It was a wet afternoon. One of those interminable rainy days. Water that finds its way into everything. The smell of damp woollen duffle coats and flannel uniforms. Mr Hosker the headmaster had important things on his mind. So did I. As we single filed along the corridor, I decided his name sounded like 'Hot Dog'. I was the kind of kid that could make anything sound familiar or have a loose connection and people would fall for it. Everyone agreed as I passed this new piece of information along the line and so ''Hot Dog'' he became.

Today he was waiting for us as we all filed into the assembly hall to attend what he called 'Forum'. It was called Forum he had told us because that's what the Romans did and because, well, when in Rome, the rest is history and all that. We had to meet every Friday afternoon after classes to find out what had been going on in our  school that week and what we might be planning for the future. In my impressionable mind I imagined gladiatoral matches, criminal trials, cavalcades and many acts of triumph but in the end it was always a mixture of highs and lows. What dreadful acts some pupils had committed. One boy had murdered a cat. He had kicked it to death and on hearing this I was never the same. I understood that there were people capable of doing unimaginable things. What heroic ones the others had managed. One day a girl showed us she could play the guitar and sing. This too blew me away. I had no idea our school had such talent.

''So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go
Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go'' . 

Apart from a hall the room doubled up as a gym. All the equipment, ropes, bars, climbing frames were somehow folded into the walls. Pommel horses, vaults and springboards were magically whisked away after every PE class. It was also the room where Miss Hugo the drama teacher would get us to act out our emotions to Holst's the Planets. It was quite a big ask thinking about it now. Asking a class of primary school kids to bring war, peace and jollity. Act out winged messengers and Neptune the Mystic in our gym knickers, white vests and black plimsolls. Quiet ahead of its time I suppose. 

All the same, Hot Dog informed us that day that we would no longer be allowed to bring umbrellas that possessed a pointed tip to school. Nobody knew why and many began to wonder if their umbrellas had said end on their brollies. You could see this by the worried looks and feeling of disquiet back and forth across the lines of children. Who, if any had brought one into the school? Was someone going to get into trouble?  I didn't have an umbrella, so I knew it wasn't me but it didn't stop me from acquiring a sense of consternation. I wouldn't have an umbrella until I was an adult. My unpretentious parents, particularly my father, saw an umbrella as a form of indulgence. We used to walk to school in the dark in the lashing wind and rain. An umbrella in my dad's mind wouldn't last five minutes and would just be more expense so we went without and never thought anymore of it. Anyway, back to the chilling tale our headmaster was about to tell us. There had been a girl he said. Not unlike a girl from our school. A simple, modest, unassuming girl. A little girl who had decided to take her mother's elegant umbrella to school one rainy day. That despite her humbleness had decided to show off. A day not unlike today he had said. Incessant, diluvial. The umbrella in question was beautiful. Violet with some kind of trim. A tassel of some sort. I began to suspect that this girl's mother was a Victorian woman but there was some contemporary feel to keep us rooted in the here and now. He detailed her journey to school. How she stopped off at the sweet shop on the way and had to close her umbrella, shake it just before entering the shop. Sticking it in the stand on her way in. Putting it up on leaving, pointing it to the heavens in a bouncy perky way. How it had briefly stopped raining and she was seen spinning it around. Twirling it like a drum majorette. On she went splashing around in the puddles full of the joys of spring as happy as she could be. He gave the impression the little girl was Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain with no care in the world. When she arrived at the school there was a boy who wanted to borrow the bloody thing and play with it and twirl it around too. By now several hundred school children were transfixed and wondering where all this was going when the story took a turn. The boy had grabbed the umbrella and there had been a tussle. A fight over who would get possession. Toing and froing without making any progress.  Suddenly the boy had total control but then he had accidentally stumbled and managed to poke the sharp point into the girl's eye. It pierced her brain and killed her instantly. ''And that's why children, you must never, EVER, bring a pointy umbrella to school. Ever again. EVER''. 

A stunned school took a while to collect its thoughts and then after news of which teams had won the most points that week Hot Dog did what he always did. He took out a record player and placed it on the stage. Then he took out a record and played it while we did what we always did after Forum. This record signalled that we now filed or rather marched out, one by one, year by year till the older kids were the last to leave. What was the record? It was the Liberty Bell but we knew it as the theme tune to Monty Python's Flying Circus. This is how it was in those days. Sociopaths and Psychopaths. Next week Mr Carruthers the PE teacher and his funny degenerate ways.