Miss Andrews had long given up on her ambition to be a successful author. Instead she turned her not inconsiderable talent to nurturing the creative skills of the young. As a primary school teacher she excelled. Now she stood before her class of ten year old boys and posed the time-worn, but always popular, question,
“What would you like to be when you grow up?”
Her request was met with the customary barrage of shrill responses and raised hands clamouring for attention. She waited for the initial hubbub and animated excitement to subside before quietly asserting,
“I'll have your answers one by one. I'll start at the front.”
In a relatively orderly manner, and with only occasional interruptions, she proceeded to address each pupil individually, receiving the familiar medley of answers which her years of experience had taught her to expect. Airline pilot, pop star, doctor, footballer, engineer, adventurer, racing driver, policeman and vet – they were all there.
At the back of the class and last in line to be qizzed was an introvert, mischievous but bright lad, very much the incorrigible rascal. Miss Andrews, in spite of misgivings, rather liked him.
Turning to the boy, “And you Tommy,” she asked, “What would you like to be?”
Tommy looked up thoughtfully, a glint in his eye. The answer was slow and sure.
“I'd like to be a rustic simpleton, Miss.”
That brought the house down, the classroom erupted in laughter. Miss Andrews, restraining her own urge to giggle, motioned for calm. Eventually peace returned.
“A rustic simpleton Tommy,” she played up to him, “And whatever might that be?”
“Well Miss,” replied Tommy, obviously prepared and enthusiastic, “I'd like to live in the wild, hike in the mountains, swim in the sea, roam in the forests and … well … just have a nice time.”
Miss Andrews was slightly taken aback and not a little impressed. The class less so, laughter continued to abound. Miss Andrews' stern gaze subdued it.
“But what will you live on Tommy?” she continued, more softly.
“I'll grow my own apple tree Miss, fish in the river and raise chickens,” said Tommy.
“But what will you do for money Tommy? Have you thought about that?”
“That's easy Miss,” retorted Tommy quickly, “I'll write.”
There was another pause and more, but now decidely less incredulous, sniggering in the room. Miss Andrews took time for all to compose themselves, before continuing.
“So you'll write? What about Tommy? What will you write?”
Tommy smiled wickedly. He paused to give full impact to his sucker punch to follow. Then, quite deliberately spelled it out.
“I'll write about ... airline pilots, pop stars, doctors, footballers, engineers, adventurers, racing drivers, policemen and vets!”
Through the riotous tumult that followed, Miss Andrews made her way back to her desk at the front. She allowed herself the merest of inward smiles.
“Yes, he's the one,” she whispered to herself, “Oh yes!”
Many years later, Miss Andrews, now enjoying the easier pace of retirement, drove hesitantly through the forest and up the rutted mountain track in the lack-lustre light of a late autumn afternoon. Her slightly tousled host for the weekend ran excitedly from the old farmhouse to greet her. In his hand he brandished a large book with a colourful cover.
“It's my latest novel,” the famous writer gasped breathlessly before even saying hello. “I've autographed it just for you,” and thrust it into her hand.
“Let me see,” said Miss Andrews, “What have we here?”
She turned the book over and read the title - “How To Be A Rustic Simpleton!”
They laughed heartily, embraced. Then Tommy took the arm of his long time friend and mentor and led her in to savour the rustic charm of his humble home.
I am Tom Riach. I live and write in the sunny south of Portugal.
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HOW TO BE A RUSTIC SIMPLETON is an original copyright Tom Riach feature.
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