JK Rowling created Harry Potter, who has not appeared in any story I've written. And I lay no claim to owning World War I or the historical setting. My stories: Hogwarts 1835, On Being Mrs Malfoy, and Hogwarts 1940 use a number of locations and the occasional younger version of canon characters. This story is set within the world Rowling created, but without any of her characters.

When I grow rich, Say the bells of Shoreditch.

I awoke as angry as I'd gone to bed the night before, but more focused. I felt certain I could identify the thief, or thieves, at the War Pensions Agency. It would require someone to offer a diversion and I thought a pretty girl might be ideal for the job – especially if it were a pretty girl with two wounded brothers who would feel as angry as I about the theft of medication.

With considerable effort I avoided asking George March when his daughter had returned home. He assuaged my curiosity without being asked, complaining it had been after midnight before she returned to the house.

My concern, that medication for wounded soldiers could have been stolen provoked less anger from him than I felt myself. But I didn't tell him the source of my information, and kept it vague enough that he hoped the 'rumor' I had heard was in err. He offered to help, and I turned down the gracious offer for his aid and requested June might accompany me.

In the car June complained, "I've done my work of clearing your good name too well. Now father is ordering me to help you. Your chemist really thought the morphine was stolen from the Pensions Agency?"

"It is a very likely. I've got a plan and–"

"What's the plan? Where do I fit into it? And what's my reward?"

"I was about to give you the plan, but I find your attitude entirely mercenary."

"A girl needs to look after her own interests. Is my part in your scheme dangerous?"

"Not a bit."

"I charge double for danger... For doing whatever it is you expect me to do this morning my fee shall be relatively low. You will take me to dinner at your Wand Club."

"I will not take you to dinner at the Wand Club. Dinner yes. Wand Club, no."

"I suppose I could call Robin. He asked if he could take me out to dinner again this evening. He's very handsome isn't he?"

"I paid no attention... And he puts on too much hair tonic. It reeks. And I said I would take you to dinner. I simply said I would not take you to the Wand Club."

"Which offer should I accept," mused June. "A handsome man, eager for my company, asks me out because he's interested in me. While my father orders me to aid another man, who only offers dinner after coercion, and is so ashamed to be seen with me he won't take me to his club. What is a girl to do?"

"Lunch," I muttered through gritted teeth. "If this goes as quickly as I hope lunch will be an option."

"At your club?"

"Yes, at my club," I snapped. "You are impossible."

"And yet your plan revolves around me."

"It doesn't require you, per se. I need a distraction. Any distraction would do."

"You could set fire to something. Fires can be a very effective distractions."

"I don't want a fire. I need a small distraction. And I have it on good authority that a pretty young woman is an excellent distraction."

"And?"

"And you are the prettiest young woman I know," I assured her, "who as available on short notice."

"You really need to work on your compliments, Tibsy," she sighed. "Or let me out and I can take a cab home."

"I apologize. I didn't mean for it to sound like–"

"It came out exactly like you meant it to sound. A girl with less spirit might be crushed at such treatment. It only serves to make me stronger."

I laughed, "Then I shall pay you real compliments. You look lovely this morning, my dear. Of course, you always look lovely. And so it is that young men who reek of cheap hair tonic are drawn to you like bees to a flame."

"Moths to a flame. Bees to honey. You are very poor with compliments. Should you wish to practice I will be available from three this afternoon until four-thirty to receive them."

"And after four-thirty?"

"Oh... I have plans."

"And they are?"

"I don't see why I should share them with a man who can't even pay me a decent compliment."

"I'm taking you to lunch."

"Only under duress. If my father knew how poorly you treated me he might look for a horsewhip."

"Still better than a twelve bore."

"Or you could try treating me better."

"I suppose... I have a confession to make."

"You murdered those five men?"

"No. The confession is that I enjoy teasing you. I find you exceedingly amusing."

"Perhaps that was meant as a compliment. If so you require further practice. Right now you need to tell me your plans. Your chemist was really able to determine the morphine was stolen from the Pensions Agency?"

"Probably," I lied. "You can't determine that precisely from analysis. But it provided me with a clue and I did some detective work and–"

"Without me? I thought I was indispensable. Why didn't you just have them arrested?"

"You are indispensable. And at the moment I have several good suspects... I won't even give you names until I know with certainty who might be involved." Lying seemed to make better sense than trying to explain the visions of a seer. And if, as I hoped, June gave me more credit than I deserved for uncovering the plot I was certainly willing to take it. "My plan is for you to wait somewhere – a tea shop would be ideal – while I try to narrow down my list of suspects to two. At that point I will fetch you. Your job will be to distract one while I speak with the other."

"What identity shall I assume?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, I can't very well walk in and introduce myself as a distraction can I? I will need some plausible reason for going somewhere and talking to whoever."

"It is very annoying that I spend hours working my plan through in my mind, and you only require two minutes to see a hole in it. It probably reflects the fact you are indispensable to me. I'll have a better idea how you should present yourself when I discover exactly what his position is within the Agency."

"Very good."

After leaving June at a tea shop I went to the office in charge of ordering and distribution of supplies for the military hospitals. I would have loved to possess the gift of second sight and known where in the building I might find the men for whom I was looking. But the ability to describe one of them in detail, and the willingness to sound a bit confused allowed me to question a lower level clerk or two and find the name of a good possible suspect. He was a mid-level bureaucrat in the division of purchase and distribution of medicines. It was difficult to hide the smile on my face when I walked into the man's office and found he was obviously one of the men whose face had been seen in the vision. I didn't give my name, I was simply an officer asking general questions about the treatment my boys could expect. I smiled and nodded, pretending to believe every pat assurance he offered that England would do her best for the veterans. I moved closer, as if to hear him better, "Shelling affected my hearing," I explained. And in close proximity it was easy to obtain the prize I sought, I casually plucked a hair from off the sleeve of his jacket as I left.

Once outside his office I inserted the hair into the flask of polyjuice potion I had prepared. I returned the flask to my pocket, I would require the contents later.

With the name of Cedric Ramsey, and a detailed description of the other face from the seer yet another clerk was able to identify the man I had seen my old friend, Cedric Ramsey, talking with at a pub last week – his superior at the Agency. I found the man's office and blundered in, apologizing for entering the wrong office, and quickly backed out having identified him as the second man in the vision.

I retrieved Joan. "You are interested in the long term welfare of your brothers," I told her. "You want to know what the Agency will do if they need more rehabilitation or their wounds create further medical problems in later years."

"And this Ramsey is a doctor?"

"No, he's not. And he'll be annoyed that you are there bothering him and will try to get you out of his office. He can't help you with your question. But you have a friend who mentioned his name and you're quite certain he can help you and it may be difficult to convince you of your error."

"And while I'm pretending to be a little idiot and keeping this Ramsey occupied?"

"I'll be interviewing my second suspect. But it is vital that Ramsey doesn't walk in on me while I'm interviewing the second. I don't know their schedules. It is possible they don't even know each other. But it is vital that you keep Ramsey occupied."

She sighed and stared at me. "This seems very, very peculiar. But I will trust you. And after I've kept him out of your hair for twenty minutes?"

"You can leave... If I obtain information I may need to follow up on it, but will try to get a note to you."

"And the tea shop will be our rendezvous spot if you don't obtain information?"

"Agreed."

"And if you run into trouble and are discovered by the villain, knocked unconscious, and propped against a barrel of gunpowder with a burning fuse? How long should I wait before notifying the authorities of your absence?"

"Give me two hours."

"You'd better hope there is a long fuse on that barrel of gunpowder."

I pointed the door to Cedric Ramsey's office out to June, entered a washroom, and took a drink of the polyjuice potion. Two-thirds of a letter was tucked into my pocket, already written, stating that I'd discovered the morphine had been stolen. I'd wait until I discovered if I had one suspect, or two, before finishing the note.

My plan was simplicity itself. Now in the guise of Cedric Ramsey I went to the office of my superior with a worried air, "A young woman just left my office. She heard a rumor that narcotics have been stolen from those purchased for the army hospitals!"

If the supervisor, Smythe, was innocent he would be outraged and call for an investigation. If the supervisor was guilty of the thefts, and Ramsey innocent, he might feign outrage, but more likely he would dismiss the claim as a fantasy from an hysterical woman. He would assure Ramsey there were no problems with stolen narcotics. And if the pair was guilty the supervisor would plot with his subordinate.

"What was the woman's name? Where did she hear it?" It became obvious in seconds that Smythe and Ramsey worked the scheme together. I managed to calm him slightly, and we agreed we needed to meet after work to discuss how well any incriminating evidence had been hidden.

Once out of his office I took out the note I'd begun, scribbled a few more lines of information, and sealed it. According to my watch June should still be in the office of the real Ramsey for another four minutes. I moved to a hallway around the corner from Ramsey's office, and when asked by two passers-by why I was out of my office explained I was stretching a cramped leg muscle. June left the office precisely on time, and fortunately without Cedric Ramsey accompanying her. I gave her a lead of twenty seconds, then ran after her."

"Miss March?"

She turned and gave me a curious look, "Yes?"

"I was just handed this and asked to give it to you. Told you would know where to take it."

"Where did–" she started to ask, but I had turned and fled.

I waited in a washroom for the polyjuice potion to wear off. I had harbored a vague hope the Metropolitan Police might have arrived before I left, but they didn't. Still, I felt certain they were arrive within an hour or two as I exited the building and headed for the Yard.

June sat in the office of Chief Inspector Rowe. "Has anything been done yet?" I asked when ushered in.

"I wanted to speak with you for a few minutes before sending officers to investigate your allegations," Rowe told me. "You assert that two public servants are committing a very serious offense. It is not to be done lightly."

I discovered Rowe had lied to me... Well, not exactly lied. He had starting making plans for a raid on the Agency to examine records and collect possible evidence in addition to questioning Ramsey and Smythe before I arrived. He waited to talk with me before he dispatched the raid, and invited us to return in the late afternoon if we wished.

"But," he warned, "even if this is true, it doesn't clear your man Wright of the murder charge."

"No," I sighed, "I guess it doesn't."

"Now, assuming your allegations are true, it is possible that Smythe encouraged someone in the Home Office to close the investigation to keep the movement of the narcotics secret. Tomorrow, should there be evidence drugs were stolen from the Pensions Agency, I will request permission to re-open the murder investigation. That doesn't mean I believe your man is innocent, but it will allow the Yard to work further in the case. Will that be enough to let you return home?"

His offer made me think for a moment, "With all due respect, you can't be certain there will even be permission to re-open the murder investigation, and you may even believe Wright guilty. I feel certain he is innocent and wish to prove it."

The old boy actually smiled. "Well said."

"Excuse me," broke in June, "but it seems to me that the trail of the narcotics should be of interest to the Yard entirely apart from the murder of those five men. Should a case be opened to trace where the morphine went, as well as against the men from the Agency?"

"There is, at the moment, no case against the men at the agency," Rowe reminded her.

She waved it off, "A trifle. I have faith in the work Tibsy did in uncovering them. But shouldn't what happened still be of interest?"

Rowe looked at me, "A perspicuous argument from this young woman. She is correct. I can open an investigation into that without permission from the Home Office on re-opening the murder investigation. Now, since it is possible your own efforts to uncover the killers might coincide with our investigation into the drugs, can the Yard find a way to cooperate with you?"

"Assign the investigation to Robin," suggested June.

"Robin?"

"Detective Thrush," I muttered. "I don't think–"

"Tibsy is certain no one else could do the job so well. He already gathered information on the case for us."

I fumed as Rowe nodded in agreement. I didn't want Thrush's help, but couldn't find a way to voice my protest without sounding petty and jealous. I am neither petty nor am I jealous. I simply don't like detective Thrush and think he shows too much interest in June.

June took my arm as we left the Yard, "And now for lunch at your club."

I sighed, but had agreed.

"And why have you never told me you were a master of disguise?"

"Excuse me?"

"It was uncanny, really. You really looked like Ramsey."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You certainly do. That was you who ran up to me when I left the office of the real Ramsey and gave me the letter to bring to the yard."

"No it wasn't! I... I had time to find an actor to portray him. It was, um, part of... At least I assume he delivered the letter to you as I requested."

"I didn't tell the real Ramsey my real name. You called me Miss March."

"My actor called you Miss March."

"And the reason he was wearing your clothes?"

"My clothes?"

The clothes you are wearing now. They did not fit him well... Your clothes, but the man inside was a different size... That makes no sense."

I avoided the subject during the trip to The Wand Club, but knew she was thinking about it. "A private room?" I offered when we arrived. "They are said to be very nice." I had heard that only house elves served the private rooms, being more discrete than humans, but thought I could arrange for a human to serve if June agreed.

"Still ashamed to have your friends see me?"

"I just thought it might be easier for us to talk freely."

"Perhaps a private room next time, when you bring me again."

The club had two dining rooms. The occasional muggle guest would usually be served in the second room, which was as close to ideal as possible for me and my situation in the present circumstances. The second dining room also had the advantage that it tended to be used by younger witches and wizards and those who were more likely to be dressed in the style of the modern world. There was still the chance that, "The club has a few eccentric members."

"I believe all clubs have a few eccentric members."

"We have more than the average number. It is why I've tried to spare you."

"I can't imagine there can be anyone who would make me regret lunching with you. More likely I shall giggle very softly."

Our server held the chair for June. She looked about the room and I smiled. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the room, at the moment. It could have been one of a dozen other clubs. Except, of course, that those seated at the table were wizards and witches. I had at least a nodding acquaintance with almost everyone there, although a quick glance revealed no close friends lunching at the moment.

"Everyone looks so normal," June whispered.

"Why shouldn't they?"

"You said... Oh, two women just entered and are coming over."

I turned, looked, and swore under my breath. The Andrews sisters, Callista and Calliope. Not that I had anything against them. I knew them from Hogwarts and have taken Calliope out for dinner on occasion. At least I believe I've taken Calliope out for dinner. It is hard to tell, and the twins have a wicked sense of humor. I had definitely hoped to avoid anyone who could create problems, and the two were notorious for their impractical jokes.

"Tiberius," Callista called as she neared the table, "it has been far, far too long."

"You need to come in from the country more often," Calliope agreed. "It is so dead out there. The City is where you belong."

"Do you want to move to a larger table with us?" Callista suggested. "It would be jolly to catch up on your news."

"I was hoping for a quiet lunch with June."

The sisters looked at each other and giggled, "Oh, a quiet lunch. We should so hate to disturb you."

Remembering my manners, or rather realizing that not making introductions could be even more damning than making them, "June, these are the Andrews sisters, Callista and Calliope. Callista, Calliope, I'd like you to meet a dear friend, June March."

Callista looked at Calliope, "I don't think I know any Marches, do you?"

"No," her sister replied. "I don't recognize the family."

June spoke, "J'ai fréquenté l'école à la Beauxbatons."

The sisters glanced at each other, shrugged, and moved away.

"What did you say," I demanded in a low voice.

"You didn't pick up any French during the war?"

"I know some French. What did you tell them?"

"Maybe I pronounced it poorly. I never had high marks in French."

"I asked what you told them!"

"What did it sound like I told them."

"It sounded like you claimed to have attended some French school."

"Yes, I have to agree. That was what I attempted. So, if you heard it, why did you ask what I said?"

"Any number of reasons, one of which is that I know you attended school in Gloucestershire."

"True, but it doesn't have the same cachet as a school in France, does it? Oh, if you don't remember I went to school in Cheltenham, at a fashionable Ladies' College. Where I learnt what's what and acquired a lot of exceedingly practical knowledge. Our reading, writing, arithmetic was positively mediocre, but we got pretty slick at the three-card trick and we played a pretty hand of poker."

"Your own composition?"

"I wish. She was our poet laureate. There are other verses, but I fear they get a bit too risqué for repetition while sober."

"You are correct, the sisters would not have been impressed. Where did you get the name of your French school?"

"Beauxbatons? I invented it, right off the top of my head. Very clever, don't you think." She smiled and raised an eyebrow, daring me to call her a liar.

"Very clever," I agreed, refusing to recognize I knew Beauxbatons. "What curriculum did you cover at your invented school?"

"Oh, I imagine our classes were very like yours at Hogwarts."

Feigning ignorance was becoming difficult. "Why do you say I attended a place called..."

"Hogwarts? Because you did," she shrugged. "I've no idea who told who, or when, but everyone in the neighborhood knows the mysterious Malfoys send their children to a school called Hogwarts. But since the name is seldom voiced by the Malfoys we respect that and don't mention it to you."

"And what have you heard of this Hogwarts?"

"Still in denial? Very little. I don't think I've found anything written about it, and for the last year I've looked. But there are any number of odd rumors and wild stories. A girl doesn't know what to believe. Although I suspect the Frenchman can be trusted."

"What Frenchman?"

"Oh, someone I met at a party a year ago. I think it was his first experience with gin and tonics and he was somewhat the worse for the experience. He had a stick much like yours. I told him I was your friend – he had heard of you – and attended Hogwarts. He spent the remainder of the evening arguing that Beauxbatons was better than Hogwarts."

"And you believe the ravings of a drunken Frenchman?"

"Not all of them. But some things made sense. And despite whatever you tried to do with my memory that was not a misshapen dwarf I saw at your home years ago, the creature was not human. And the portraits in your family gallery do move. And–"

Our food arrived and June fell silent. The squib left our meals, asked if there was anything else we needed, and departed.

I knew I had to say something. "Let us imagine that once, so long ago that no one can remember, there were some people who were simply better than other people at doing things – making jewelry, or pots, or wheels, or predicting if it would rain or not. Can you imagine such a thing?"

She nodded yes.

"Perhaps they selfishly wished to keep their secrets to themselves, or perhaps they were afraid they might be enslaved, or killed because they were different. So those with special abilities kept to themselves. And perhaps because the skills were somehow genetic, or perhaps through the exchange of knowledge, they became even better at the things they did. Perhaps it could be called magic. Perhaps they were able to tap into some natural force they themselves did not understand. It made them important for society. People came to them to purchase goods. They served as advisors to kings and generals. And then the 19th century happened. And people could communicate across oceans by wireless, fly the channel, light houses with electricity, and machines could produce more goods than the world had ever seen."

"From what I've heard you can do far more than science has ever duplicated. I told you, I saw that non-human servant and pictures moving. The Frenchman told me other things... Why haven't you helped Hugh and Frederick?"

"I can't."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"I can't. We can't all do the same things. Some of us know nothing of healing. I know a little. There were more wizards in the medical corps than carrying guns. It is possible that Hugh and Frederick wouldn't even be alive without some wizard helping them. There are limits to what we can do, miracles are beyond us."

I fell silent, angry with June for bringing back memories. There was a strained period at the table before June finally spoke. "I... I'm sorry. I thought... I hoped..."

I remained silent.

"What's wrong? I apologized. There's something... What's the matter?"

"Imagine," I spoke slowly, "that I did have some limited ability to help the wounded. What if a man in my platoon was badly wounded in the arm, and I helped speed the recovery? Instead of weeks in the hospital or possible discharge from the army for his injury he was able to remain with our unit at the front. And, imagine, that less than two weeks later I'm talking with him when a shell explodes – perhaps German, or perhaps an errant shell from our own side – and shrapnel tears through his skull, killing him... Did I kill him by trying to help? Was his death my fault?"

She put her small, warm hand down on mine. I saw tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry... I didn't..."

"There is only one who is said to have made the lame to walk, the blind to see, and the deaf to hear. And he wasn't one of ours. Look at what was done to him and you'll understand our reason for silence."

We ate without conversation for several minutes. Finally June spoke, "I think you would like to change the topic of conversation."

"You are correct."

"Can we return to the topic of what wine goes with rat?"

"While we're eating?"

"You indicated you wanted to change the subject. It seems like everyone I've met who served in the trenches has a story of eating rats. It sounds like you subsisted on nothing but vermin while you were at the front... Oh, but we must go back to the wine. You had, by some means, taken possession of a large quantity of wine that you intended for your platoon. That conversation ended before you told me how you managed to move a large quantity of wine to the front. I suggested you either bribed the soldiers guarding the road or used your memory spell on–"

"You said hypnosis."

"That was before. Now I know you can cast spells."

"It is a memory charm. A charm, not a spell."

"They're different?"

"There are types. And you need to be aware of that," I wanted very much to return to a lighter tone of conversation, "The Andrews twins will be spreading gossip on my lunch with a very pretty French witch and you will make Beauxbatons look bad if you use the word spell in an inappropriate manner."

"Could you repeat that?"

"Which? The witch? It is not meant as an insult, within–"

"The very pretty part. I'd like to hear you say that again."

"You are even prettier than you are vain. And you are very vain indeed."

"Thank you. Now, you needed to slip a lorry full of wine past sentries... Could you turn it invisible?"

"No, there are... Never mind. No invisibility. I–"

"Do you have a charm to turn someone into a toad?"

"I don't. Some can. But that's not a charm, that's transfiguration."

"This whole thing seems needlessly complex."

"And if you don't stop interrupting me it may take years for me to finish the story!"

She cocked her head to one side in coquettish fashion and looked into my eyes, "Would that be so bad?" She was teasing me. Like me she must have wanted to leave the depressing conversation behind and return to a lighter banter.

It still wasn't easy, but I laughed, and reminded her that our families would never approve. "I don't like altering memories. It can cause problems. Some sentries and guards saw a truck full of wine as important for the boys in the trenches. A small bribe here and there I was willing to pay. I think I had to use the memory charm three times before the wine reached the front."

"And now for the rats. The army didn't feed you?"

"They fed us very well, on paper. But paper doesn't do your stomach much good. In theory we were regularly rotated back for hot meals. That often became impractical. And the conditions such as weather or shelling, which could make it impossible for us to go back, also made it impossible to deliver food. Or sometimes lorries were requisitioned for ferrying supplies to a battle, or bringing the wounded back. And sometimes, even if adequate supplies were shipped to the front, conditions in the trenches – or even the storage conditions before food reached the front could make it inedible. The potted or tinned meat might have spoiled, or the salt pork been gnawed by vermin. So, under those conditions, rats – which were abundant – were our alternative protein. I suppose we could have drawn straws and chosen a private to devour, but the army frowned on cannibalizing our own."

"How, uh, did they taste?" June asked. "The rats, I mean."

"Well, if you're hungry enough they are better than the finest steak. We were also fortunate to have an excellent cook in the platoon. Rat and potato stew was tasty, but his rat kabobs were what brought him the real applause. We cleaned our sector out of rats, which also reduced the threat of typhus, and I needed to lure them–"

"Did you play music, like the pied piper story? They say music hath charms over animals."

"This lure was a potion, not a charm. Brought in some fine, fat rats... We tried not to think about what they had been eating to attain such a size. And a good bottle of red went very well with them."

As we left The Wand Club June took my arm, "Would you like to try your memory charm again? There are things I might want to forget."

"I'm not certain, but I must have done it so badly years ago that my attempt has created interference with any later attempt to alter your memory. There are wizards who are much better at memory charms than I, but my fear is an attempt might harm your memory in a permanent way, and change who you are. You are annoying as hell on occasion, but I am rather fond of you, and I don't want to see you harmed."

"Thanks, Tibsy... Can this be our little secret? I won't tell anyone what I know about you, and you won't tell anyone that I know it?"

"I think that would qualify as an elephant-sized secret."

"Large elephant, or a small one?"

"Umm, a medium sized elephant. But considering that wizards and witches are brought up to keep our secrets I can manage if you can – I've heard women are completely unable to keep–"

"We can keep them if we need to."

"I'll see. I might actually enjoy being open with you."

"If you need to talk, I'll be there for you."

Despite the fact I've always thought of her as my little sister I felt a strong desire to kiss her. I successfully fought it. "We need to get back to the Yard and see if Rowe has had time to find anything."


Notes

I am unaware of large scale corruption in the War Pensions Agency, but drew inspiration from the Harding Administration (likely the most corrupt administration in US history, although there are several – usually Republican – in serious competition for the title (Corrupt administration does not mean the President himself was corrupt. Grant was honest, but had an unfortunate habit of appointing crooks who swindled him as well as the US.). Harding appointed Charles R. Forbes as head of the Veterans Bureau (precursor to the Veterans Administration). Forbes is estimated to have stolen more than two hundred millions dollars (in the days when a million dollars was a lot of money) before fleeing to Europe in 1923. Brought to trial in 1925 he was fined ten thousand dollars and spent two years in Federal prison... Thank Republican appointed judges. Heck, I'd be willing to spend two years in Federal Prison for two hundred million even in today's dollars.

And the song about school in Cheltenham is anachronistic. But it is worth finding Tsai Chin singing it on YouTube. It is a fun song. And the later verses are not that risque, but do mention a novel not written until 1928. I've not found the official lyrics, this is the best of a couple attempts I found at transcribing the words:
I went to school in Cheltenham At a fashionable Ladies' College Where I learnt what's what And acquired a lot Of exceedingly practical knowledge Our reading, writing, arithmetic Was positively mediocre But we got pretty slick At the three-card trick And we played a pretty hand of poker We were rather weak at the Latin and Greek But we worked with considerable fervor And we had to cram For an English exam On Lady Chatterley's Lover. I loved my school in Cheltenham With the chestnut trees so shady. And I now embrace All the charm and grace Of a typical English lady. I shared a room in Cheltenham With a daughter of the landed gentry Whose most refined Little one-track mind Was completely elementary Our marks in French and algebra Were a series of disasters But at forging cheques Or at S-E-X We were absolute past masters In the upper sixth form we were studying form And we put on the money with the porter And at night our Head Used to tuck us in bed With an out-sized whiskey and water Let's give three cheers for Cheltenham Where the chestnut trees are shady When I learnt of vice And all things nice Like a typical English lady.