This, in combination with thick white shirts buttoned to the top, fustian pants, woollen knee-high socks, and a tie which was to remain firmly tightened, was a recipe for a sweaty, uncomfortable, irritable classroom of children who have only recently reached an age where they no longer cry at the drop of a hat.
We were encouraged to bring drink bottles to school with us, which probably indicates the school was unhappy with the numbers of feverish children who had to keep leaving class to go and drink from the water fountains outside in order to stave off a fainting spell just a little longer.
But - disregarding the lack of leniency in regard to adapting our school uniform to be something a little more temperature appropriate, at least while just in class - here was the issue in my little eyes: our drink bottles were to remain outside the classroom door with our bags. No exceptions.
In our little clusters of four desks huddled together, we mused together about how we could solve this issue which collectively left always at least one person with their hand up waiting to ask to get their bottle for a drink and caused significant movement and interruption around the class at all times. It appeared to be easily solved by simply keeping the bottles under or, if feeling truly audacious, even upon our desks, to allow for more consistent access to, and regular consumption of, water.
After significant consideration and diplomatic discussions of the strengths (all) and weaknesses (none) of our plan, we elected an envoy to bring our proposal to the teacher - it was to be myself. I meandered discreetly away from my desk and beelined to the teacher's desk with little steps. She was in her mid-thirties or so, with a motherly disposition, wide hips and an even wider smile. But her surname was Dark, and rightly so.
As I extended onto tiptoes to peer over the edge of her intimidatingly wide oak desk, I didn't even pause for acknowledgment before I launched into building my case for bottles to be permitted within the boundaries of the classroom. Obscuring my eyeline was the teachers own bottle, on her desk, as I noted. The benefits would be bountiful - greater hydration, increased concentration, less disruption, less classroom absence. The negatives would be nil - particularly if bottles were stored discreetly under our desks.
My monologue continued in that beautiful way of speech only children and self-absorbed adults possess, where their words flow freely with no consideration of pause, reflection, collaboration, or breath, until I ran dry of points and ceased without even rounding out the sentence. I stared naively back into her gaze which had not broken from my own, even as my ramblings rolled my head around my on shoulders.
"No." Hmmm. That was an answer clear as day. There was no misunderstanding, no room for ambiguity, let alone rebuttal - and that was certainly intentional. The wise move in this game would be to retreat. But politics isn't always a game played by wise men, and best return to my peers as a martyr than a failure. "Why not?" I propositioned.
That afternoon I learnt all about diplomatic pressure and power control dynamics, or something like that. About how sometimes, things are just like they are because they are, even if they would be better another way, and that's just how it is. About how you can be in the right and can still be in the wrong. A lot of adult concepts that continue to come in handy today.
But above all else, I learnt that repeatedly asking "why" makes you no more likely to get a straight answer- and that is true politics.
