Chapter I
Mrs Kipple
In a small village tucked behind Bodenlea Park lived a boy called Peter. “A
delightful young child with huge potential” was how he’d been described by one
his teachers. “However, required to attach his feet firmly to the floor.”
Peter’s hypnotic grey-green eyes and hazy smile did give him a somewhat
bewildered look. “Attendance: Good. Appearance: Well turned out, with the exception of his
rather unkempt strawberry-blonde hair. Punctuality: Tends to wander within his
own time frame.”
“Well, your subjects are good, but I do wish
you would stop daydreaming,” said his mother.
Peter nodded, not paying the greatest amount of attention. He was a
quiet, well-mannered child, raised to understand that children should be seen
and not heard, as his mother had so often reminded him. Usually he was dressed in short grey
trousers – holding a proud crease – and a pressed white shirt with a diagonally
striped navy blue-and-yellow tie. Peter’s shoes were of the traditional tie variety, black and polished to the highest sheen. Grey
knee-length socks helped to keep him warm, along with a tweed coat and charcoal flat cap. The wearing of short trousers
and the attractive colour of grey was imposed by Mr Quigglepots, Peter’s headmaster. Quiggers, as most of the
children referred to him, was in his middle years, withdrawn in the face, with black, greasy hair slightly broken with his beloved grey. Although one of the taller folk, he was a rather annoying, spindly man with tiny, beady eyes. As if hunting for prey, he constantly scanned the corridors from behind the black plastic frames of his glasses.
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