God, are You there?

A local Catholic girls’ school was recently infested with rats.  The girls made a fuss, understandably.  The school, understandably, defended itself, saying, in essence: ‘These are not our rats.’  It blamed the food waste generated by commercial premises next door, and complained to the council. 

The school also dismissed the girls’ “hysteria.”  The Health and Safety Officer said it was not an infestation, more a “steady trickle of visitors.”  That’s reassuring.  I’ve visited that school myself.

Councils are not normally responsible for what goes on in private schools, but these were public rats.  The council sanitised the building, and some of its inhabitants, though it took a while.  

Not everyone can wait.  In a school I visited last week, a teacher sanitised himself in front of me.  I walked into the staffroom at the end of the day.  Two teachers were standing chatting, a young man and a woman.  Without interrupting the conversation, the young man put a hand inside his bag, took out a can of deodorant, and sprayed himself twice in each armpit, on the surface of his jumper.

I suppose if you’re talking and you get the urge to spray, you won’t take your top off to do it.  And it’s not something you can hope to hide, like shingles or a fart.  Do it too quickly, and you might look embarrassed.  The young man sprayed methodically, peering at the woman all the time. 

Teenagers spray themselves and sometimes each other, even during class, in places you’d expect to find an odour, on the outside of their clothing or straight down the front of their shirts.  I’d never seen an adult do it.  The lady didn’t blink.  I don’t know what was in her mind, but I couldn’t help thinking: He’s cleansing himself of children. 

Teachers.  You have to watch them.  They won’t always sanitise themselves.  The Head of PSHE (personal, social and health education) at a local secondary school was sacked for starring in some pornographic films.  All the right experience, you'd think, but they said he'd brought the teaching profession into disrepute.  Or the porn industry.  I wonder how he viewed his different roles.  Was he moonlighting as a porn star or a teacher?  And it’s not clear who recognised him naked.  (Stop chuckling, this is serious.)  Another teacher?  A parent?  A pupil?  Someone ratted on him.  Most teachers don’t make films like that.  They don’t have the body.  

Sanitising children is just as much fun.  In the old days, when pupils said a rude word, they had to wash their mouths out with soap.  A mouth for a mouth, or something.  There are teachers in England who still like the old-time religion.  A Catholic primary school was in the news.  Like most schools, it’s got naughty children, but the Head was worried.  She wanted to teach some naughty ones a lesson.  She took them into the prayer room and said she was phoning God.  She told them to lie on the floor, face down.  It was ingenious.  Children stretching out, prostrating themselves – it felt more like an act of penance, and they made a bigger target for His wrath.  

“Hello, God.  Miss Gargoyle here, St Hairshirt’s.  Not so well, I’m afraid.  We have some bad children.  You know already.  Of course.” 

She used her cell phone to make the call.  Ingenious again.  A landline wouldn’t work.  A child knows that.

“That’s right, the ones on the floor.  Can You do something with them?  Really?  Millions of bad children?  All right, God, when You’re able to.  You know where to find them.”