DISCLAIMER: - 'The Bill' characters depicted in this story are copyrighted to Thames Television/Pearson Corp. All other characters depicted in this story are copyrighted to the relevant author or creator.
WAY BACK WHEN
The warm, bright classroom was filled with the sounds of children talking and laughing. At the front, their teacher tried to placate them into quietening down, to little avail. Used to their rowdiness, she continued hushing the class of six year olds, until gradually the noise died to the sound of several voices whispering.
"DID NOT!!!" A boy's voice suddenly yelled out from the quiet.
Miss B. looked to the usual suspects, the gang of four who sat at the back table. Jonny, Michael, Don and Rodney. The Four Musketeers, she liked to call them.
"Who was that?"
They all looked innocently back, four little devils in disguise as angels. None made any move to confess.
"Miss, it was Jonny," The Sheffield tones of the new boy, little Geoff Daly, piped up.
"Grass!" The accused shot to his feet, big hazel eyes boring into the informant. "I'll 'ave you at break."
"John Boulton, sit down." Miss B. fixed him with a stern look. "Why did you shout out?"
"Coz Don said I looked up her skirt but I didn't," he muttered sulkily, pointing towards the object of desire.
Claire Stanton, recently arrived from the private girls school down the road, looked across at him. A smile crossed her face for a split second before she turned away.
"I'm sure you didn't, John." Miss B. tried to pacify the young Scouse tearaway, not believing him for a minute. "Don, you stop causing trouble, you hear?" She looked to John's best friend, unsurprised to find he was the cause of the problem.
"Yeah, miss." Don Beech winked, pushing himself onto the back legs of his chair. Six going on twenty-six, that one. It was rumoured he'd already had his first taste of single-malt whiskey.
Miss B. returned to the front of the room, still keeping her watchful eye on the foursome. If there was anyone causing trouble, it would be one of them. "Right, today we're going to talk about jobs..."
"Miss!" Michael Webb, the smallest boy in the class with one of the biggest voices, yelled out before she could finish her sentence.
"What, Michael?"
He grinned at her from underneath his golden fringe. "If Jonny can look up Claire's skirt, can I look up Kerry's?"
"NO, Mickey!" Flame-haired Kerry yelled back at him, already more than a match for the boy. "Miss, tell him he can't."
"Michael, I don't ever want to hear that question again." Miss B. frowned at the cheeky Essex-born child. "Now be quiet and listen." She looked round the rest of the class to make sure they were paying attention. "Daniel, stop combing your hair and look this way."
Danny Glaze, the tallest and only black member of the class, guiltily stopped combing the wild bush of hair that adorned his head.
"Rodney, don't look in your mirror when I'm talking. Give it here."
Self-proclaimed Year 1 heartthrob Rod Skase scowled but handed over his little mirror after having one last look at his reflection.
"Duncan, I've told you not to eat that until break."
Big Duncan Lennox, the Scots boy with a heart to match the size of his body, hurriedly stuffed the last bit of his doughnut into his mouth and chomped hard.
"Jack and Christopher, whatever you writing, stop it."
The two members of the class that always seemed joined at the hip, class captain Jack Meadows and the younger deputy captain Chris Deakin, exchanged glances and stopped scribbling on the piece of paper in front of them. Miss B. surveyed the children once more, in case there was anyone she'd missed.
"Is everyone listening now? As I was saying, today we're going to talk about jobs."
There was a low murmur as the class told their neighbours their opinions on that.
"Quiet! I want everyone to sit still and look this way. Then you can each stand up and tell the others what you want to do when you grow up. Who wants to go first?"
"Me!" As always, it was the ever-outspoken John Boulton who got up, not bothering to raise his hand. The most confident member of the class gave his wicked grin and looked round at the others. "I'm gonna be a soldier when I grow up. An' I'm gonna have a gun an' I'm gonna shoot loads of bad guys." He made firing noises as if to prove this.
John Boulton with a gun? God help the world. "Thank you, John. But just remember the army don't want soldiers who wear trainers instead of school shoes and don't do their ties up." She gave him a pointed look. "You can sit down. Michael, your turn."
"Miss, I dunno what I wanna do. I just wanna fast car with a phone in it and a big sunroof."
No one will be safe if he ever gets a licence. "All right, then. Jack?"
"I want to be a boss so I can tell everyone what to do."
"So do I," Chris added, looking loyally at his friend.
Let's face it; Jack's already got more authority with this lot than I do. "Don?"
He gave his already-charming grin, the class wideboy. "I wanna be a gangster, miss. Like those guys in the films on telly."
No surprises there. "Geoff?"
"I want to play cricket for Yorkshire." He looked at her with expressionless blue eyes, quietly assured.
That'll get you far around this lot. "James?" She looked to her own son's best friend, the two reluctantly separated by their different schools.
Sturdy Jim Carver, who always seemed as if he didn't quite belong to the current crowd, gave his heart-warming smile. "I want to be a fireman, so I can save people and help them."
If there's anyone who's right to help people, it's him. "Rodney?"
"I want to be in those magazines that sell clothes," he announced, reaching up to smooth his dark hair. "And have my photo taken all day."
He'd be in seventh heaven. "Duncan?"
"I'm gonna own an ice cream shop, and a sweet shop."
That should be a successful business. "Daniel?"
"I want to be one of those guys that walk on stilts in the circus."
That boy's hardly going to need stilts. "Claire?"
The girl smiled, one of the most intelligent in the class. "I want to be a lawyer, miss, like my dad."
No doubts there. That one could go all the way. "And Kerry?" Miss B. looked to the last child. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to be in the police, miss."
John Boulton and Don Beech burst out laughing. "Watch out, she'll get the rozzers to arrest us!" John yelled.
"Yeah. She'll write down everythin' we say an' then tell 'em!" Don added.
"I will not!" Kerry shot out of her seat and pushed them both. "You shut up. You're both going to get arrested anyway, coz you're bad and you're always in trouble!"
"That's enough!" Miss B. crossed the room quickly. "Kerry, sit down. John and Don, be quiet."
The class was just settling down again as the bell rang. The children made a wild dash for the door, Jack leading but getting jostled out of the way by John. As they emerged out into the yard, John turned to his classmates.
"Know what? Maybe bein' a cop would be cool. Coz you could arrest people an' beat 'em up after you've handcuffed 'em. Like on The Sweeney!"
"Yeah!" Don found enthusiasm in the idea. "But we'd 'ave to be detectives. The Sweeney don't like uniform."
The others all nodded, looking from one to the other. "Yeah! Detectives!"
Then they all ran off in their different directions, and forgot all about the idea.
From the classroom, Miss Rachel Burnside, mother of a little boy named Francis, watched them all. And she wondered just how much that day would affect their lives.
WAY BACK WHEN
The warm, bright classroom was filled with the sounds of children talking and laughing. At the front, their teacher tried to placate them into quietening down, to little avail. Used to their rowdiness, she continued hushing the class of six year olds, until gradually the noise died to the sound of several voices whispering.
"DID NOT!!!" A boy's voice suddenly yelled out from the quiet.
Miss B. looked to the usual suspects, the gang of four who sat at the back table. Jonny, Michael, Don and Rodney. The Four Musketeers, she liked to call them.
"Who was that?"
They all looked innocently back, four little devils in disguise as angels. None made any move to confess.
"Miss, it was Jonny," The Sheffield tones of the new boy, little Geoff Daly, piped up.
"Grass!" The accused shot to his feet, big hazel eyes boring into the informant. "I'll 'ave you at break."
"John Boulton, sit down." Miss B. fixed him with a stern look. "Why did you shout out?"
"Coz Don said I looked up her skirt but I didn't," he muttered sulkily, pointing towards the object of desire.
Claire Stanton, recently arrived from the private girls school down the road, looked across at him. A smile crossed her face for a split second before she turned away.
"I'm sure you didn't, John." Miss B. tried to pacify the young Scouse tearaway, not believing him for a minute. "Don, you stop causing trouble, you hear?" She looked to John's best friend, unsurprised to find he was the cause of the problem.
"Yeah, miss." Don Beech winked, pushing himself onto the back legs of his chair. Six going on twenty-six, that one. It was rumoured he'd already had his first taste of single-malt whiskey.
Miss B. returned to the front of the room, still keeping her watchful eye on the foursome. If there was anyone causing trouble, it would be one of them. "Right, today we're going to talk about jobs..."
"Miss!" Michael Webb, the smallest boy in the class with one of the biggest voices, yelled out before she could finish her sentence.
"What, Michael?"
He grinned at her from underneath his golden fringe. "If Jonny can look up Claire's skirt, can I look up Kerry's?"
"NO, Mickey!" Flame-haired Kerry yelled back at him, already more than a match for the boy. "Miss, tell him he can't."
"Michael, I don't ever want to hear that question again." Miss B. frowned at the cheeky Essex-born child. "Now be quiet and listen." She looked round the rest of the class to make sure they were paying attention. "Daniel, stop combing your hair and look this way."
Danny Glaze, the tallest and only black member of the class, guiltily stopped combing the wild bush of hair that adorned his head.
"Rodney, don't look in your mirror when I'm talking. Give it here."
Self-proclaimed Year 1 heartthrob Rod Skase scowled but handed over his little mirror after having one last look at his reflection.
"Duncan, I've told you not to eat that until break."
Big Duncan Lennox, the Scots boy with a heart to match the size of his body, hurriedly stuffed the last bit of his doughnut into his mouth and chomped hard.
"Jack and Christopher, whatever you writing, stop it."
The two members of the class that always seemed joined at the hip, class captain Jack Meadows and the younger deputy captain Chris Deakin, exchanged glances and stopped scribbling on the piece of paper in front of them. Miss B. surveyed the children once more, in case there was anyone she'd missed.
"Is everyone listening now? As I was saying, today we're going to talk about jobs."
There was a low murmur as the class told their neighbours their opinions on that.
"Quiet! I want everyone to sit still and look this way. Then you can each stand up and tell the others what you want to do when you grow up. Who wants to go first?"
"Me!" As always, it was the ever-outspoken John Boulton who got up, not bothering to raise his hand. The most confident member of the class gave his wicked grin and looked round at the others. "I'm gonna be a soldier when I grow up. An' I'm gonna have a gun an' I'm gonna shoot loads of bad guys." He made firing noises as if to prove this.
John Boulton with a gun? God help the world. "Thank you, John. But just remember the army don't want soldiers who wear trainers instead of school shoes and don't do their ties up." She gave him a pointed look. "You can sit down. Michael, your turn."
"Miss, I dunno what I wanna do. I just wanna fast car with a phone in it and a big sunroof."
No one will be safe if he ever gets a licence. "All right, then. Jack?"
"I want to be a boss so I can tell everyone what to do."
"So do I," Chris added, looking loyally at his friend.
Let's face it; Jack's already got more authority with this lot than I do. "Don?"
He gave his already-charming grin, the class wideboy. "I wanna be a gangster, miss. Like those guys in the films on telly."
No surprises there. "Geoff?"
"I want to play cricket for Yorkshire." He looked at her with expressionless blue eyes, quietly assured.
That'll get you far around this lot. "James?" She looked to her own son's best friend, the two reluctantly separated by their different schools.
Sturdy Jim Carver, who always seemed as if he didn't quite belong to the current crowd, gave his heart-warming smile. "I want to be a fireman, so I can save people and help them."
If there's anyone who's right to help people, it's him. "Rodney?"
"I want to be in those magazines that sell clothes," he announced, reaching up to smooth his dark hair. "And have my photo taken all day."
He'd be in seventh heaven. "Duncan?"
"I'm gonna own an ice cream shop, and a sweet shop."
That should be a successful business. "Daniel?"
"I want to be one of those guys that walk on stilts in the circus."
That boy's hardly going to need stilts. "Claire?"
The girl smiled, one of the most intelligent in the class. "I want to be a lawyer, miss, like my dad."
No doubts there. That one could go all the way. "And Kerry?" Miss B. looked to the last child. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to be in the police, miss."
John Boulton and Don Beech burst out laughing. "Watch out, she'll get the rozzers to arrest us!" John yelled.
"Yeah. She'll write down everythin' we say an' then tell 'em!" Don added.
"I will not!" Kerry shot out of her seat and pushed them both. "You shut up. You're both going to get arrested anyway, coz you're bad and you're always in trouble!"
"That's enough!" Miss B. crossed the room quickly. "Kerry, sit down. John and Don, be quiet."
The class was just settling down again as the bell rang. The children made a wild dash for the door, Jack leading but getting jostled out of the way by John. As they emerged out into the yard, John turned to his classmates.
"Know what? Maybe bein' a cop would be cool. Coz you could arrest people an' beat 'em up after you've handcuffed 'em. Like on The Sweeney!"
"Yeah!" Don found enthusiasm in the idea. "But we'd 'ave to be detectives. The Sweeney don't like uniform."
The others all nodded, looking from one to the other. "Yeah! Detectives!"
Then they all ran off in their different directions, and forgot all about the idea.
From the classroom, Miss Rachel Burnside, mother of a little boy named Francis, watched them all. And she wondered just how much that day would affect their lives.