful.

At lunchtime Havoc Blythe came to the office, and suggested that Janice and I might like to go for a stroll with him across the playing fields. It was an unprecedented request – we agreed, curious to find out what was what.

Once well beyond the centre circle of the football pitch HB warned us not to drive home with our bleepers tonight. He would give no more information than that. I suggested that we ought to be able to tell Mrs Marchmount and Binky – he said he was taking care of that.

At 4pm there was the usual rush of cars out of the managers reserved car park, and we watched from our office window, waiting for the promised events.

And events there were – as the first car went through the gate (it happened to be Ms Bland) there were four bangs in quick succession, and her car veered left and right becoming coming to a halt. The car behind – the deputy head’s as it turned out (they leave fast on a Friday these senior managers) – seemed to suffer the same fate, and then his rather smart Merc crashed into the back of Ms Bland’s rather smart BMW.

Other cars ground to a halt behind, and then rather amusingly one of the management team, unable to drive away at speed hooted. Others took up the call.

Janice and I left our posts and strolled out of the school to look more closely at the incident.

By the time we got to the scene, the first two cars had been moved out of the way, and others had started to leave the school – only to suffer the same explosions and resultant flat tyres.

In fact all the cars that had left the school grounds had suffered complete blow outs on all four tyres. From what we could judge from heated conversations going on around us, the drivers were finding, on lifting the boot lid, that their spares had blown as well.

There was a slight cough behind hind. We turned to find Bodger, a gentle smile playing on his face.

“You…” suggested Janice.

He put a finger to his lips.

Havoc Blythe joined us. “Quiz night?” he asked, and strolled back his car.

Back in the office we all put our bleepers in the safe.

The Weekend

We sat, we drank coffee, we had salads at Pizza Express, we spent a fair amount of time in the Toppled Bollard, and above all we talked.

The school is indeed being taken over by people whose ideas are just so far removed from everything we naturally think is right, it is quite impossible for us to accept it. Censoring the books in the library, changing the way we teach history, making the race of each child part of the central database, simply throwing pupils out of the school on the grounds that they have excluded themselves…

Before the school was run on the basis of total incompetence. But now there is something far more sinister.

So what do we do?

That was the entire discussion: what do we do?

Havoc Blythe was enigmatic. Bodger said that everything was possible through technology. I resolved to get in touch with my people at military intelligence to ask them for guidance.

I also asked Havoc Blythe what the teaching staff thought of the situation.

He said, “I’m not sure they do much thinking, by and large.”

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The New Tactic

24/10/2008 by April First.

 

The bleepers were issued today – with no information from the senior management about them being tracking devises.  We were instructed to wear them in the school at all times – with a specific point being made about the fact that this meant from the moment we entered  through the school gate to the moment we left the grounds in the evening.   Assuming that Havoc Blythe’s knowledge was correct, and it invariably was, we would not only be trackable in the school but in the evenings and at weekends too. 

Since the committee had now defined going to the Toppled Bollard an act out of keeping with being a member of the school, they were now going to have the knowledge of exactly where we were most of the time – as long as we kept the bleepers with us.   They would also be able to track the exact time we entered and left the school’s premises.

HB, Janice and myself gathered at my house, where we left our bleepers, and then went to the Theory Café – one of the two bars in the Toppled Bollard.

“I have a safe house,” said Havoc-Blythe, once we had got our drinks.

We looked at him in surprise.

“Are there really such things as ‘safe houses’?” asked Janice.  “I thought that was just what they had in spy stories.”

“And if there are such things,” I added, “how come you have one already set up?”

For the first time ever, that I can recall, Havoc Blythe looked sheepish.  “This situation – the take over of the school by the Academy, the imposition of these rules, all this sort of thing – has been on the cards for some time, and I am here to keep an eye on it.  So one or two – initiatives – have been put in place, ready for this moment.

“If we ever want to discuss matters, if things get totally out of hand, we can meet there.  Only don’t you ever bring your bleeper.  Just take it home, leave it there.”

“But we can talk here,” I objected.

“I doubt that we can for much longer,” said Havoc Blythe.

“So what is all this stuff with the school?” I asked.  “Recording nationality, race, weight, height, all on the central data, tracking the staff…”

“Not to mention equating discipline with teaching and learning,” said Janice.

“The New Tactic,” HB told us.  “Also known as the Norman Tradition, supposedly based on our Norman roots when we were unified with the Europe of France in the 11^th century, rather than impregnated with the evils of northern Europe through the Saxons and the Danes and the Norwegians.”

We looked at him in shock, mingled with disbelief, and a hint of the thought that Havoc-Blythe had finally left this planet and was now circling a star in the Delta Quadrant.

“We are being taken over by a bunch of people who believe that William the Conqueror should be revered as our saviour, and that we have taken the wrong path by becoming Anglo-Saxons and getting chummy with Denmark?” I asked.

“Something along those lines.”

“You are kidding us,” said Janice.

But HB told us he wasn’t.

And strangely I started to believe him.

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