Grandpa’s Great Escape. David Walliams

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“Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr Bunting,” said Miss Verity loudly, breaking the spell. “We are nearing the end of the lesson now. I have my red chalk poised at the ready. We need to note down all those facts, facts, facts! So please could you tell us all the year this happened?”

      “The year?” replied Grandpa.

      “Yes. I need to put it up on the board. If my pupils are to have any hope of passing their exam next term, we need to know facts, facts, facts! And yet more facts.”

      The old man looked at the teacher, confused. “It’s this year.”

      “What do you mean this year?” asked the teacher.

      “This year, madam. 1940.”

      The class chuckled uncertainly. Surely the old man was joking? Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

      Miss Verity gave everyone another of her famous death stares and they were silent once more. “You seriously think this is 1940?”

      “Yes, of course it’s 1940! King George VI is on the throne. And Mr Churchill is the Prime Minister.”

      “No no no, Mr Bunting. This is 1983!”

“It can’t be!”

      “Yes yes yes. Queen Elizabeth II is on the throne. And the wonderful Mrs Thatcher is the Prime Minister.”

      Grandpa did not look at all convinced. In fact, he stared at the teacher as if she was BONKERS! “Mrs?! A lady Prime Minister?! You must have a screw loose, madam!”

      “I think it is you who has the screw loose, Mr Bunting! Well, thank you so much for your oh-so-informative visit,” said the teacher sarcastically. “Now, goodbye.” As if shooing a pigeon, Miss Verity ushered the old man out of his chair. Under her breath she muttered to the class, “No need to write down a thing the old man said, after all! He doesn’t know what year it is and he is still wearing his slippers!”

      Poor Grandpa stood at the front of the class. He had been soaring in the sky; now he looked like he had crash-landed on the ground. Jack’s heart ached for him.

       DRING!

      The bell rang not a moment too soon. The boy had never been so relieved a lesson had ended.

Jack pushed past the other children to get to his grandfather as they all shambled out of the classroom. It had gone from being the best history class ever to the absolute worst.

      Just as Jack reached Grandpa, Miss Verity called the boy back. “Jack? May I have a word, please?”

      “A moment, sir,” said the boy to his grandpa, as he plodded over to his teacher.

      “Promise me you will never bring your grandfather into my classroom again,” the lady hissed.

      “I promise!” replied Jack angrily. “There’s no way I am bringing him back here.”

      The boy spun around and reached out for Grandpa’s hand. His old skin felt almost like a child’s. Soft and silky.