sent for by the headmaster

in trepidation I ventured forth

through unfamiliar blunted corridors

then finally to face the man

in tweed jacket, piercing glasses

smooth hair. 

 

his back was turned busy at a cupboard

I knew he kept his cane in there

instinct told me, amongst other

savage collectibles

known only to top men in charge.

 

then a brief acknowledgment

a surprise by way of his using my first name

a hint of pleasure and relief as he peeled off

a newly arrived small book 

of descant recorder tunes

for two players from Oxford University Press.

 

I thought we could run through a few of these

he said, and so we did in perfect concourse

like two birds tweeting in the stuffy air

with natural flair at my primary age

while nymphs smiled down from shelves

 

amongst sports cups, busts of the great composers.

He played the cello, lived on the river

watched us grow, looked after the teachers.

I was as good a reader as he, I knew

and he knew this too

this much only we shared.