Tale 6 - A Bad Ear Day

 Tale 6 - A Bad Ear Day 

As you already know, my morning drive to school is usually accompanied by Spotify or Capital Radio. However, we sometimes, I’m sure you will be surprised to hear, have Story Time.

Story Time is basically a tale from my past. The Prince of Tales and the Sassy Princess only have one rule. It must make them laugh.

 ‘A Bad Ear Day’ is their favourite, and I though I’d share that story with you today.

We are back in the late 1970s. I am in Year 5, and my brother is in Year 2. Primary school in those days was not about literacy, numeracy and SATS. It was about colouring in, times tables and lots of fun! My fun was football. I played it before school, at break, at lunch, and after school. I was football mad, and as there as no uniform, my outfit was usually a Leeds United football kit.(Cheers please, booing not allowed!)

Anyway it is 1978, and as usual at dinner time, I am playing football.

My game was interrupted by three Year 2 girls.

“Richard, your brother wants you” they giggled.

“Why, I am busy. Tell him to wait” I shouted, running around trying to get the ball.

“ I think it’s too late for him to wait. He is crying at the back of the school.” 

My conscience got the better of me, and I trudged to the back of the school. Sure enough, my brother was crying. But I was not ready for the site that greeted me. Running down BOTH legs were large, for want of a better word, turds. 

“ What happened” I whispered

“ I needed a poo, but I didn’t make it.”

That part was obvious, but the talent needed to make a turd slide down both legs is still something to this day, I can’t get my head round.

At lunch, or break, if you needed help, you got Miss. Miss was a lady whose name you were never told but she supervised the playground. There was usually one or two of them who walked round in big aprons.

“Miss” I screamed, “ I need some help.” 

The ladies were kind but firm! Miss walked over to us and kindly said;

“ Right then little man, let’s clean you up”

My brother, Miss 1, and Miss 2 and I went to the boys toilets. They stripped him down , and put his clothes in a plastic bag. They then got numerous toilet rolls, soaked them in water, and started to wipe my brother down. The brown marks were mainly waist down, but some poo had also managed to defy gravity and travel upwards! The home made wipes got most of the poo off, but even when they finished he still looked like a girl from 2022 who had overdone the self tanning lotion.

“ Right then, let’s get some spare clothes from lost property.” Said Miss 1

Lost property was a last resort. Clothes that children from years ago had left behind. Unwashed clothes thrown in a basket to mix and create a special aroma.

Clothes for a Year 2 were limited. What they found lives with me to this day. My brother was in a 1976 Montreal Olympics vest, some underpants I imagine had a story to tell, and to round it off the smallest pair of shorts I had ever seen in my life. They were more like trunks.

In my head I thought I would prefer the turd outfit.

Miss then told me I had to go to the staff room to ask permission to take him home. 

Surprised? 

Well in those days, Health and Safety and Risk assessments were not high priority. There was no phone call home. All that was needed was a 9 year old to ask permission to take his 6 year old brother home. No phone call, and no check to see if anyone was in, even though the school was at least a mile and half from my house! The fact that my brother also looked like an extra from a naughty film did not heighten any abduction worries.

I trudged to the staff room. This was a no go area for any child. When the staff room door opened, a mist would come out. We thought maybe it was steam from a witches cauldron, but hindsight as led to believe it was the stress relief of 20 Benson and Hedges.

I knocked on the door. I was greeted with “Come in” from a shrill female voice. 

The staff at my primary school were mainly middle aged or older women. Many of them were terrifying. I would much rather have a verbal volley from a male teacher than any of my Primary school female staff.

I walked in and looked straight forward. No eye contact was what was required.

“ What do you want?” One teacher asked 

“ Is it Ok if I take my brother home, he has had a bit of an accident.”

I thought that went OK. I just need a “Yes” and I can get out of here.

“What sort of accident?” Another teacher enquired.

I did not need that question. I needed to think quickly.

“An accident in his trousers.” I stupidly responded. 

I could hear loads of smirking. One member of staff nearly choked on her fag. After the laughs had died down, I was told that would be ok.

I ran out of the staff room and back to the toilets. My brother was waiting there with his  “dirty” clothes now wrapped tightly in newspaper.

I grabbed the parcel and put it under one arm, and held my brothers hand as we walked home together. Fortunately, we were not abducted, and as we got near home I could see my mum in the garden. As I approached the gate I got a friendly welcome.

“ Why are you two not in school, and why have you brought Fish and Chips home!”

As a child  who was never in trouble, I still can’t believe my mum thought that I truanted, took my brother with me, then thought better of it and bought fish and chips with pocket money I did not get to say sorry!

I explained what really happened. My mum looked at my brother. He had tears in his eyes and said to my mum;

“ I have been sent home. Miss said I got bad ears.”

My mum and I looked mystified 

“Yes.”  my brother said “ They said it was Dire Ears.”

The end of the story sends the Sassy Princess and the Prince Of Tales into much merriment. After any story, I always ask if there are any questions.

 I want them to ask sensitive, empathetic questions like;

“ Was your brother ok?”

“ Were the other children nice to him when he returned I school?”

What I actually get;

The Prince of Tales-“ How big were the turds rolling down his legs?”

The Sassy Princess-“ Did you really carry his poo clothes home under your arm. I would not carry no poo clothes of anyone.”

Very proud!

Have you got a story from your younger days your children love? I have a few but there is nothing like a poo story to inspire my children.