Parisian life: women dressed in scarlet silk dresses and long, buttoned evening gloves, smoking cigarettes and drinking champagne; films; the newest motorcars I saw advertised; music I heard.
I am yet to decide on a best friend. They ask funny questions here – one boy asked me if everyone in Paris could see the Eiffel Tower from their house. Also some of the boys here have never been to the pictures, haven’t even heard of some films and some of them don’t have telephones in their houses! I have promised Michel to show him ours. He says he wouldn’t know who to telephone on it.
The small hand on the clock hanging in the corridor shows that the first lesson starts any second. A couple of others arrive, puffing, behind me, and I am glad I’m not last. Unlike in Paris, I want to be there at the start of the lessons, I don’t dawdle when break is over and I’ve stopped making up illnesses at home to get out of school. I’ve been doing very well in my classes and enjoy the feeling of being right for once, winning a lot of merits and praise – not just from Mademoiselle Rochard – and only sometimes wonder whether I should admit to covering some of the things at my school in Paris.
As I sling my satchel over the back of my chair, Michel nods a hello in my direction. The sun is pouring through the windows onto our desks and the butterfly wall display is as happy as I am. From the windows I can see the wide blue sky, dots of birds far, far away. The caretaker of the school is fixing a hole in one of the goal nets. The sunlight bounces off his bald head. I turn to point this out to Michel but Mademoiselle Rochard arrives and everyone scrapes their chairs back to stand up.
There are a few whispers as a small boy walks in nervously behind her.
‘Good morning, class.’
‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Rochard,’ we chant, but everyone’s eyes are on the boy.
‘We have a new addition to our class this morning. Boys, can you all welcome Samuel. He is new to the area too, so I want you to make room for him and be helpful and polite.’
I notice André – the tallest boy in our class and an excellent goalkeeper – steer the new boy to the desk next door to his. He takes his seat and opens his bag quickly to try and hide his red cheeks behind it. I wonder if he is old enough to be in our class – he seems impossibly small, his feet dangling above the floor.
Our homework was to read a story. I quickly looked at it last night but then I got bored and Luc and I played a new game we made up and the winner got to wear Dimitri’s glasses, which make the whole world go blurry. Anyway, we read the book last year in Paris.
We are looking at where fairy tales come from. Some are based on true stories that actually happened, and this story is one of those. Mademoiselle Rochard asks the class to describe the central character, Bluebeard, and I close my eyes to try and see him. I think his beard is blue but can remember little else about him. I turn to a page that I think talks about him but Samuel has got there first. He raises a hand and the class looks at him curiously.
‘Yes, Samuel,’ Mademoiselle Rochard says.
Samuel describes Bluebeard perfectly, he floods into my mind in colour. He is massive and tall and scary, so strong he can smash the door to the tower down.
‘Well done, Samuel, beautifully put.’ Mademoiselle Rochard smiles at him. ‘So, can anyone tell me a story that reminds them of this fairy tale? What is the relevance of the door that she should not enter?’
Fast as light I put my hand in the air.
‘It is like the fairy tale “ La Belle et la Bête ”, because the beast in that is very nasty to the woman and that is the same in this story,’ I say, waiting for her praise.
Mademoiselle Rochard looks at me. ‘That is not quite what I was asking.’ She looks round the classroom.
‘Anyone else?’
When no one moves Samuel raises his hand again.
‘It’s similar to the story of Adam and Eve when
I am yet to decide on a best friend. They ask funny questions here – one boy asked me if everyone in Paris could see the Eiffel Tower from their house. Also some of the boys here have never been to the pictures, haven’t even heard of some films and some of them don’t have telephones in their houses! I have promised Michel to show him ours. He says he wouldn’t know who to telephone on it.
The small hand on the clock hanging in the corridor shows that the first lesson starts any second. A couple of others arrive, puffing, behind me, and I am glad I’m not last. Unlike in Paris, I want to be there at the start of the lessons, I don’t dawdle when break is over and I’ve stopped making up illnesses at home to get out of school. I’ve been doing very well in my classes and enjoy the feeling of being right for once, winning a lot of merits and praise – not just from Mademoiselle Rochard – and only sometimes wonder whether I should admit to covering some of the things at my school in Paris.
As I sling my satchel over the back of my chair, Michel nods a hello in my direction. The sun is pouring through the windows onto our desks and the butterfly wall display is as happy as I am. From the windows I can see the wide blue sky, dots of birds far, far away. The caretaker of the school is fixing a hole in one of the goal nets. The sunlight bounces off his bald head. I turn to point this out to Michel but Mademoiselle Rochard arrives and everyone scrapes their chairs back to stand up.
There are a few whispers as a small boy walks in nervously behind her.
‘Good morning, class.’
‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Rochard,’ we chant, but everyone’s eyes are on the boy.
‘We have a new addition to our class this morning. Boys, can you all welcome Samuel. He is new to the area too, so I want you to make room for him and be helpful and polite.’
I notice André – the tallest boy in our class and an excellent goalkeeper – steer the new boy to the desk next door to his. He takes his seat and opens his bag quickly to try and hide his red cheeks behind it. I wonder if he is old enough to be in our class – he seems impossibly small, his feet dangling above the floor.
Our homework was to read a story. I quickly looked at it last night but then I got bored and Luc and I played a new game we made up and the winner got to wear Dimitri’s glasses, which make the whole world go blurry. Anyway, we read the book last year in Paris.
We are looking at where fairy tales come from. Some are based on true stories that actually happened, and this story is one of those. Mademoiselle Rochard asks the class to describe the central character, Bluebeard, and I close my eyes to try and see him. I think his beard is blue but can remember little else about him. I turn to a page that I think talks about him but Samuel has got there first. He raises a hand and the class looks at him curiously.
‘Yes, Samuel,’ Mademoiselle Rochard says.
Samuel describes Bluebeard perfectly, he floods into my mind in colour. He is massive and tall and scary, so strong he can smash the door to the tower down.
‘Well done, Samuel, beautifully put.’ Mademoiselle Rochard smiles at him. ‘So, can anyone tell me a story that reminds them of this fairy tale? What is the relevance of the door that she should not enter?’
Fast as light I put my hand in the air.
‘It is like the fairy tale “ La Belle et la Bête ”, because the beast in that is very nasty to the woman and that is the same in this story,’ I say, waiting for her praise.
Mademoiselle Rochard looks at me. ‘That is not quite what I was asking.’ She looks round the classroom.
‘Anyone else?’
When no one moves Samuel raises his hand again.
‘It’s similar to the story of Adam and Eve when
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