The rest of the lesson, I’m afraid, was spent in trying to reconcile my own methodology (tried and tested over thirty-four years at St. Oswald’s) with that of girls who, since their first year at Mulberry House, have been trained to believe that Latin is fun, and should include as little actual work (such as grammar, prose translation, or literature) as possible. The three boys in my Lower Sixth who have opted for Latin this year were rendered speechless by the fact that the Mulberry girls had spent most of last year watching films rather than learning the language. I myself have grave doubts as to the historical authenticity of such cinematic treats as Gladiator, but apparently the mistress hitherto responsible for teaching Classics at Mulberry House is in fact a history specialist—with the result that Classics became Classical Studies, a combination subject in the form of coursework modules, chosen by the girls themselves.

Most of them seem to have chosen some aspect of Roman fashion, with the exception of the girl Benedicta, who—rather defiantly, it seems—decided to study Cicero.

In other news, Devine’s new man, Markowicz, has finally arrived. A Suit, as I’d expected. Apparently he wasn’t here at the very beginning of term because he was teaching some kind of training course on new methods of using IT in Languages. A sandy individual with eyes of a curious, grapey green, he wears the same silk ties as Devine, drinks from the School china like Devine, and speaks the same language as Devine—that is, the dialect of bureaucracy, customer satisfaction, and general smugness.

Devine is delighted, of course. It’s like having a bonsai version of himself.

“I thought it was supposed to be bad luck to meet your Doppelgänger,” I said.

“You mean young Markowicz?” He smiled. “I think he’ll shape up perfectly.” He glanced through the frosted glass of the door right opposite his office, where Markowicz happened to be teaching a class of first-years. I’m not sure what was happening in there, but whatever it was, it was noisy. I said as much to Dr. Devine, who just smiled again in that supercilious way and said:

“Yes, a refreshingly modern approach. I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that, Straitley.”

“Stercus accidit, Devine,” I said, without much enthusiasm. Since Devine revealed his secret knowledge of my saltier Latin phrases, insulting him has become less amusing.

I retreated to room 59, that bastion of civilization. Even so, I could still hear Markowicz and his German class, apparently reenacting the rise and fall of the Third Reich.