David Almond - My Name Is Mina

What Level is that? And what about Shakespeare? “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble!” What Level’s that? Would Shakespeare have been well above average? And Dickens and Chaucer and Keats and Shirley Hughes and Maurice Sendak and Michael Rosen? Did any of them do stupid silly SATS! I SUSPECT NOT!

I stared out the window for a while. There were no flies dancing in the air that day, though the sunlight was particularly beautiful where it shone on the drops of water left on the glass after a little rain shower. Maybe I’d be able to write about that, or about the birds that kept flitting back and forward. And there was a lovely pattern where the paint had flaked away at the edge of the window frame. Or maybe I could write a story about Mrs. Scullery’s night with the ghosts. I heard my name whispered. Mina McKee. I looked up. Mrs. Scullery was glaring at me. Everybody was heads down getting their writing done. Mrs. Scullery whispered my name again. I looked at her. I nodded at her and sighed. Poor Mrs. Scullery. I read the first instruction on the paper. “Write a description of a busy place.” Oh my God. I looked up again. THE HEAD TEACHER was looking in through the glass bit of the classroom door. He looked like he’d been with the ghosts as well. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. He caught my eye. He mouthed the words: WRITE. DON’T WORRY! PLEASE WRITE. The poor poor man. So I smiled at him, and nodded, and shrugged, and started to write, and this is what I wrote.

In thi biginin glibbertysnark woz doon in the woositinimana. Golgy golgy golgy thang, wiss wandigle. Oliotoshin under smiffer yes! Glibbering mornikles which was o so diggibunish. Hoy it! Hoy it! Then woz won so stidderuppickle. Aye aye woz the replifing clud. Yes! Clud is cludderish thats trew. Tickles und ticklin woz the rest ov that neet dun thar in the dokniss; An the crippy cralies crippin unda the path doon thar. Howzit! Woz the yel. Howzit! Sumwun nose a sekritish thang an wil holed it unda. Aye! Unda! So hoy it! Naa. It is two riddish a thang for hoyin. So giv it not a thowt. Arl wil be in the wel in the wel ay depe don in the wel. An on it goze an on an on an on an on an on an on an on til the middlishniss is nere. An the glibbertysnark wil raze oot the woositinimana an to the blewniss wi the burds an clowds an clowds this loke lyke clowns. An wil laff laff laff. An wil yel Hoy it! Hoy it! Til the lasst ov the daze wen we wil no a ansa. So pond the glibbertysnark an the olitoshin an kip way ov mornikles. Yel howzit an hoy it! Til the bels is ringerish. An rite words for scullery an hedteechery coz ov the gosts an goolys an the sats an orl wil be wel wel wel. In conclooshun woopwoopwoopiness is pringersticks wif strattikipiness coz the ansa iz hidin in the cludderish claminosity wer the clowdiwinkling quakilstrator iz. Luk no wer wer the blippistrakor ov munomintelish plirders iz. Ther. Is dun. Hoy it! Hoy it! Hoy it! Til the coos cum bak acros the flisterin feeld unda the mistrictacular moooooon. Flap! An ther rite now its endid. Pop!

RESULT:

Mrs. Scullery:

Not Pleased. The “Mina Bloody McKee

Bloody Disgrace” Scene.

(see above)

HEAD TEACHER:

Not Pleased. The “Who Do You

Think You Are Madam I Am Calling

Your Mother” Scene.

(see below)

Grade Achieved

Level 0 Well Well Well Below Average.

Mum

Very Sad, Very Kind,

Then Very Determined.

Mina

Created new words

(Glibbertysnark! Oliotoshin!

Claminosity! Blippistrakor!)

Therefore: Very Pleased.

TAKEN OUT OF SCHOOL!

Therefore: VERY VERY

VERY PLEASED.

I thought I had done very well in such a short time. They didn’t even read it right through. Mrs. Scullery held it up like it was a poisonous thing. She did the “bloody” scene. She got to the bit where she said I was an utter bloody disgrace. Then she leaned right down so that her face was nearly right in mine. For a moment I wanted to stroke it. I wanted to give her a cuddle, I really did. She looked O so stressed out. I wanted to say, “O, Mrs. Scullery. Never mind. It’s just some writing, that’s all. It’s not going to harm you. And look, some of it’s lovely. Don’t get yourself worked up, love. Calm down. I’m sure Samantha has done some lovely level 5ish work.”

But I couldn’t get any words out. I just stared back into her eyes.

“You,” she whispered hard into my face. “You, madam.”

“Me?” I whispered back.

“Are as hard as iron.”

And she led me to THE HEAD TEACHER and gave the writing to him. He looked at it like it was another ghost come back to haunt him. He held it up and twisted his face like it was a very very dangerous stinking poisonous thing.

“What,” he said, “is this?”

“Writing,” I said.

“Writing what?”

“Writing, sir.”

“And what kind of writing do you think it is?”

He glared. He fumed. He gritted his teeth. Did he really want to know?

“It’s nonsense, sir,” I said.

“EXACTLY, MADAM. IT. IS. NONSENSE! IT. IS. A PAGE. OF ABSOLUTE. AND TOTAL. UTTER. IDIOTIC. NONSENSE!”

I could see he wanted to swear, just like Mrs. Scullery had. I wanted to tell him it was OK to tell me I was an utter bloody disgrace, if he wanted to [9] Thoughts about swearing. Yes, I know that swearing is very bad, and that swearwords are very very bad bad things. But there are times when nothing else will work – otherwise why have swearwords at all? And I know that you are not supposed to say this, but there are times when swearwords just sound very nice and feel nice on your tongue and are simply very nice to say. (I don’t think Mrs. Scullery would agree with any of this, despite her performance in the Bloody Disgrace scene.) . I wanted to tell him he could use even worse words if it would help him feel better. I wouldn’t mind at all. But I thought it was probably best not to say that.

“I know that, sir,” I simply said.

“Oh, you know that, do you? So who do you think you are? And what right do you have to … ”

“I don’t know, sir. Sometimes I wonder, Who am I? What am I doing … ”

Mrs. Scullery groaned. She gripped the edge of THE HEAD TEACHER’s desk.

“Are you taking the mick, young lady?” said THE HEAD TEACHER.

“No, sir.”

Mrs. Scullery groaned again.

“Doreen!” yelled THE HEAD TEACHER.

Doreen came in from the room next door.

Doreen was THE HEAD TEACHER’s secretary.

“Yes, Headmaster?” said Doreen.

“I need this young lady’s telephone number, please, Doreen.”

I started to say that I knew it but he stopped me with a glare.

Doreen went out and came back again with the number.

“Thank you, Doreen,” said THE HEAD TEACHER. “That will be all for now.”

He lifted the telephone. He dialed the number. He spoke to Mrs. McKee about her daughter. He said he would like to see her, now, if at all possible.

“No,” he said. “She has not had an accident, Mrs. McKee, but I should like to see you in person if I may.”

He put the phone down.

“She is on her way,” he said.

“She won’t be long,” I started. “We just live—”

“We KNOW where you live!” said THE HEAD TEACHER. “We need no further contributions from you, thank you very much! Mrs. Scullery, would you like a glass of water? You look a little … ”