Matron Timber Legs

There's probably nothing quite as cruel as a young boy's mental reflection of real or perceived physical abnormalities in life's lottery - especially if the focal point of his attention happens to be authority. The problem is, at what point is it rude and petty, and at what point is it still within the bounds of acceptability? To most young boys there appears to be no limit, even with those whose status may be construed as in 'loco-parentis'. To put it succinctly, any type of authority was fair game and the larger the better!

Matron 'Timber Legs' of Meister Omers was no exception. I have no idea what her real name was, but she was a kind of large cuddly 'thingy' (which is a euphemism for a massive bristly thingy thing), and resembled a hairy wombat like creature that blinked at you through greyish eyes framed by rimless spectacles. She was as gentle as a foraging carnivore and administered aspirin with abandon for all concerns, ranking from in-grown toenails to strained calf muscles. Snivels, colds and loss of appetite were likewise treated resulting in a very poor 'dispensary' attendance.

Her ambling strut and gruff voice did much to impress would be malingerers that an after dinner visitation to her lair was to be avoided unless death was but a stone's throw away.

One day dear old Timber Legs was gone! A sudden family emergency had whisked her away from Canterbury and her hapless dependants. Quiet solemnity prevailed for the first evening as the dispensary door remained firmly closed.

The next day all hell broke loose as the form of an exquisite angel suddenly appeared and smiled sweetly at a throng of rather excited pimply adolescent boys.

Woe down! From nowhere an avalanche of very distressed and hyped young Tarzans appeared at the dispensary door in eager anticipation. A long seemingly non diminishing line of clamorous excited sore and sorry death bed-ridden and maimed "pustules' (that's what Canon FJ Shirley called us commoners) surged forwards.

The angel smiled sweetly at the rather pimply throng and beckoned us to her nest. The long line which swept round the dispensary wall snaked back as far as the spiral staircase and then continued on to God only knew where. I think that the whole of Meister Omers was in attendance!

From moment to moment small skirmishes took place as the undernourished pre-weaners were systematically displaced by some of the over-fed hefties - all with ailments and problems that would have made even Mother Theresa wring her hands in anguish and weep.

Bedlam reigned!

It was no use trying to get the prefects to keep order. They were even more excited and certainly more knowledgeable than the lower strata, and they had more clout, metaphorically and physically speaking. Generally, the 'congo line' was reasonably well behaved as no one wished to be chastised by this angel of mercy. For all, a glimpse, a touch, a spoken word or even an aspirin would be sufficient to heal even broken bones and dislocated shoulders!

Somehow the pros (professional heavies) managed to worm their way to the head of the line discarding lesser bodies like worn out and soiled clothing.

More evening dispensaries followed. There was no let up. The young nurse cum matron must have thought that the school's dietician was poisoning us and that rugby was indeed a cruel sport. Chapped lips seemed to be in epidemic proportions despite the mild weather. Sores, boils, grazes and coughs and other imagined injuries that required articles of clothing to be removed, had to be examined and gently soothed by warm tender hands. Humanity itself seemed to proffer itself in abundance.

The short few moments at prep recess had to be marginally extended to cope with damaged youth. This did not sit well with housemaster Richard H Pryor, who took a very dim view of such shenanigans...

Had we, the gormless youth of that era, been more enlightened, we may gave extended nurse's stay a little longer than the three days she administered to us, by curtailing, or at least moderating mass visitations.

As it was, Meister Omers was now the most sickly house in the school. There is no doubt that most of the sixty-odd young males would be bed-ridden before the week was out and it didn't take a genius to work out why!

"Prog-nose" would not countenance that!

We hadn't counted on anti-divine intervention... Faster than you could boil a batch of school cabbage Timber Legs was back!

"Hey Presto". The dispensary queues suddenly melted like snow on a cow's backside and in less time than it takes to read a thermometer all was back to normal.

Amazing isn't it? R.H. Pryor Esq. R.A.F. D.F.C and bar blinked silent gratitude towards the heavens and quietly vowed that any future replacement of dear matron would be gargantuan and unrecognisable as female.