Jay Gillies – författare

St. Hildas was an old school Endowed by some rich industrialist in the early part of the nineteenth century it was one of the few remaining grammar schools still left in a comprehensive world. Set on the outskirts of this small, country town, it lay almost secretively hidden amongst a mixture of substantial Georgian and Victorian dwellings. The school, entered from a tree-lined avenue, stood back from the street its entrance between two substantial houses. It was approached through a splendid driveway lined with beech trees across the playing fields and protected by high iron gates, now open. It looked a bit above the kind of school Colin was used to. Still it ought to be easier to teach in. He had been to a village school with only twenty-two kids and then the local comp where the other kids thought him a swot. That should mean a better type of girl, he hoped fervently, searching for some comfort.The entrance was imposing. Large redbrick pillars broke the high brick wall between the two houses. They stood on either side of the open gates. A carved stone lion surmounted each pillar, guardians of the driveway. The lions were rampant, extremely rampant to the point of being decidedly horny, Colin noted. The sculptor had been over-faithful to life, and rather unwise in his rendering of the beasts in view of their intended location. The pair were certainly well endowed. Lionesses would perhaps have been more suitable for a girls school. It would surely have been safer in the circumstances, if heraldically inaccurate, to have chosen the female of the species. Even as he was inspecting the St Hilda lions, he was himself, being inspected. The sound of suppressed giggles made him realise it. He had not moved since leaving the bus. Neither had he been aware until now that some of the girls who got off the bus with him had not moved on either. He jerked his eyes away from the lions loins guiltily.The small cluster of girls who were watching his anatomical study with undisguised interest eyed him. They had quickly identified his status, both as a man and as a probationary teacher. Each condition was a subject for interest. That instinct, bordering on the psychic skill, which is possessed by all school children, had ensured the recognition of his inexperience at once. It had taken place on the bus long before he noticed either lions or girls.The small gaggle was anticipating sport. Colins interest in the stonework had played right into their hands. Fancy our lions do you, Sir? Do you teach Biology? No! English and General Science, he said quickly, guessing where the question would lead.A school where pupils still called teachers, Sir, and, Miss, must have some discipline. Who was he kidding? The hint of laughter in the question made him cringe. You a new teacher, Sir? The second voice was neutral. Colin looked at the speaker. She was rather shorter than her two pals and on the plumper side of slim. She had a mop of unruly ginger hair that gave her friendly, freckled face a kind of halo.Yes, Im joining St Hildas this term, he acknowledged, not falling into the trap.Do you know where to go, Sir? the third girl asked. This one was taller, slimmer and a natural blonde. The tone was friendly as she looked at him with frank interest.I was here yesterday, for the staff meeting. Yes, thanks. I know my way round now. He remembered the gaff he had committed yesterday too well. Arriving at the first gate he had entered and made his way in through the entrance in front of him. This it had appeared was only to be used by The Headmistress, her deputy and some heads of departments. Other members of staff lower in the pecking order especially a new teacher who was merely a probationer were expected to use the other entrance provided for the girls. The tradesmens entrance he supposed. Miss Wheeler had corrected his heinous error kindly but with such conviction that Colin had almost been reduced to tea