Wilberforce Malcolm Windcheater is a middle aged, acne scarred, heavily bespectacled and highly balding man. He has the social skills of a wasp caked in plutonium, and still lives at home. His life story is now being told...read on.

Chapter XIII

Mr Leyland kept a studious eye on the assembly as the children made their through We Plough The Fields And Scatter, accompanied by the rocking Miss Hussey on piano.
Mr Leyland was frighteningly similar to Wilberforce’s previous Headmaster, including an impressive plumage of nasal hair and abhorrence to anything that remotely constituted change. He had clocked up forty-four years service at the school, and for the last twenty-eight of them served as its ruler. He was eight months from retirement.
Mr Bapstead eyed his Head as he sang along, content in the knowledge that he was odds on favourite to step into his shoes come July.
Despite having been with the school for just a couple of years, Mr Bapstead impressed with his dynamic approach and tough stance on discipline. He couldn’t wait to wave farewell to the outgoing old dinosaur, and eight months seemed a long time away.
The Head teacher’s scowl became more permanent as the years rolled by, accelerated by the shocking social upheavals of the nineteen sixties. Not only was the younger generation ruled by layabouts such as The Beatles and Rolling Stones, but laxity toward homosexual love, abortion, contraception, and drug taking all conspired to antagonize Mr Leyland.
Miss Hussey’s rocking became more pronounced as she reached the final line of the hymn, accompanying it with a subtle crescendo and diminuendo.
The last chord echoed around the assembly hall, and the final word was exaggeratedly elongated by a few of the older children at the back.
Mr Leyland strided the few yards to the front of the stage to take his place behind the makeshift lectern, and proceeded to snarl away at the ever increasing levity shown by his children and the whole country alike.
“IT IS A SYMPTON OF SOCIETY IN GENERAL THAT THERE ARE IDIOTIC AND DISRESPECTFUL CHILDREN HERE WHO SHOW SUCH LAXITY TOWARD SINGING THE PRAISES OF THE ALMIGHTY.”
The Headmaster’s violent tones soon brought the assembly back under control, including the form teachers lined up on the canvas chairs behind him. The neurotic Miss Florringe jumped as her Head emphasized the word laxity.
“WE NOW LIVE IN A COUNTRY WHERE PEOPLE ARE BECOMING SLOPPY AND ARE FORGETTING THAT HARD WORK AND DUTY ARE WHAT MADE BRITAIN GREAT.”
Mr Leyland slowly turned his head to scan the entire congregation, keeping an eagle eye out for signs of giggling or chatter. He was equally proud and disappointed when the results were negative.
“NOW THEN, CAN ANYONE TELL ME WHAT THE LETTERS ‘MBE’ STAND FOR?”
Wilberforce Windcheater experienced a rare surge of confidence and shot up his hand.
Mr Leyland surveyed the sprinkling of other outstretched arms before pointing at Wilberforce.
“Member of the British Empire, Sir”
“Well done, Windcheater.”
The Headmaster continued pointing at the boy, and followed up by asking whether he knew the names of any people who owned the title.
Wilberforce was at a loss, and could only think of one answer. He was worried that Mr Leyland wouldn’t be happy with it.
“The Beatles, Sir.”
The boy soon had his misgivings confirmed as the Headmaster launched a stinging attack on everything the moptops stood for, whilst keeping an evangelical finger pointed at the unfortunate eight year old.

“THE BEATLES ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A GROUP OF LAYABOUT YOUNG MEN WHO MAKE A DREADFUL NOISE AND CAUSE PEOPLE TO ACT STUPIDLY AND IRRESPONSIBLY!”
Mr Leyland readdressed the whole assembly.
“THESE PEOPLE HAVE THE DOWNRIGHT BLASPHEMY AND TEMERITY TO SAY THAT THEY ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN JESUS!
“WHEN THAT FOOL WILSON MADE THESE PEOPLE MBE’S, IT WAS NOTHING LESS THAN A SLAP IN THE FACE FOR ALL THE PEOPLE WHO EARNED THIS WONDERFUL HONOUR….WAR HEROES WHO SPILLED BLOOD SO THAT WE COULD HAVE THE FREEDOM TO LIVE OUR LIVES IN PEACE.”
Mr Leyland became more irate as his lecture lengthened, complimented by a swift reddening of the face.
“….AND WHAT DO PEOPLE LIKE THE BEATLES DO WITH THIS FREEDOM THAT HAS BEEN SO PAINSTAKINGLY WON FOR THEM?
“THEY THROW IT STRAIGHT BACK IN THE FACES OF THE OLD HEROES…OPENLY LAUGHING AT TIME HONOURED VALUES AND UPSTANDING CUSTOMS THAT WE ALL CHERISH.”

Miss Hussey leafed through her hymnbook in preparation for the imminent number.
“YOU WILL NOW TURN TO PAGE FOUR OF YOUR HYMNBOOKS FOR All Glory, Laud and Honour.
“I WANT THIS TO BE SUNG DEEP FROM THE LUNGS. I HAVE CHOSEN THIS HYMN BECAUSE IT REMINDS US THAT WITHOUT THE ALMIGHTY, WE WOULD HAVE NOTHING TO BE THANKFUL FOR.”
During the latest round of propaganda, Wilberforce was having his ears flicked from behind by Peter Plundeira, the aspiring bully of the first year.
Plundeira was from Mediterranean descent, and comfortably outbronzed the rest of his pallor colleagues. He was a stout and well built boy, and this physical advantage helped him confiscate and consume several packets of crisps during playtimes. In return for fellow pupils handing over their snacks, he would abstain from dishing out Chinese burns and doughnies.
Plundeira continued twanging away on Wilberforce’s protruding left auricle as the aggravated boy struggled to ignore the unwelcome attention.
“AFTER THE FIRST TWO VERSES, WE WILL MISS OUT VERSES THREE AND FOUR AND GO STRAIGHT TO THE ROUSING FIFTH VERSE…. YOU WILL ALL STAND.”
The entire assembly dragged themselves up from their cross legged sat down posture.
“NOW THEN, EVERYBODY CLEAR THEIR THROATS, TAKE A DEEP BREATH, AND LET’S HEAR THOSE…
Mr Leyland focused on the front row, and something caught his attention.
“MR BAPSTEAD!!”
The Headmaster in waiting was rudely awakened from his daydreaming about taking future control of the school.
“WILL YOU TAKE PLUNDEIRA TO MY OFFICE AT ONCE!”
Mr Bapstead immediately strode with intent toward the guilty boy and, mindful of this golden opportunity to display impressive authority, gave the budding bully a dose of his own medicine by leading him forcibly away by the ear.
“IF YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY TO DISRUPT ASSEMBLY PLUNDEIRA, THEN I HOPE YOU FIND MY CANE JUST AS AMUSING!”
The Headmaster’s face was by now a bright scarlet.
“MR BAPSTEAD – I WANT YOU TO STAY WITH PLUNDEIRA UNTIL I GET TO MY OFFICE!”
As teacher and pupil made their way through the exit at the back of the hall, the entire collection of boys and girls turned around with silent excitement.
“FACE THE FRONT!!”
Mr Leyland’s shouting reached a fevered level unheard before. His face now took on a slightly mauve hue.
“MISS HUSSEY, IF YOU WOULD BEGIN PLEASE.”
The music teacher eventually crunched the introductory chords to the hymn, as Mr Leyland scrutinized the whole room with manic eyes to find more candidates for chastisement. When the scan bore no fruit, his frustration and stress levels entered uncharted territory.

All glory, laud and honour,
To thee, Redeemer King,
To whom the lips of children
Made sweet hosannas ring.

Thou didst accept their praises;
Accept the prayers…

There followed an almighty crash, Miss Hussey played a horrible dischord and the hall fell silent.
The Headmaster fell like a detonated chimney and was led flat on his back. Mrs Trembondley tried valiantly to save him, but he was dead before he hit the stage floor. She walked over solemnly to behind the piano, scooped up its covering sheet, and returned to drape it over Mr Leyland amid the buzz of excitement and shock.
When Mr Bapstead was informed along with Plundeira a couple of minutes later, the soon to be crowned Head teacher experienced a strange mixture of emotions. He felt a warm tingle of excitement and anticipation, but also a feeling of being cheated. He cursed his bad luck at having missed the whole performance. Plundeira, on the other hand, couldn’t believe his good fortune.