Lundi 06.11.06 Back to Basics
Is it 5,30 already? It’s a struggle to get up and a cold shower doesn’t help much to wash away the sleep. Nicola has been pottering around before 5,00 and she’s ready to leave just as I’m finishing my breakfast. We’re just sliding the gate back into place when Arlette claps us to attention. Without saying a word she motions to the car and we clamour in. We find her a bit offhand but she could be just anxious as she’s off to the laboratory to get a blood test for a suspected Thyroid problem. We don’t quiz her about the CAF as she’s always been good with other bits and bobs we’ve asked her to furnish. She tells us that William sold his car and got a newer model. I vaguely remember seeing a tan coloured rust bucket by the side of the house yesterday – it beats the mean, green Kid any day.
It’s great to get a lift in but I miss the animated bus ride and we’re in way too early. It’s only 6,30 and we’re already sitting by the pier watching the thousands of jumping jack sprats in the sea. A rainbow arches across the bay putting a smile on our faces, and the sifting sun has fully set in the sky by the time we part.
There’s a big burly security man at the school gate; it’s really no surprise as during the week a sixteen year old was killed by his peer. The teachers don’t seem to have got up to much for the holidays. For me it’s a working-holiday all round so of course it’s expected that I’ve been gallivanting around the Caribbean. The charming Mr. Duval (that’s a self-appellation), picks up on this, and asks how the husband-hunting went. I tell him I found a fiancée in Dominica. He quips that it must be because they speak English there and he asks if I got his number. I tell him I didn’t but add that I’ll give it to his students since I’m concentrating on numbers this week.
The kids are all chat about their holidays. A few stayed at the Mercure hotel which seemed to be the highlight of their time off. Others cycled, swam and went to the cinema though when I ask them what they saw they seem to be clueless. I get Madame Caruge’s and Mr. Duval’s CM2 classes to brainstorm uses for numbers; telephone numbers, address, money, time, distance, travel, size, length, depth, height, maths, measurements, recipes, medicine, music. It’s only after I prompt them that we’re concentrating on presenting ourselves that they finally come up with age as another use for numbers.
We go through two questions and two responses concerning age:
What age are you?
How old are you?
I am nine.
I am nine year’s old.
I explain the contraction I’m and some of the brighter sparks manage to use that as we practise the phrases with a class Q&A session.
Next up are numbers zero up to twelve. We firstly go over them orally, counting out loud and counting up and down on our fingers. I then place my hands on the edge of each table to get pupils to tell me how many? Fingers I have displayed. For zero each kid has to make a monocle with one hand and for the number five I get them to high five one another.
To get them moving I break them into two teams for the listen and touch game. I draw thirteen boxes on the blackboard with the numbers in their proper order and each couple runs up to touch the one I call out. Of course there are a few pupils who block off their opponent while they themselves ponder which box contains the number I’ve called out. Some kids are just chancy competitors and I remind them that they have to be sure of the number before they run up; it’s for their own good, it’s not a tête à tête. Amid the initial confusion they seem to have fun. Mr. Duval, despite his jibes, is a good sport and joins in, trying to throw them off with his incorrect hand hints!
After la pause I take Madame Acina’s and Madame Thaly’s CE2 classes. Madame Thaly’s class are more certain about their numbers than the other class. We count using our hands and multicoloured colouring pencils which distract some of the children as they lapse into colours instead of counting!
Throughout the lesson the children are quite chirpy and Jean-François, the class clown/non-compliant kid of CE2 B tells me in great detail how he chased chickens on his bike when he went to visit his grandparents farm. Very good, but can you tell me what age you are? He can, and so his ramblings are justified.
It’s soon time to let them in on the Irish dancing jig. I have made two cut-outs to illustrate what Irish dancers wear when they dance in competitions and féiseanna. The girls love the dresses and the boys are interested in the idea of big bushy wigs stuck to the girls’ scalp. I play a bit of traditional Irish music. It’s a reel and I’m soon tapping my heels and pointing my toes as the music goes. I encourage the children to follow suit and they hop about the classroom. They get a bit boisterous but the class is over and all calmness is restored.
Nicola and I meet in town. I see her hobbling down the road. Her sore foot is still at her but we’re soon relaxing on the terrace at La Croisière. The usual smiley but stern waitresses are not about and instead we have a trainee waiter who is clueless about what is on the Menu du Jour. I eventually find out that its crevettes for starters so it needn’t matter that he goes off to find out what way they’re served as I’m not going to order them. The main course is pasta. “Spaghetti naturel,” I’m told. He doesn’t elaborate but I risk it anyway. Plain spaghetti is indeed dished up but it’s served with lamb cutlets in an oily gravy. We’re really being spoilt today as both Flan Ananas and Flan Coco are on the menu. I stick to the later as I like the treacly flavour. For €10 the meal isn’t so bad but the desert barely saved it by filling the void.
Nicola has another class to take at Schoelcher and then two nice little earners near Tartenson which line her pockets with €45. I’m off home. At the bus stop there’s a strange ensemble of waiting passengers: there’s the cute little curly-haired kiddo who talked about the goldfish in his bubbling bottle of coke. He’s all chat again but he wets himself and starts crying. It’s only water and it has just sloshed from his bottle unto his sandaled-toes but he still squeals. There’s also a group of weird-looking grown-ups. It’s not just their impish behaviour which is peculiar. They’re dressed oddly too. Their clothes look as if they don’t belong to them and on top of that they’re just old-fashioned. I think they’re out for the day…
The No.22 soon reaches Tivoli. Some kids must have taken to taping the stop buttons for Halloween as everyone has to alert the driver of their stop by squealing ARRÊT. I don’t miss my stop but I do miss Kyla’s call. She’s at a loose end in town for the evening. I’m so pooped I wouldn’t be much fun and I head to bed as soon as I get in.
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