The World According to Bertie

“Yes,” said Larch. “She’s probably climbing up the Scott Monument right now . . .” He leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger at Olive. “And it’ll be your fault, Olive! Your fault!”

314 A New Version of the Fateful Olive Incident Olive opened her mouth to say something, but was prevented from doing so by Tofu. “So,” he said, “we have to find out who told on Miss Harmony and we have to get that person to say that it was all made up and that it was self-defence, as I’ve said.”

“And then we’ll get Miss Harmony back,” said Pansy. “Because she was the nicest teacher we could ever hope to get. She was kind, and she liked all of us.”

“Except Olive,” said Tofu. “She knew what Olive was like.

That’s why she pinched her.”

“I thought you said it was self-defence,” crowed Olive. “Now you’re saying it was because she hated me.”

“Both,” snapped Tofu. “She hated you and she had to defend herself. Both are true.”

The argument might have continued had it not been for the arrival of the new teacher, a man in his midtwenties, who walked into the classroom and stood smiling at the top of the class. He introduced himself as Mr Bing.

“I’m your new teacher,” he said, “now that Miss Harmony . . .”

“Is dead,” supplied Tofu.

“Oh no,” said Mr Bing. “Miss Harmony’s not dead! Where on earth did you get that idea? She’s just reassessing her career.

People often do that, boys and girls – they have another look at what they’re doing and decide whether they aren’t better off doing something quite different. That’s all.”

“But did she want to reassess her career?” asked Tofu. “Or was she forced to go because she had to defend herself against Olive?”

Mr Bing frowned. “I’m not sure that I understand you . . .

what’s your name, by the way?”

“Tofu.”

Mr Bing hesitated for a moment. “Well, Tofu,” he said, “it’s possible that Miss Harmony might have become a little bit stressed. And it’s possible that she might have done something a little bit impulsive.”

“It was self-defence,” said Tofu, looking around the class for support. “Olive tried to strangle her, and it was the only way in which she could calm her down. She gave her a little pinch to

A New Version of the Fateful Olive Incident 315

get her to loosen her grasp round her neck. That’s true, isn’t it, everybody?”

A chorus of support was raised.

“Yes,” said Larch, his face contorted into an expression of sincerity. “She’s quite dangerous, Mr Bing. We all know that.

But Miss Harmony still wants to protect her, and so she probably didn’t say anything about Olive trying to strangle her. Miss Harmony is so kind, you see. If somebody tries to strangle her she never says anything about it.”

Mr Bing seemed flustered. “Well, we might talk about this later,” he said. “For the time being, I should like to get to know you all. So what we’re going to do is to write a little piece about ourselves – just a page or so. And then we’ll put our names on top of that, and in that way I’ll know all about each of you! Now isn’t that a good idea?”

“Some people can’t write yet,” said Larch. “Olive can’t.”

“No,” said Tofu. “She’s illiterate, Mr Bing.”

Olive glared at Tofu, but was steadfastly ignored.

“Well,” said Mr Bing. “In that case, those who can write will write, and those who can’t can draw pictures for me! How about that? They can draw pictures of themselves and of their favourite things to do.”

“How do you draw fibs?” asked Tofu. “Because Olive will have to draw them.”

316 The World of Bertie – in His Own Words

“Now Tofu,” scolded Mr Bing. “We mustn’t say such things.

What you’ve just said about Olive creates negative karma. But I’m sure that you didn’t mean it, and so we’ll move on and start our little project. I’ll give you each a bit of paper and you can get down to work. What fun we shall all have!”

93. The World of Bertie – in His Own Words Giving the tip of his pencil a lick for good luck, Bertie began to write:

The world according to Bertie.

My name is Bertie Pollock, and I’m a boy. I live in Scotland Street, which is a place in Edinburgh. Our house is at No. 44, which is easy to remember. It is hard to get lost in Scotland Street, because it just goes up and down and you can see each end if you stand in the middle. I have a brother called Ulysses, who is very small and can’t talk or think yet. My Daddy’s name is Stuart, and he works for the Scottish Executive, where he makes up numbers. I think that he is very good at that because he has been promoted and given more money.

My Mummy’s name is Irene. She is quite tall and she talks more than Daddy, who sometimes tries to say something but is told not to say it by Mummy. Mummy has a friend called Dr Fairbairn, who is mad. He wears a blue jacket which Mummy says is made of stuff called linen. Dr Fairbairn lives in Queen Street. Most people have a living room, but he has a waiting room. He keeps copies of a magazine called Scottish Field in