The Dead School [antikvár]

Hello There Boys and girls and I hope you are all well. The story I have for you this morning is all about two teachers and the things they got up to in the days gone by. It begins in the year of Our Lord 1956 in a maternity hospital in Ireland when a wee fat chubby lad by the name of Malachy fell out of Cissie who was married to Packie Dudgeon the biggest bollocks in the town. At first he was a happy-go-lucky little fellow who liked nothing better than to ride around on the scooter his father had made for him, shouting 'Hello therel' and 'Not a bad day nowV to all his neighbours, but it wasn't long before he quit that carry-on. As Alec and the lads who worked the trawlers said one day, 'Would you look at Dudgeon, the auld stupid walk of him. It wouldn't take long to fix that. A good root up the hole and we'd soon see how much he'd walk.' Of course there were times when Malachy felt like shouting back something like 'Ah shut your mouths' or 'What btisiness is it of yours anyway?', maybe. But like everybody else he knew that wouldn't be a good idea. It wouldn't be a good idea at all. So anytime they said something to him he just nodded his head. If they had said 'Jesus Christ was a mixrdering bastard, wasn't he?', he would have replied 'That's right'. He didn't want to. Of course he didn't. But that was the way it was. Unless, that is, yotir name happened to be Raphael Bell, or should I say Mister Raphael Bell, God's gift to Irish education,