The Wordsmiths (part one)

Graham I

The sun could be so taunting, Graham had never realized it before but at this moment, rays of warm, dazzling sun streamed through the window and fell on to the shoulders of his black suit. He groaned with annoyance and slammed his fists down on the computer keyboard. How on earth could anyone expect him to write in this weather? He sighed and turned back to his computer but even that seemed to be unwilling to work today. Puffs of heat issued from the back of it, to stop it overheating, Graham reasoned. He touched the screen and felt his fingers burn from the heat of it. He attempted to open up his document but the computer had frozen. With a thousand curses dancing in his head, he restarted it and rested his head in his hands.

As he did so, unfair thoughts filled his head. He thought of his cool sitting room back home with the big table in the centre. Everyone sat round that table when they could, that’s where they all wrote. At four o’clock every week day afternoon, his wife Miriam would return home from her day’s teaching at Stafford High and drop in to her old oak chair by the table. She would heave her briefcase up on to the table and unpack its contents-no moans, no grumbles, whatever her mood. Miriam always got on with things; she got on straight away with her marking, carefully inking neat ticks and crosses. After getting something from the cupboard to eat, Amber would invariably leap on to the chair beside her mother, heave her school bag up on to her work space, and unpack its contents and, after bending her head, she would get on with her homework.

“Just like her mother!” Graham thought fondly, smiling despite himself.

Amber was a strange child. Her extremely long brown hair and big innocent eyes gave no impression of anything special and yet she had to be one of the most talented girls of her time. She was always day dreaming with a pen and notebook about her somewhere. Every so often, when everyone least expected it, these tools would come flying out of nowhere and Amber would be scribbling in no time. She was always writing, or planning things to write at any rate. As a Wordsmith, she was one of the finest and youngest writers in the country. She would have made millions if her books were published yet both Miriam and Graham would never even consider the possibility of publication.

“Writers like you don’t want to be exposed to the world, it’s dangerous, especially as you are young” Graham had explained many a time.

Amber still couldn’t understand why but he knew she would when she was older.

Miriam was an excellent unpublished writer herself. She was an ordinary woman by appearance: short straight brown hair, brown eyes and a plump figure. She kept her writing well protected and enjoyed every moment of her career as an English teacher. Graham had often heard it said that she was one of the best teachers because she had the power of making a class do anything she asked them and with an added bonus: they enjoyed what she taught them. She was kind and understanding and taught every pupil as if they were her best friend. Although Miriam had never said it aloud, Graham strongly suspected they were because she loved to be right in amongst them. She could tell enchanting stories and bring them to life with veracious realism. The children adored her and her family was proud of her.

Graham was the only Wordsmith that had his written material published. He was a journalist for an important newspaper, Spectrum. He wrote approximately twenty articles for it each month. Sometimes, he would write well in to the night to get them finished. The hardest things to write, he found, were political arguments that must not sound too biased. These were especially difficult to write if he had an extremely strong opinion of his own. He was a good humored, sweet tempered, hard working man with a short stubble of hair which he often ran his fingers through in times of frustration. It was Amber’s little joke that when she saw it standing on end, she would say, “You’ve been thinking again Dad!”

The computer whirred contemptuously as it restarted. Graham sighed deeply and took his head out of his hands.

“Well if Miriam can get on with things and so can Amber, then I can too,” he said to himself.

At that moment, there was a tap on the door.

“Come in,” Graham responded immediately; the tapping sounded abrupt with urgency and impatience, it demanded immiediat attention.

In to the room rushed Karen Lavesburg, his agent, a bunch of papers flapping limply in her hand. Strands straggled out of the bun at the back of her head and she looked tired and harassed, as she always did on a Friday afternoon.

“Karen!” Graham said cheerfully, “What can I do for you?”

“I came to tell you that your last article is to be published tomorrow morning and Sarah told me to tell you that your article on the political argument of…” she paused to remember, “Something or other has to be given to Sarah for editing tomorrow as well and she needs it now.”

“I just have to finish it,” Graham said, feverishly scanning what he had written so far.

“Oh crumbs!” Karen cried despairingly, “She’s going to go mad.”

“I’ll only be another half hour or so, just head her off or something,” Graham half mumbled as he bent his head to resume work.

Karen, knowing that she wouldn’t get another word out of him, walked away, pushing the door shut behind her.

“Finished!” Graham said triumphantly, ten minutes later.

He was quite proud of the result; it had been easier to write than he thought and it didn’t look biased in the slightest. Well, he didn’t think so anyway. He put it in his out tray for Sarah or Karen to collect later before saving his work and shutting down his computer. It hadn’t worked so fast all day! Graham didn’t usually sympathize with his electronic working companion (after all, it wasn’t human!) but at that moment he realized that like him, it too was willing to end the day’s work. He turned away from it, pulling the office key out of his pocket. He locked the door and headed home, his head clearing as he walked. At last he was going home, and back to his family.

Miriam I

“Well, what do we do?” Miss Chilverton cried, her hands clenching in despair.

“Don’t pretend I haven’t brought this issue up with you before,” Miriam Wordsmith replied, wearily,

“I asked you many a time last year if we could do English based extra ciricular activities. I clearly remember that I asked you about each individual one: could I organize pupils to design a school news paper? Could I start up a creative writing club? Could us English teachers become more involved in the library? Your answer was always no.”

“Now!” Miss Chilverton shouted, slamming her fists down on the desk in a fluster,

“It wasn’t like that; I never gave you no for an answer.”

“I apologize, not a definite no. The answers were always excuses like we can’t fit it in to the syllabus or that you were too busy at the moment. I was waiting for you to say that you didn’t think anyone would be interested in those sort of things anyway” Miriam replied, calmly as something laughed triumphantly inside her.

At least ten years ago, when she was training at university, one of her lecturers had said: “If you find yourself in the middle of an awkward situation, do not get in a fluster or temper. Keep your head clear, it will show you to be a much better person.” Miriam had never forgotten that advice; she was in the middle of an awkward situation now alright.

Despite her constant requests and appeals to the deputy head for more English based activities within school, Miss Chilverton hadn’t taken the blindest bit of notice to its significance in the pupil’s education. However, less than a month ago, the offstead inspectors had come to inspect the school. Miriam had seen them so many times before; she was almost friendly with them, almost. They were feared by every teacher because they put teachers in a flap, making their teaching standards look appalling, despite the fact the teacher may be a genius when they are in a calm state and not being constantly watched. However, these did not frighten Miriam Wordsmith and she could keep calm in their presence. That day, the results of the inspection had come back to the school and now the deputy head was furious for, although the report showed glowing comments about the pupils and staff, there was one well written comment at the bottom that spoilt it all or that’s how Miss Chilverton felt about it anyway. Mrs. Wordsmith hadn’t been allowed to see the actual report yet but she knew that it plainly said that there were no extra curricular English based activities in this school. Now, Miss Chilverton had the cheek to come raging to Mrs. Wordsmith, head of English, about it as if it was her fault!

The triumphant feeling that Miriam was keeping calm whilst a staff member senior to her was getting in a temper, died quickly and turned to sympathy. She laid a pitying hand on the deputy head’s veined one,

“You cannot say that I didn’t suggest it earlier in the year, Irene,” Miriam said, as gently as she could.

Miss Chilverton took a deep breath in so that her chest deflated dramatically. She allowed her bony face to turn crimson before she breathed out so that she inflated to normal size once more.

“I’m sorry I have been, erm, a bit hasty with you, shall we say,” she said, sheepishly,

“What with the inspectors coming in when we’re least expecting it, it’s been fraught I tell you. I don’t know how you can relax around those… those people.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Miriam replied, “but they are just people like you said.”

The expression that appeared on the deputy’s face amused Miriam so much that she had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. It was one of exasperation, anger and plain disapproval. Miriam knew she hated it that Miriam was more popular amongst her pupils and her teaching standards were better which frustrated her, Miss Chilverton was the deputy head, she had to be better and clever than every other teacher in this school.

“What do we do next?” Irene asked, wearily.

“I suggest that we start doing the things I suggested earlier,” Miriam replied, simply.

“What? All of them? We don’t want this school turned in to an English school.” “As much as you’d like it that way,” she added, peevishly.

“Yes!” Mrs. Wordsmith cried, bouncing out of her chair,

“Leave it to me; I’ll just get a creative writing club going to start with.”

Her eyes were sparkling in that way they did when her sense of fun came to the forefront of her personality.

“Who will be in charge?” Miss Chilverton asked, almost monotonously.

“The English teachers of course so that’s Laura and I.”

Miriam was about to get up and leave when Miss Chilverton grabbed her by the wrist,

“Leave Laura out of this,” she said, her voice quick and urgent, “I doubt she could take the responsibility.”

“Oh I don’t know,” said Miriam, quite cheerfully, “Helping run a writing club is something she would enjoy, she loves bossing people about! It might take her mind off it.”

She smiled and with that, she had her briefcase by the handle and was bouncing out of the office before Miss Chilverton could bat an eyelid.

Amber I

The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the large school building.

“At last!” thought Amber as she headed towards the door with her heavy school bag dangling from one arm.

Now that boring Maths lesson was out of the way, she had a whole weekend ahead of her. Not even the large amount of homework she had been given could dampen her spirits. She found herself in the centre of the mad fray of pupils, bustling to their buses and clamoring to get out of the school gates first.

“First in, first out eh Wordsmith!”

Amber spun round, startled. The malicious voice in her ear had made her jump. She hoped desperately that it wasn’t who she thought it was. Her heart galloped against her ribs. Then, she looked up in to the smirking face of Liam Snaffle, a well built boy twice the size of her. Her worst fears were confirmed. Liam was a notorious troublemaker and bully so everyone tried to keep out of his way when they could. Amber’s heart sank but, despite herself, she turned around to carry on going,

“What a swat you are!” Liam muttered in her ear,

“You’re Mum’s meant to be one of the best teachers here isn’t she Wordsmith? Well, I have news for you.”

By this time, Amber had had more than enough and she was starting to tremble with fear. Why had this boy, who she’d never exchanged a word with in her life, suddenly decided to be so abominable to her? She tried to walk away from him but he reached out and grabbed the sleeve of her jumper. Pushing and shoving people out of his way, he marched Amber away from the frantic flurry of pupils. She did her best to pull away from him,

“Ha, don’t try any tricks with me, little Miss English ‘cos you won’t get far,” Liam sneered, his face almost cracking with malice.

“W-where are we going?” Amber asked, her voice shaking.

“To your favourite place, of course,” he replied, adopting a horrible smug smile that made Amber feel sick inside.

Liam led her up a flight of steep stairs and along the English corridor. Then, he opened a door with M2 printed on it and shoved her inside.

“Well, how convenient!” Liam cheered, “There’s no one in here, not even the queen of English. She isn’t here, admiring her reflection in the windows and picking her big greasy spots as she usually does. So I have you all to myself, Wordsmith. What fun!”

“And why does it please you so much that you have me all to yourself?” Amber asked, trying in vain to pull out of his grip.

“She even speaks like a Victorian!” Liam cried, “Well I am not amused. Everyone tells you your mum’s such a great teacher and everything but it’s all made up, you know that, don’t you? She’s just a fat old, shriveled prune. No, that’s pathetic, there are much better ways to describe her. Do you know what all these words mean, Wordsmith?”

He swore so violently that Amber couldn’t help flinching.

“She flinches!” Liam laughed, “Well…” he started to shake her, “I’m going to get you… properly… when I get the chance… and you’re dear Mum too.”

Then, he let go of her and she smashed in to the wall. The piercing scream that erupted from her seemed too loud to be real. Amber hoped it had carried far; it had echoed around the silent corridor, it must have done. Sure enough, the classroom door burst open and in came Mrs. Wordsmith. Amber almost cried, “Mum!” but she bit her words back just in time. Her mother never liked to treat her any differently from her fellow pupils and instinct told her that Mum wouldn’t like it if she’d called her Mum at school.

“What are you both doing?” Mrs. Wordsmith asked, her eyes quickly and expertly taking in the situation.

“Oh, I’m sorry if we disturbed you, Mrs. Wordsmith,” said Liam, in a false simpering voice, “I was just talking to er… er…”

He was obviously trying to remember Amber’s name.

“We were just talking, in here,” he finished.

“Is that right?” Mrs. Wordsmith asked, shrewdly, “And does Amber need to be sprawled and bleeding on the floor for you to talk?”

Liam didn’t have anything to reply to this question and Amber had nothing to say either. The moments of awkward silence stretched between them like a very strong thread that would never break.

“Liam, come with me!” Miriam said softly and the silence was broken.

Mrs. Wordsmith gestured to Amber that she could go and she left the room without a word.

Amber closed the classroom door behind her and broke in to a run. Wham! She bumped straight in to her best friend Linda,

“Ouch!” she cried, massaging her hip.

“Sorry Linda!” Amber exclaimed, looking concerned.

“What’s happened to you? You look…” she paused.

“I’ll tell you once we’ve both got out of here,” Amber explained.

“You ready then? I’ve been waiting ages,” asked Linda.

Amber nodded and together they set off for Linda’s house.

Amber loved Linda’s house, partly because it was so different to her own. It was always full of activity. As well as a six year old brother and twin toddlers to contend with, Linda also had a boisterous spaniel puppy so everyone’s hands were kept full. The house always seemed to be in a permanent state of havoc or chaos. Every alternate Friday, Amber would go to her house for tea. On every other Friday, Linda came back to Amber’s.

Linda found Amber’s house very strange because it was always so quiet and the atmosphere was always so relaxed. When she went to the Wordsmith household, she loved to sit at their big table and draw until her heart’s content. The Wordsmith’s house was her favourite place to draw because she was most inspired there. The whole family sat around that table, writing. The scratching of their pens and the gentle rustle of paper soothed her and helped her concentrate. But yes, the house was strange, they didn’t have a television! They read everything out of newspapers and the rooms, even the bathroom, had at least one shelf of books inside.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Amber said, softly, “You were in a world of your own.”

Linda nodded, smiling. She knew Amber inside out, she could be in a world of her own too when she wanted, when she was writing. She felt a rush of affection for her best friend, they knew each other so well!