We filed down a narrow passage with wood panelling along one wall. The other wall had high windows through which you could see grey sky, lamp-posts, and a cable swaying in the breeze. Mr Vaneenooghe held open the door of our cage. He ushered us in with a gallant bow. “Do come in, gentlemen,” he said.We were surrounded by stark green walls, the only relief being a crucifix hanging slightly askew over the blackboard and a faded poster showing a lad chewing a straw. The caption underneath read, “Hope is the Fountain of Youth.”The wood of the desks was far too hard to carve your name in the surface, the gleaming varnish was indestructible. I picked a desk in the middle, somewhat nearer to the door than to the blackboard.“Mind if I sit next to you?” Willem asked.I said I didn’t mind.We both looked on with interest as a young lad in front of us unzipped his school bag lovingly and took out a tartan pencil case, a sharpener in the shape of a cow, a wooden ruler, a pair of compasses, a protractor, a bicoloured rubber, a marker pen and two tubes of glue.
