Words required:

letters, words, vowel, consonant, order, alphabet, dictionary, definition, origin, meaning, guide, abbreviation xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 'Grey and foreboding, the castle stood atop the hill looking down across the small town, in the topmost window of the highest tower stood a small boy called...'

Lucien ran his finger under the words as he read the story, Jenny and Lucie-Jean on his lap and Bobby perched on the back of the couch with his legs over his father's shoulders, looking at the book.

'What was he called, papa?' Jenny asked, still staring at where her father's finger had stopped. She was just starting to learn her alphabet and when she looked at letters written down on the page it fascinated her that her papa and mama could make them into words.

'Can he be Frank?' Lucie-Jean asked, thinking of her late father, she loved to put him in the stories mummy read to her.

'What do you think Jenny, Bobby?' He asked his children, 'shall he be Frank this time?' The boy in the story had his name changed regularly; sometimes he was Bobby, sometimes Lucien, sometimes Jack and sometimes Christopher; but up to now he had never been Frank.

'Yes, I think so,' Bobby nodded, grabbing his father's hair to stop himself falling off the back of the couch. 'We haven't had a Frank before.'

Lucien winced and reached up to grab his son's hand, 'Careful son,' He gasped, I'd like to keep my hair for a little longer.'

'Sorry, papa.' Bobby leant forward and kissed the top of Lucien's head like he had seen mama do.

'...Frank,' continued Lucien. 'Frank had been locked in the tower by his wicked step father who wanted his little boy to be king when he grew up.'

'That's mean.' Lucie-Jean observed, even though she had heard the story almost as often and the other two.

'It is, isn't it?' Lucien smiled at her, 'Now Frank loved to look down from his tower over the town. There were winding streets and wibbly-wobbly houses that looked like they would fall down if the house next door wasn't there. He could see the market place that bustled with the townsfolk during the day and just about hear the noise and clamour from where he was, of the shouts of the stall holders and the chatter of the people as they haggled over prices of food and goods of all shapes and sizes.'

Lucie-Jean snuggled into Lucien's side and put her thumb in her mouth, she liked looking at the pictures, the funny shapes that Uncle Lucien ran his finger under jumped about and made her eyes sore. When she had asked Bobby one day what the shapes were he said, with pride, that they were letters and he could read all of them. It had to be said, Bobby was a good reader for his age, probably because his parents had read to him since he first took a book off the shelf and he had watched and listened as stories unfolded before his eyes. Jenny, too, was now starting to take an interest in words, and Bobby had taught her to sing 'The ABC Song', and she would skip around the house merrily singing away, much to her mother's amusement.

'Bobby,' Jean wandered through from the kitchen, 'do you have any spellings to learn tonight?'

'Oh yes, mama,' he scrambled down off the back of the couch and went to get his satchel. 'Here they are,' he waved a sheet of paper. 'I need a pencil, Miss Thompson says we are to fill in the missing constonants and bowels.'

Jean laughed and pulled him to her in a tight hug, 'I think she meant consonants and vowels, sweetie.' She corrected him.

'Yes them,' He sat at the kitchen table and chewed the end of his pencil, 'what are they, mama?'

'Didn't Miss Thompson tell you?'

'Er, probably.' Bobby looked a little guilty, a bright boy, his attention sometimes wandered when he lost interest.

'Vowels are: a, e, i, o, and u, and the consonants are the rest of the letters.' Jean supplied the information and sat next to him while he completed the task.

'Thank you, mama.' Bobby put his work away and went to listen to his papa continue the story. Jean watched and then smiled as she noticed Lucie-Jean had dozed off. She was secure in Lucien's arms so Jean decided to leave her there while she put the finishing touches to the dinner.

'...the king had given the order,' Lucien was saying as Bobby clambered back up to his perch, 'for a grand parade to celebrate his birthday, but poor Frank would not be allowed to attend, meaning he would have to watch from the tower. Frank didn't really mind, it was a good view from where he was.'

'He'd be able to see more from there, wouldn't he, papa?' Bobby suggested, 'like when you put me on your shoulders to see the parade in town.'

'A good thought, son.' Lucien agreed.

'Sorry to interrupt,' Jean stood watching them, 'but dinner is on the table, and it will go cold.' She went over and gently lifted the sleeping Lucie-Jean into her arms and settled her on the couch.

'Poor thing.' Lucien murmured, 'Alice says she's gone back to a poor sleep pattern.'

'Mm...' Jean pulled a blanket over her, 'she has no idea why. She seems happy enough during the day.'

'Perhaps she's worrying about starting school.' They headed to the kitchen, 'she's shy around strangers and knows she won't be in the same class as Jenny.'

'Could be.' Jean agreed.

The dinner table was the place to discuss the happenings of the day, what had Bobby done in school?

'We've been using the word book to find out what some words mean,' Bobby shovelled his dinner into his mouth.

'The dictionary, dear,' Jean reminded him, 'and please don't eat like that, your dinner will not run off the plate.'

'Mm..' he nodded and swallowed, 'that one, sorry, mama.'

'That must be interesting,' Lucien paused, 'learning about the origin of words.'

'What does that mean, papa?' Jenny asked, nibbling some vegetables, she was a much more delicate eater, always had been. Bobby always ate as if someone was going to take his plate away from him before he finished.

'It means where words come from.' He told her, patiently, 'some words started off a different language.'

'Like what, papa?' Bobby wiped the gravy from his plate with his finger, Jean gently tapped it and frowned at him, she had no idea where he got his dreadful table manners from.

'Well,' Lucien thought, he so frequently found himself explaining much more to Bobby than a child of his tender years needed to know, but this time, 'the word 'doctor' comes from the Latin 'docere' meaning to teach.'

'But you don't teach, papa.' Jenny pointed out, 'you mend people.'

'True, sweetheart,' he admitted, 'it came to mean a 'learned person', a clever sides, to you.'

Jean smiled, an easy definition for the children and quite an apt description of her husband she thought.

'What did you do today, Jenny?' Jean asked, taking her daughter's plate to the sink, together with Bobby's.

'Drawing, and letters.' Jenny smiled. 'I drawed a flower.'

'You drew a flower,' Jean corrected her, 'what kind?'

'A begonia,' Jenny laughed, 'a red one.'

'How lovely, darling.' Jean smiled, she always drew begonias, because, she had once informed her mother, they were Jean's favourite. 'Did you do any numbers?'

'Yep.' Jenny drew her small frame up, 'I got ten out of ten in my sums today.'

'Clever girl,' Lucien praised her. Jenny beamed with pride.

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Lucie-Jean woke up and realised she was no longer lying on Uncle Lucien. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Auntie Jean had wrapped her in a blanket and she was nice and warm, but she could hear the others talking in the kitchen. She wondered if mummy had come back from her meeting in Melbourne but on wandering into the kitchen couldn't see her. Jean noticed her, and the disappointed expression on her face. There was definitely something bothering the little girl. Jean went to her and swung her onto her hip, kissing her cheek, she asked her if she had had a nice nap.

'Yes,' she snuggled into Jean who took her up to the bathroom to wash ready for her dinner, which, again, she would have sitting on Jean's lap. Alice too, had noticed how clingy she was getting as the time for her to start school approached, but whatever she did, she could not get out of her what was the problem, just that she didn't want to go. Nobody liked seeing the little girl upset and Alice did wonder if she could keep her back a term. Jean suggested that term would become the next term and the next until Alice got into trouble for not ensuring her daughter was educated. Alice knew she was right and steeled herself for tears, tantrums, sleepless nights and poor eating. She asked Lucien if she could take the first two weeks as leave, so she could take her to school, pick her up and spend the spare time with her. He'd agreed it was probably the best thing she could do.

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Lucie-Jean screamed and lay on the floor kicking and pounding the rug. She had been at school a week, and each day had become harder and harder to get her there. By the end of the week Alice had ended up at Jean's in tears, having left her daughter at the school howling for her. Now Monday morning had come around again and the little girl could not be persuaded to go to school. Alice went to the hall and took Frank's cardigan down off the hook, she kept it there mainly for Lucie-Jean and now she knew she needed it more than ever. She dropped it gently on the screaming child then bent and wrapped her up in it, as tight as she dare, holding her close and kissing her.

'It's alright, sweetheart, sh, now.' Alice sat on the couch and waited until the tantrum subsided to hiccups and sobs.

'No school, mummy, please,' she gasped.

'Not today,' Alice soothed, 'but I do want to go and talk to your teacher. She seemed very nice.'

Alice had noticed the gentle way Miss Adams took her sobbing daughter off her each morning and Jenny had told her she was very kind when you were sad. Miss Adams was very young, her training was very modern, including a lot of play and exploring. She still taught the children their numbers and letters and had not expressed any concerns about Lucie-Jean. She had just noted she was taking time to settle in.

'I won't leave you there.' She assured her.

Alice went to call the school and arranged to see Miss Adams, saying also that she was keeping Lucie-Jean away today, as she was very upset.

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In the classroom at the end of the day Miss Adams sat looking at the concerned woman in front of her. She knew the history, that she had been widowed when her daughter was very young, she worked as a pathologist and that Lucie-Jean spent a lot of time with Dr Blake's children and his wife.

'I don't understand what she is so afraid of.' Alice sighed, 'she seemed so happy until she realised what she would be doing at school.'

'How was that introduced to her?' Miss Adams asked.

'Bobby and Jenny Blake, mainly.' Alice admitted, 'I told her she would make new friends, that Bobby and Jenny would be there too, and she would learn to read and write just like they did.'

'How did she take it?'

'Not well.' Alice told how when she had mentioned learning to read that the little girl had stated she didn't want to, she liked listening to stories.

'Lucie-Jean, dear,' Miss Adams addressed the child, clinging to her mother, 'can you go and find your letter card.' She looked at Alice as Lucie-Jean slowly and reluctantly slid off Alice's lap and went to the letters hanging up, 'I give each child a card with their initial letter on, to hang up when they come in, in the morning. They are all different colours, and we have two children with names beginning with L in the class, Laura being the other. Ah, here she comes.'

Lucie-Jean brought a card with her initial on, it was green.

'You always pick that one, don't you?' Miss Adams smiled, 'why?'

'I like the colour,' Lucie-Jean whispered, 'the letter sits still.'

'Can you go and find the one Laura has, please?'

She came back with a yellow one.

'Why don't you pick that one, darling?' Alice asked, 'it's such a lovely sunny colour.'

'The letter slips.'

Alice looked confused, Miss Adams, however, had an idea.

'I am always looking to see where children are happy in their work and where I can help them learn comfortably.' She reached behind her and pulled a book off her shelf. 'I think this is something you should read. I have a feeling Lucie-Jean has something called Irlen's Syndrome, where words seem to move around or, as Lucie-Jean says, slip. Sometimes it appears to cascade off the page, sometimes it just turns round. Some think that coloured filters or coloured lenses in spectacles help, some don't, but not much is really known about it. I think, more by luck than anything else, I put her letter on the right colour. This book is really just a guide to helping children with some problems, but it does touch on this particular syndrome.'

'I've never heard of it.' Alice flicked through the book.

'It's not something that would come up in an autopsy or in a pathology report.' Miss Adams smiled. 'Now I can make sure that she has green paper to work on and I know how to get a filter for her to put over anything she has to read.'

'Will the school recognise it?' Alice was worried that once she moved up into the next class all Miss Adams' work would be tossed aside.

'I have introduced it, but so the children don't know there is something different and tattle tale to their parents, we refer to it by the abbreviation I.S.' Miss Adams looked at Lucie-Jean, 'now miss, let's try using green paper from tomorrow, because I don't want my clever children to be unhappy, eh?'

Lucie-Jean nodded.

'Good girl, that's the ticket.' Miss Adams stood up and extended her hand to Alice, 'don't worry Dr Carlyle, I'll see she isn't bothered about it.'

'Thank you, Miss Adams.' Alice smiled, relieved, 'I was worried she was being bullied.'

'Not in my class, Dr Carlyle,' Miss Adams frowned, 'we don't allow that, do we, Lucie-Jean?'

She just shook her head.

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'...so Frank sat on the top of the dragon's head and held on to its ears,' Lucien read, 'and they flew away over the village with the wibbly-wobbly houses and the noisy market place, leaving the king and his skinny son to live in the castle. Frank did go back after he had travelled far and wide, admired be all because of his friend the dragon, who roared and scared away any nasty people who wanted to fight peaceful villagers.'

'Did he get to be king then, Uncle Lucien?' Lucie-Jean took her thumb out of her mouth, 'What happened to the other king and his skinny son?'

'The king that had locked Frank up in the tower left the castle with his son because nobody liked him taking all their money to buy his expensive clothes and fancy food.' Lucien closed the book, after Alice had told him about Lucie-Jean he had fashioned a frame with green glass in it so she could follow any stories he read. She was much happier and learning fast, keeping up with most of the other children in her class, and even passing one or two others.

'Dinner's ready.' Jean called from the kitchen, 'mummy's on her way, Lucie-Jean.'

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So this is a bit of a tenuous Blake story, and an unlikely diagnosis of Irlen's Syndrome, though I did manage it with one of my pupils.