9
THE IMPOSSIBLY PERFECT HEADMASTER
I thought there must have been some mistake. Underwood was sitting at the front of the class. That is, what was left of the class. A plague of tonsillitis, German flu, and general can’t-be-botheredness had gripped Mrs. Greer’s class, leaving fewer each day for her to growl at. I wondered if she had been sacked – held personally responsible for the falling numbers. Maybe she just didn’t have the mass-appeal of a monster like Sirgiman or Underwood.
Or the headmaster’s seal of approval.
We never saw her again.
“For those of you who haven’t met me yet, my name is Mr. Underwood. I will be your form teacher until the end of the year. Of course, there are some here amongst us who know me very well indeed, isn’t that so, Mr. Knight?”
Most of the other kids
