Free time at the château meant any number of things, for the grounds were quite extensive: at the back, a dusty football pitch of sorts, at one side a mini golf course overlooked and semi-protected by a statue of the Virgin Mary, some swings and a roundabout, and at the front a tarmacked area. All of these were interspersed with lush grass, trees and areas with benches.
So, some children would chat and gossip, or play hide and seek or tag, play football, imitate Tiger Woods or play catch with a tennis ball. There were no computers or televisions, except for one in the staff room that was rarely used. Personal stereos, mobile phones, or tablets and the like were not permitted. The children were expected to amuse themselves: to play, to interact. During free time at the chateau there were rarely any organised activities.
On the terrace, at the appointed meeting time, I told a child to count heads and then count again.
“Right. When you are told, go to your dormitory and get ready for the beach. You will need a towel, swimwear, a t-shirt with collar, sun cream and money.”
Turning to the other staff. “Have I forgotten anything?”
“Hats.”
“Oh God, yes – hats.”
And turning back to the children, “Make sure you bring one with you because you are not getting on the coach without one. And if anyone hasn’t brought one you can wear mine.” The response: titters from the timid and guffaws from the self-assured. Wearing my favourite Afghan hat, wearing the pakol, was not the height of cool. “Back here for half past two.”
One year, three boys did not get to the coach at the required time. We waited a few minutes and one of the children on the coach said,
“Look, in the dormitory, they’re at the window.” Indeed they were.
“The door’s locked,” one of them shouted, “we can’t get out.”
It was the truth. A gust of wind had blown the door shut and the lock mechanism and the handles were now out of order. No problem – get Nicole and it would become her problem!
However, both Nicole and Claudine had left for the afternoon and given the front door key to one of the teachers. So, sending the coach off to a nearby beach, I, and the fluent French speaking teacher remained behind. The decision was taken to ring les Sapeurs-pompiers.
The Fire Brigade to the rescue.
So once this was done the boys were informed and all that was needed was a little patience for the heroes to arrive – or so you would think.
A voice was heard from the other side of the dormitory door.
“I need the toilet. I’m desperate.”
“Can’t you wait a little, the fire brigade won’t be long.”
“No I’m desperate.”
“Okay. There must be a bottle in the dormitory – a coca cola bottle or something. Use that.”
“No. I really want to go to the toilet.”
Oh God, he wants a s...
“Right, have you got a plastic carrier bag?”
“Yes.”
“Use that. Some toilet paper will be put underneath the door.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“You do that or you wait.”
Fifteen minutes later les Sapeurs arrived, the door was fixed and the boys were let out. All was well.
The boy – what about the boy?
The château keeps its secrets. It is, after all, magical.
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