{"id":385,"date":"2022-02-23T11:29:02","date_gmt":"2022-02-23T11:29:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/?page_id=385"},"modified":"2022-02-23T11:29:55","modified_gmt":"2022-02-23T11:29:55","slug":"mr-bishop","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/mr-bishop\/","title":{"rendered":"Mr Bishop"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>He must\nhave heard the woman at the counter speak my name. As she passed me the bag of paperbacks\na voice came from over my shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;\u201cI know you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"alignleft is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/Old-man-beard-simpleinsomnia-CC-BY-2.0-flickr.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-379\" width=\"179\" height=\"141\" srcset=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/Old-man-beard-simpleinsomnia-CC-BY-2.0-flickr.jpg 573w, https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/Old-man-beard-simpleinsomnia-CC-BY-2.0-flickr-300x237.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 179px) 100vw, 179px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nlooked around to see a male face, over sixty, thin and pale with round glasses,\na grey beard and a few strands of hair combed back from the upper forehead. I\npeered for a moment without a making a connection, then he spoke again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMillworth\nPrimary School. I think you were there about twenty years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Then\nI recognised him. There had been a thicker beard and more colour in the face\nwhen I knew it, but also a familiar gap in the front teeth, a mole beside the\nleft nostril and a childish gleam in the eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cMr\nBishop, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou\nremember me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\ncan remember most of my teachers. But I\u2019m surprised you remember me. I must\nhave been one among thousands of kids.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGood\nto see you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nnodded, realised that a woman was behind him in the queue and stepped\naside. I thought it would give me an opening to move away quickly as he was\nserved, but instead he also took a sideways step and told the woman she could\ngo first. I would have to talk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nsee you have the reading habit,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat\u2019s in the bag?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\nSalman Rushdie book, a biography of Frank Capra and a Barbara Vine novel. I\u2019ve\ngot catholic tastes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m\nimpressed. I always rated you as one of the bright ones. I think I told you\nthat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nremembered that he had, a couple of times, but that was just part of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSo\nwhat are you doing with yourself now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\ntold him that I was a business writer. He said he was impressed, that it\nsounded interesting, but asked if I had other ambitions. I didn\u2019t feel like\ntelling him that I was writing a novel in the evenings. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll\nsee,\u201d I replied. \u201cIt might open up some other opportunities over time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDo\nyou have a family?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nlive with my girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNot\nmarried?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWe\u2019ve\nbeen living together for three months. We\u2019ll give it some time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There\nwas a brief raising of eyebrows that I suspected was disapproval. He was the\ntype from his generation who would still think it was wrong. I noticed the woman\ncustomer move away from the counter and gestured to him it was free, but\ninstead he moved further aside, inviting me to carry on talking. I wanted to\nget away but didn\u2019t want to make it too obvious, so I made an effort to be\npolite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAre\nyou still at the school?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nretired last year. Thirty years there, the last fifteen as deputy head.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell\ndone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The\nthought of him being given more authority disturbed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThe\nplace must have changed,\u201d I added. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cEverything\nchanges to some degree.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He\nsmiled, and I guessed that he hadn\u2019t approved of all those changes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nsuppose the teaching methods are different.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThere\nare some new ideas. We\u2019ve all had to adapt, but some of us have found a balance\nbetween that and the old ways. We understand their value.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nrecalled how he did things, giving the class a little lecture, usually\nincluding a reference or two to Jesus, setting a task, then picking out a\ncouple of examples to praise. I was often one of those. Then he would pick out\na couple of others so he could berate nine-year-olds as lazy and stupid and a\ndisgrace to the class. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat\nabout the kids? Are they very different?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell\nthere are more from ethnic minorities, but the usual mix of good and bad. Some\nare ready to learn, others don\u2019t want to. It usually depends on whether they\ncome from a good or bad family. Some of the parents instill bad attitudes and slovenly\nhabits.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nsuppose they\u2019re often the ones who are struggling to get by.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nremembered kids in our class who came to school in tatty clothes, who had free lunches\nbut had to stand in a separate queue and wait until the rest of us had been served.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWell\nthat\u2019s often an excuse,\u201d he replied. \u201cIt\u2019s seldom justified.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That\ndidn\u2019t surprise me. I recalled the time one boy came to school in a V-neck\npullover but no shirt and had been ripped to shreds in front of the class for\nlooking such a mess. Remembering the confused shame on his face brought on a\nflicker of anger. I suppressed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIs\nit harder to keep discipline?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\ncan be a challenge. There are some constraints on teachers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAre\nthey still as strong on religion these days?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\nis a church school.\u201d He held the smile, with an effort. \u201cAlthough there has\nbeen a change in emphasis. Most of the younger teachers don\u2019t give much time to\nThe Bible.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSign\nof the times.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s\nthe case, although it\u2019s one I haven\u2019t welcomed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nremembered how he had been the most fervent in combining the religion with the\ndiscipline. Every rebuke and punishment involved telling the child that they\nhad personally offended Jesus in their transgression. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nremember you were always clear about what you believed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOf\ncourse. It\u2019s so important to instill the right values in children. It needs\nthose reminders of what Jesus taught, little lessons on how to be a good person.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It\nwas a reminder alright, of one day when I was nine. A boy named Terry had\nsquirted me with the orange squash from a defrosted Jubbly. I grabbed at him\nand ripped his shirt sleeve. He went crying to teacher. Then Mr Bishop decided\nthat a physical assault and a torn short was a worse offence than an unprovoked\nsquirt that left an orange stain on a collar. So Terry was quietly told not to\ndo it again and I got the lecture in front of the class, about how we shouldn\u2019t\nlose our tempers and Jesus had told us to turn the other cheek. Then he made me\nstand facing the wall in a corner until five minutes before the end of school,\nwhen I had to stand in front of everyone with hands pressed together and eyes\nclosed while Mr Bishop fed me lines for a prayer about what a wicked child I\nhad been and that I would beg God for forgiveness every night for a week. When\nI was allowed to open my eyes I saw the young faces, showing a scared relief\nthat it hadn\u2019t been them, but a couple with wide smirks. I felt three inches\ntall. Now I noticed the satisfaction on his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s\ngood to see someone like you, clearly getting on well in life. Do you go to\nchurch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nhad been an atheist since the age of thirteen, but I decided against telling\nhim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\nhave a relationship with God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His\nsmile broadened. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m\npleased to hear that. How does it work?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cPrivate\nprayer, contemplation, placing things in the context of what would please him.\nIt\u2019s given me a sense of peace, and provided some revelations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s\nwonderful. Is there one you could mention?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nreturned his smile. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ve\nreflected on those years at school, especially the one I spent in your class,\nand I came to this realisation \u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I\nlet it hang for a moment, enjoying the excitement in his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHe\nwon\u2019t allow you into His place. You\u2019ll have to go downstairs. And you\u2019ll spend\neternity face down in a pile of shit with a red hot poker up your arse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He\nfroze into an expression of open mouthed horror. I held the smile for a couple\nof seconds, said goodbye and turned away. When I reached the shop door I looked\naround and saw that he hadn\u2019t moved, but remained rigid, staring into the\nvision I had just planted in his mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That\nwas thirty years ago. I still enjoy the memory.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>He must have heard the woman at the counter speak my name. As she passed me the bag of paperbacks a voice came from over my shoulder. &nbsp;\u201cI know you.\u201d I looked around to see a male face, over sixty, thin and pale with round glasses, a grey beard and a few strands of hair &#8230; <a title=\"Mr Bishop\" class=\"read-more\" href=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/mr-bishop\/\" aria-label=\"Read more about Mr Bishop\">Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-385","page","type-page","status-publish"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.4 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Mr Bishop - MARK SAY<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Short story about a meeting with a former teacher and a longstanding grudge\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/mr-bishop\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Mr Bishop - 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