“Maybe he’s a very strange kind of angel,” says Alice.
Mrs Mole groans. How can she cope with all of this?
“To your classes!” she commands.
“Are you a strange kind, Angelino?” asks Alice.
“I don’t know nowt,” he replies.
“Yes, Boss,” says the bloke in black. “I seen it with me own eyes. Flyin’ and playin’ football, Boss… Yes, Boss. Definitely… No, Boss, can’t see nowt now, Boss. They’ve gone inside, Boss.”
“It’s saw not seen,” says the Boss. “It’s nothin’ not nowt. And it ain’t your job to see nowt. It’s your job to see everythin’. Get inside that school, K.”
“It’s got a fence around it, Boss. They won’t let me in, Boss.”
“Course they’ll let you in. Tell them you’re a School Inspector. Tell them you were passin’ by and decided to drop in to give them a quick once-over.”
“But they won’t believe it,” says the bloke in black. “I’m just a lad!”
“Then grow up fast! Take the shades off. Brush your hair. Stick your chest out. You’re a Master of Disguise, aren’t you?”
The bloke touches his shades, his moustache, his black hair, black suit, black tie. Master of Disguise. Yes. That’s what he’s always been good at, ever since he was a little lad.
“Yes, Boss.”
“So you can do it. Walk tall. Take the notebook. Make notes. Talk in a Deep and Confident voice, and watch your grammar when you speak.”
The bloke in black takes a deep breath.
“But what does a School Inspector do, Boss?”
“He inspects, of course. He writes things down. He says what’s wrong. He tells the teachers things’d better change or there’ll be deep, deep trouble. He shows that he is in command. Now get in there and do it.”
“OK, Boss,” says the bloke.
“Be brave, K,” says the Boss. “This is the moment you grow up and become a man.”
“Is it, Boss?”
“Yes. Be Brave. Be Distinguished. And get that angel in your sights.”
The bloke in black spits on his fingers and smooths down his hair. He takes off the shades, puffs out his chest, holds the notebook under his arm and sets off across the park towards the school.
He presses the bell by the school gates.
“May I help you?” says Samantha Cludd, the School Secretary, through the intercom.
“Indeed you may,” says the bloke in black in a very deep voice. “I am a School Inspector.”
“A School Inspector!” gasps Samantha Cludd.
“Yes,” replies the bloke in black. “I was passing by and thought I would drop in to give you a quick once-over.”
Samantha gasps again. Then there is silence. Then the voice of Mrs Mole comes through the intercom.
“How may I help you, sir?” she says.
“I am a School Inspector,” repeats the bloke in black. “I was passing by and thought I would drop in to give you a quick once-over.”
The bloke in black waits. He hears the Secretary and Mrs Mole gasping to each other, “He’s a School Inspector!”
Then the voice of Mrs Mole returns. The voice is trembling.
“You are most welcome,” she says. “May I ask if you were the inspector who gave the inspection when Mr Donkin was our True Head Teacher?”
“Oh no, madam,” says the bloke in black. He puffs out his chest further, for he is rapidly growing into this new role. “That must have been someone else. There are many of us nowadays, travelling the country, doing our duties. And perhaps it was long ago. We are now much more modern in our approach.”
“More modern?”
The bloke in black ponders. Somehow, he suddenly knows what a Master of Disguise should say in these circumstances.
“Yes, indeed, madam. These days we pass by, drop in, inspect, report and then move on. Unless, that is, we discover something to cause us to elongate our stay.”
“Elongate? What kind of something might cause that?”
“Something out of the ordinary, madam. Something that is not quite right. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?”
“My name is Mrs Mole,” says Mrs Mole. “I am the Acting Head Teacher.”
The bloke in black writes something in his notebook.
“I should tell you,” he tells her, “that I am already taking notes. I am already beginning my inspection.”
“Already?” says Mrs Mole.
“Indeed I am. And I am noting the amount of time it is taking you to open these gates and let me in. I hope, madam, that you are not trying to delay my once-over so as to hide whatever is not right.”
“Oh no, sir!” gasps Mrs Mole. “We should never do such a thing, for we have nothing at all to hide.” The gate buzzes and clicks. “Please come in, sir. We are happy to welcome you. Please make your inspection.”
The bloke in black pushes the gate. It opens. He enters. He sighs.
“Just think,” he tells himself. “When I was at school they said I’d come to nowt. If only my teachers could see me now!”
Mrs Mole holds the door open as the bloke in black enters the school. She tries to smile. Her whole body is trembling.
“Greetings, s-sir,” she says. “W-welcome to St Mungo’s. Samantha, some coffee and biscuits, please, for our Important Visitor.”
“Yes, Mrs Mole,” says Samantha. “And there may be some dinner left over – ham salad, perhaps, or custard and cake.”
“Custard?” says the bloke.
“Yes,” says Samantha. “And cake.”
“Ch-chocolate cake, sir,” adds Mrs Mole.
The bloke in black hesitates a moment, then raises his hand.
“No, madam!” he says. “An inspection is not the time for custard-like frivolities. Speed is of the essence. Take me to a class immediately or there’ll be trouble!”
The Acting Head Teacher glances in fear at the School Secretary.
“Professor Smellie!” hisses Samantha Cludd. “He’s with the G&Ts.”
Mrs Mole sighs. Yes! There was no Professor here in Mr Donkin’s time, and hardly any G&Ts.
“F-follow me, sir,” she says. “Our P-P-Professor will be delighted to see you. How shall I introduce you?”
“Be brief. Say, ‘Here is the School Inspector about to give you his once-over.’”
The Acting Head Teacher pauses. She leans a little closer to the bloke.
“You seem v-very young,” she says, “to be a School Inspector, sir.”
The bloke in black twists the ends of his moustache. He raises his head and adopts a very serious expression.
“I am,” he replies, “much older than I appear to be.”
Be brave, she tells herself.
“Have I s-seen you before?” she asks.
“No, madam, you have not saw me before.”
“Were you once a little boy called K-Kevin?”
“Kevin? Do I look like I was once a little boy called Kevin? And is this any way to address a School Inspector? My name is Black, madam. Mr Black.”
“And your f-first name, if I may enquire?”
“Bruno,” says the bloke. He blinks, astonished that such a name has fallen from his lips. “Yes, I am Mr Bruno Black, the Chief Inspector of Schools.”
“Chief Inspector!” gasps Mrs Mole in terror.
“Yes, indeed.” He stands taller. His voice becomes even deeper. Yes, this truly is how a Master of Disguise should behave. “My promotion was confirmed today. Now stop delaying the inspection. Open the door and let me in.”
She opens the classroom door and steps aside, and Mr Bruno Black walks in.
“The colon!” sighs Professor Smellie. His eyes are closed, his head is tilted towards the ceiling, the fingers of his left hand rest on his furrowed brow. “Then the semi-colon!” he continues. “The differences between them are so infinitely subtle, and yet so exquisitely precise.”
The children, among them Alice Obi, turn their eyes towards the visitor.
“Consider the following sentence, for instance,” says the Professor. “Listen for the timing of the pauses wrought by my colon and its brother the semi-colon. And as you listen, note the carefully chosen adjectives and the poetic effects of assonance and alliteration. ‘I have three beloved pets: one is a sleek salamander; one is a panting pot-bellied pig; and one is a hungry horse.’”
“Have you indeed?” snaps Bruno Black. He opens his notebook and licks his pencil.
The Professor flinches and opens his eyes.
“This,” says the Acting Head Teacher, “is the Ch-chief Inspector of Schools, Mr Bruno Black. This, Mr Black, is Professor S-Smellie.”
“Ha!” says Bruno. “A Professor named Smellie who fraternizes with pigs and horses and that other thing.”
“Salamander,” says the Professor. “The smooth-skinned amphibian that is sometimes wrongly described as the newt.”
Bruno scribbles.
“I was naming such beasts,” explains the Professor, “in order to communicate the beauty and flexibility of our tongue.”
“You have a flexible tongue?”
The Professor frowns.
“Of course I do not, not in the way that the salamander does. And of course I do not in fact own such pets, Mr Black. I was using them simply as the subjects of my sentence.”
“So you lie about your tongue, and you lie about your pets?”
“Lies? I should not call them lies.”
“You may not call them lies, sir,” says Bruno Black. “But I, the Chief Inspector of Schools, may do so. Oh yes, indeed I may, as may these little ones.”
He turns to the children.
“Children, did this Professor tell you that he owned a newt, a pig and a horse, and indeed that this horse was hungry?”
“Yes, sir,” answer Alice and several others.
“And did he then admit,” continues Bruno Black, “that, in fact, he owned no such things?”
“Yes, sir,” say Alice and several others.
“Yes, sir, indeed!” echoes Bruno Black. “You do indeed have a flexible tongue, my laddo! A flexible and slippery tongue which is leading these poor children astray. I make my first mark, sir, and it is a black one. Oh yes, a deep black mark from Chief Inspector Bruno Black!”
The Professor stares at him.
“This,” says Bruno Black, “could lead to deep, deep trouble.”
“Trouble?” gasps the Professor.
“In fact, I wonder, sir,” continues Bruno, “if you are a Professor at all, or if your whole presence at this school is built on fibs and lies. Indeed, I wonder if your ridiculous name is a fabrication, and if this is all some ridiculous disguise.”
“Of course I am Professor Smellie! I am a Professor at the Grand and Ancient University of Blithering-on-the-Fen. I have seven Honorary Doctorates and I am a Fellow of—”
Bruno Black slaps his hands over his ears.
“Blah blah blah!” he says. “Your doctorates impress none of us here. Nor, in fact, does your hair.”
“My hair?”
“Yes, indeed! You will have noticed that my own hair is carefully brushed, while yours looks like it has been in a howling gale. Smooth it down, man, straighten your tie and pull your trousers up! Show an example to these children!”
The Professor stares into the void. He does as he is told.
“Much better!” says the Chief Inspector. “Now, continue to teach. And watch your grammar.”
“Grammar?” gasps the Professor.
“Are you suggesting, sir, that grammar does not matter?”
The Professor gapes. He tries to speak. Bruno scribbles in his book.
“Stop staring, Smellie,” he says. “Continue to teach as I continue to inspect.”
He sits at Alice Obi’s table. He waves his hand at Mrs Mole, who is still standing at the door.
“You are dismissed, madam,” he says. “I must be left alone now in my inspection of this lying messy-haired Professor.”
She leaves and shuts the door. The Professor shuts his eyes again. He turns his face towards the ceiling.
Alice looks at Bruno Black.
“You don’t really look like an Inspector,” she whispers.
“What do I look like?” he whispers back. “Marilyn Monroe? The Dalai Lama?”
He smiles to himself. They’d be good disguises to take on some day.
“Course I’m an Inspector,” he says. “Now behave yourself!”
He scribbles important-looking notes in his notebook.
“The simplicity of the full stop,” says the Professor in a loud but quivering voice, “is often to be desired. As is the comma, the…”
He hesitates, looks at the Inspector as if the Inspector is turning into a deep, dark hole.
“Continue!” commands Bruno Black.
The Professor hesitates again, then talks on. Bruno scribbles a drawing of a little angel in his notebook. He shows it to the lad named Paddy Armstrong who is sitting at his side.
“Have ye saw this thing, mate?” he hisses.
He slides fifty pence across the table. The lad’s eyes widen.
“Aye,” Paddy whispers.
“Where?” says Bruno Black.
“He’s doing Art.”
“Art who?”
“No,” says Alice Obi, “Paddy means he’s painting with Ms Monteverdi.”
“In the Art room,” adds Paddy.
He takes the fifty pence and slips it into his pocket.
“The exclamation mark, for instance,” says Professor Smellie. “As we have seen—”
“ENOUGH!” yells Chief Inspector Bruno Black. “These children – and I – have heard quite enough of this drivel! Don’t you even know that it is saw not seen?” He waves his notebook in the air. “I have done with you, Smellie! You are leading these children astray. You are a hairy ungrammatical deceiver! Someone take me to the Acting Head Teacher now!”
Alice stands up.
“I’ll take you, sir,” she says.
What a very strange School Inspector this is, she thinks. And what a very strange school day this has become. But so much more interesting than G&T lessons with the Professor. It’ll be good to get away.
She leads Bruno Black to the classroom door.
He pauses there. He turns to Smellie.
“I shall,” he announces, “be recommending your immediate dismissal!”
Ms Monteverdi is always lovely, and today she’s even lovelier than usual. The sun shines through the Art room window and onto her golden hair. She’s in an orange top and purple jeans and dangly dolphin earrings.
Her class, including Jack and Nancy, are wearing art smocks. They’re standing at easels with great big sheets of paper, jars of water, brushes, palettes of brilliant paint.
Angelino’s sitting on an upturned paint pot on a table. His wings are wide open behind him. His dress is marked with the lunchtime mud. There’s a little yellow custard stain on his chin.
Ms Monteverdi moves among the children.
“Wow, that’s bloomin’ gorgeous, lass!” she says, and, “That’s comin’ on just grand. How about a spot of red just there? And that line, look. Give it a bit more curve. Aye, exactement like that, me honey! Be bold and brave and believe that you can do it. Don’t be scared to make a mess. Oh Ali, that is wonderful! Doreen Craig you have excelled yourself! Gadzooks, Mustapha, what a lovely thing!”
She claps her hands.
“How lucky I am to have this class!”
She squeezes past the easels and beams at Angelino.
“And how lucky we are to have you with us, lad!”
Angelino bows. He flutters his wings. He gives a little fart.
“Just imagine,” says Ms Monteverdi, “if Leonardo had had this opportunity! Or Rubens! Or Picasso! What would they have given for…”
She turns to the door, for it has opened, and standing there are Bruno Black, Alice Obi and Mrs Mole.
“Visitors!” she calls. “Come in! Join in
! I know you’re a Very Busy and Important Woman, Mrs Mole, but get yourself an easel, pet, get some paints! Hello, lovely Alice! And who’s this lovely fella at your side?”
“The Ch-chief Inspector of Schools,” stammers Mrs Mole.
“It’s grand to meet you, lad,” says Ms Monteverdi. “Best way to inspect us is to join us. Come in. Get stuck in!”
“What would they give?” asks Bruno.
“They?” says Ms Monteverdi.
“Ruby, Picasso and the other one?”
“The other one was Leonardo, Chief Inspector. Leonardo da Vinci, who was perhaps the greatest artist of them all!”
“Yes. Him. What would he have given to have an angel?”
“Oh, my dear Chief Inspector. Such artists would give their hearts, their souls. They would give what these children give. Wide-eyed wonder, excitement, joy and gogglement.”
She smiles.
“They would rip off their black, black suits and gaze at this creature through childlike eyes and recreate him with astonishment, charcoal, clay and paint.”
The Chief Inspector watches her, the way the sunlight brightens her hair, the way her eyes shine, the way she smiles so easily, the way she—
“Come on, lad!” she says. “Get that jacket off. Relax.”
He flinches, shakes his head.
“No!” he snaps. “This is not the time for taking jackets off, madam. Continue to teach! Are you still here, Mrs Mole?”
Mrs Mole scurries out of the room.
He sits down at a table. He watches Angelino. He starts his own drawing of the angel to show the Boss. Strange, the thing seems to be bigger than it was at lunchtime as it dived its way across the goal.
Alice sits close by and draws him, Bruno Black. Who is he? she wonders. He cannot be a School Inspector.
“Try a little shading there, Mr Black.”
It’s Nancy, standing at Bruno’s side.
“Are you snooping, kid?” Bruno hisses.
She laughs.
“Of course I’m not. I’m trying to help you. Some shading there would show the shadow of the wings.”
“I need no help.”
“Me name’s Nancy. We all need help. Mebbe you should have a closer look. Ms Monteverdi,” she calls out, “I think the Chief Inspector needs a closer look.”