Generosity
The envelope had been stuffed under my nose last week and even then I’d had no coins to drop into its depths.
‘I’m buying the present tonight,’ the really nice teacher says. She smiles at me with a smile that rakes my conscience into shreds.
‘I think I’ve some money in the car,’ I say and hastily race off.
It’s raining.
Cold drops of water trickle down my back as I lean into the car.
There are usually notes under the car mat, and failing that there are guaranteed to be abandoned coins in the well in the middle of the car. The pound coin for the supermarket trolley is sure to be there.
It isn’t.
I remember buying ice-creams with the loose change.
All I can scrape out of the car is a meagre eighty-six pence. It’s all the money I have.
I’m hoping that I can drop the coins anonymously into the envelope where they will hopefully make a satisfying jiggling sound signifying generosity and munificence.
‘Ah,’ the tall teacher says as I re-enter the school clutching my hoard like a crazed dragon. ‘There’s an envelope in my pigeon hole for the classroom assistant who is leaving. Would you care to put something in it? It’s in the staffroom. My pigeon hole,’ she repeats as if speaking to one of the slower children.’
‘Ah,’ I say, I nod and head there first.
The classroom assistant has done well. The envelope is fat and jingles with coins.
I peep inside. There are pound coins, a five pound note and assorted copper coins.
I drop my own few paltry copper coins into the envelope and momentarily toy with the idea of exchanging them for a pound coin for the next envelope, but I don’t.
I go in search of the nice teacher clutching all I have left: a fifty pence coin. It’s not much to drop into an envelope for someone who has given fourteen years of service.
The nice teacher beams when she sees me, and holds out her hand expecting to feel paper dropping onto her waiting palm. She frowns as my damp 50 pence coin drops into her hand. Her mouth opens and there’s no sound.
I’m reminded of the leaving party we’d had the previous week for the flowery teacher who is also leaving. The music had been so loud that nobody could hear what anybody else was saying. We had all gaped at each other in the same way as the nice teacher is now gaping at me. The brave ones had shouted something into a nearby ear and those with the keenest hearing had caught the odd word, laughed and replied. I had struggled to hear anything and had hated asking the now hoarse person to reprise their ordeal of screeching. It was easier just to smile, laugh and nod, and to pretend to have heard everything.
The nice teacher is showing no signs of smiling, laughing or even nodding. She is still staring transfixed at the moist coin in her hands. She finally mutters something along the lines of, ‘But it’s for…’ then she pauses, recovers herself, and looks at me.
In front of her is Scrooge personified.
I smile weakly wishing that the loud music from last week was still playing and could drown out my feeble excuses so she too would have to smile and laugh and nod.
There is silence.
Last week when it had been my turn to speak my voice being soft and low had been instantly lost in the cacophony. I had tried to shout and found to my horror that I was almost eating the ears of those who were half interested in what I had to say, or even worse that I was now spitting in the faces of those who had unfortunately turned their heads in an attempt to lip read instead.
I expected the nice teacher to spit on my 50 pence coin.
My quiet voice in the still classroom boomed with what seemed even to my ears utter nonsense.
I felt like a naughty child that had been caught out and had now lost the nice teacher’s goodwill for all time.
‘I thought I had more money in the car.’ I feebly conclude.
The nice teacher smiles ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says with her customary politeness.
Mortified, and feeling like a six years old, I leave.
Should I ever succeed in leaving, I know that my envelope will not jingle with coins. Judging from the expression on the face of the nice teacher my envelope will be full of spit!
If I’m lucky!
The envelope had been stuffed under my nose last week and even then I’d had no coins to drop into its depths.
‘I’m buying the present tonight,’ the really nice teacher says. She smiles at me with a smile that rakes my conscience into shreds.
‘I think I’ve some money in the car,’ I say and hastily race off.
It’s raining.
Cold drops of water trickle down my back as I lean into the car.
There are usually notes under the car mat, and failing that there are guaranteed to be abandoned coins in the well in the middle of the car. The pound coin for the supermarket trolley is sure to be there.
It isn’t.
I remember buying ice-creams with the loose change.
All I can scrape out of the car is a meagre eighty-six pence. It’s all the money I have.
I’m hoping that I can drop the coins anonymously into the envelope where they will hopefully make a satisfying jiggling sound signifying generosity and munificence.
‘Ah,’ the tall teacher says as I re-enter the school clutching my hoard like a crazed dragon. ‘There’s an envelope in my pigeon hole for the classroom assistant who is leaving. Would you care to put something in it? It’s in the staffroom. My pigeon hole,’ she repeats as if speaking to one of the slower children.’
‘Ah,’ I say, I nod and head there first.
The classroom assistant has done well. The envelope is fat and jingles with coins.
I peep inside. There are pound coins, a five pound note and assorted copper coins.
I drop my own few paltry copper coins into the envelope and momentarily toy with the idea of exchanging them for a pound coin for the next envelope, but I don’t.
I go in search of the nice teacher clutching all I have left: a fifty pence coin. It’s not much to drop into an envelope for someone who has given fourteen years of service.
The nice teacher beams when she sees me, and holds out her hand expecting to feel paper dropping onto her waiting palm. She frowns as my damp 50 pence coin drops into her hand. Her mouth opens and there’s no sound.
I’m reminded of the leaving party we’d had the previous week for the flowery teacher who is also leaving. The music had been so loud that nobody could hear what anybody else was saying. We had all gaped at each other in the same way as the nice teacher is now gaping at me. The brave ones had shouted something into a nearby ear and those with the keenest hearing had caught the odd word, laughed and replied. I had struggled to hear anything and had hated asking the now hoarse person to reprise their ordeal of screeching. It was easier just to smile, laugh and nod, and to pretend to have heard everything.
The nice teacher is showing no signs of smiling, laughing or even nodding. She is still staring transfixed at the moist coin in her hands. She finally mutters something along the lines of, ‘But it’s for…’ then she pauses, recovers herself, and looks at me.
In front of her is Scrooge personified.
I smile weakly wishing that the loud music from last week was still playing and could drown out my feeble excuses so she too would have to smile and laugh and nod.
There is silence.
Last week when it had been my turn to speak my voice being soft and low had been instantly lost in the cacophony. I had tried to shout and found to my horror that I was almost eating the ears of those who were half interested in what I had to say, or even worse that I was now spitting in the faces of those who had unfortunately turned their heads in an attempt to lip read instead.
I expected the nice teacher to spit on my 50 pence coin.
My quiet voice in the still classroom boomed with what seemed even to my ears utter nonsense.
I felt like a naughty child that had been caught out and had now lost the nice teacher’s goodwill for all time.
‘I thought I had more money in the car.’ I feebly conclude.
The nice teacher smiles ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says with her customary politeness.
Mortified, and feeling like a six years old, I leave.
Should I ever succeed in leaving, I know that my envelope will not jingle with coins. Judging from the expression on the face of the nice teacher my envelope will be full of spit!
If I’m lucky!
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