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READING, 'RITING AND ROBBERY
A
fugitive bank robber crosses the t’s and dots the i’s on his
demand notes so well that law enforcement officials call the suspect
the “Good Grammar Bandit.”
“It’s
well punctuated, there’s proper sentence structure, the spelling is
correct,” FBI Denver spokesman Dave Joly told ABC News. “He did a
nice job.”
ABC
News
I
never went to school in Denver, but I get the feeling I would have
felt very much at home there if I had. This chap who's been robbing
banks over there, and whose grammar has so impressed the local
police, does great credit to the Denver Public Schools Board, whose
evident educational philosophy in these matters brings to mind so
many poignant memories of my boys' grammar school in the 1960s.
Many
of you will have met Basher Clark – my old English teacher –
before, and it will come as no surprise that for our early,
tentative, robberies those of us who fell under his tutelage were
expected to produce demand notes which were beautifully handwritten
and displayed perfect grammar, punctuation and spelling. What's
more, we were for many years the only school in the area where boys
were required to include at least one literary allusion drawn from
the classics in their demand notes - 'and make sure it's both
relevant and pertinent, boy.' This was backed up by a no nonsense
approach to Maths and a concentration on modern languages which would
enable the aspirational robber to ply his future trade across what
were deemed to be the more congenial bits of a European Union whose
generally unforeseeable existence was nonetheless so perceptively
foreseen.
And
Latin! What better way to bamboozle a nervous bank clerk into
unquestioning compliance than to drop a snatch of Latin into a demand
note! What a coup de grâce to
sign one's note not with the pedestrian The
Good Grammar Bandit but
with the rather more polished Bona
Grammatica Insidiatoris –
(and thank you Google Translate, although it may be some time before
the linguistic community at large accepts your confident assertion
that the Latin for coup de
grâce is
knockout.)
What's
more, if the going did get rough, there was always rugby to fall back
on. A cool expertise in trip and tackle, a jinking body swerve here,
a hand off there and disorder could readily be restored should a more
than usually spirited bank clerk show signs of resistance. And
despite Mr Williams' (PE) clarion exhortations, we didn't have to
worry about the offside laws because most of us couldn't. All those
years of turning out on muddy Games afternoons and nobody once
explained offside. But if a roughhouse did develop inside the bank,
and Plan B did turn out to be necessary, what elderly 1960s teller –
more often pin stripes and breast pocket handkerchief in those days
than short skirt and winning smile – would be equal to the
villainous tactics of schoolboy ruck and maul?
No,
the class of '64 was well set to become a flourishing generation of
Clydes. We may have lacked our Bonnies, but we gamely made up for
the girls' grievous absence with impeccably composed and unfailingly
courteous demand notes to thrust at bank clerks.
I
still treasure my own first effort, presented to a slightly startled
chap at the local District Bank as a practical exercise under the
watchful eye of Mr Chalmers (Maths) who was masquerading as the next
customer in the queue. I shuffled nervously from one foot to the
other, and felt for the first time that urgent churning in the
stomach that I never fully conquered no matter how much experience I
later accumulated. It was not until my turn at the counter came -
and I realised that my terrified squeak was high pitched enough to
set distant dogs howling - that I first fully appreciated why old
Chalmers had insisted on us producing a written note.
The
clerk betrayed no emotion as his intimidating gaze penetrated and
dissected my very soul. 'And how may I help?' he intoned
forbiddingly. It was not so much a question as a threat. I reached
into my satchel, withdrew my note with trembling fingers and passed
it under his window.
First
lesson – don't bother with an envelope; it wastes time and
irritates them. Second lesson – if you do bother with an envelope
(don't), don't put what you think is a comical address on the front.
Continuing the address as far as '….England, The World, The Solar
System, The Milky Way, The Universe' might if you're very lucky cause
a brief giggle at the back of 2b on a wet Thursday in November, but
it will only irritate the teller. Again.
He
unfolded my letter and read it dispassionately.
'Good
morning, sir' I had begun,
'I am a second year pupil at
Pretty Boy Floyd Grammar and am undertaking a short introductory
course in bank robbery as part of my studies in Economics. This
course results from some innovative collaboration involving the Maths
and English departments, and I would like to thank Mr Chalmers
(Maths) and Basher, sorry, Dr Clark (English) for their pioneering
development work.
It
really gives me quite a thrill to write - for the first time! - that
my purpose this morning is to hold the bank up and ask for money. Dr
Clark suggested that I consider being more assertive and 'demand' the
money, but we agreed that I should be true to myself and not be too
aggressive this early in my career. I also don't wish to be too
greedy on my first attempt, and would therefore be grateful if you
would kindly supply me with the sum of ten pounds for which I will
gladly provide a receipt. No doubt my Mum will insist that I write a
thank you letter as well.
I
do hope that this is acceptable to you and the bank. And please
don't be angry with me. Remember that he who
steals your purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’twas
yours, ’tis mine, and has been slave to thousands.
I
realise that you are probably very busy, but would be grateful if you
could also let me have any comments you may wish to make on my
performance this morning, and indeed on the contents and style of
this letter. I am sure this would help me in my future career.
Thank you for all your help and consideration.
Spero
omnes bene!
Yours
faithfully
Bona
Grammatica Insidiatoris
I
was particularly proud of getting the Shakespearian bit in and
couldn't wait for Basher to see it. So you can imagine my
shame and embarrassment at not getting the £10, and this was
compounded back at school at what would now be called the debriefing.
Old Chalmers was kind enough about some of my note, but insisted
that I critically compare another failed demand note from history to
my own. It was only when I saw the glaring errors in someone else's
work that I truly appreciated my own failure.
He tossed a book at me. 'Read the
marked passage, boy' he said, and I had to stand to read aloud.
Esteemed
and honoured sir,
It
is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession
of but little fortune must be in want of funds. I am dismayed that
my last application to you for a loan was summarily rejected, and
with a heavy heart I have now determined to employ less ladylike but
more direct means. I solemnly entreat that you do exactly as I say,
whereupon I can aver with the utmost certitude that nobody will get
hurt. It would pain me more than I can express were you to prove
unable or unwilling to comply and I had on that account to resort to
a regrettable display of vexatiousness and to breaking things.
Moreover I should be exceedingly obliged if you did not even think
about calling the filth, an eventuality which would indubitably
provoke the most unseemly and regrettable fracas and a most grievous
assault upon your respectable and respected person. I pray that
you know what I mean?
I
earnestly desire that you shall be so good as to fill the bag which
Simpkins there is carrying with swag and release it into my custody.
I assure you that you will thereafter be forever sensible of my
warmest gratitude.
I
beg to remain your most humble servant,
'Stop!' Old Chalmers held up his hand
and I had to explain publicly how my long winded and overly courteous
approach was comparable to Miss Austen's failed effort, although
minus her trademark brutality and thuggishness. 'Now,' he went on,
'turn to the very end of the book and read the marked passage. I
want you to notice how the language has changed, how it's become more
compact, vibrant. I want you to feel its power and urgency.'
I read again. The scene was evidently
just after a payroll robbery in Bolivia. The hero and heroine –
the robbers – were in the gravest danger. They were holed up in an
empty house, wounded, out of ammunition and surrounded by dozens of
soldiers all armed to the teeth and eager to shoot.
'Mr
Darcy :
Ready? OK, when we get outside and we get to the horses, whatever
happens, just remember one thing... hey, wait a minute.
Miss
Bennet : What?
You didn't see Lefors out there, did you?
Mr
Darcy : Lefors?
No.
Miss
Bennet :
Oh, good. For a moment there I thought we were in trouble.
They
both run out of the building, only to be met with gunfire from all
sides from the Bolivian army.'
A
hand at the back, braver than mine, shot up.
'Sir,'
began its owner 'how should we interpret Miss Bennet's reference to
thinking she'd got into trouble with Mr Darcy?'
I
must say old Chalmers handled that one magnificently, effortlessly
evading the trap by pointing out that Darcy and Miss Bennet had
landed themselves in trouble in large part through not being able to
compose a competent demand note in Spanish. Should we wish to avoid
the same mistake when next in Spain and raiding the Santander, he
went on, Señor
Rodriguez, that year's Spanish assistant, was always available to
help out after school on Mondays.
I
sometimes think of that group of eager, wide eyed boys, all no doubt
now transformed into balding and paunchy doctors and accountants,
engineers and teachers. As far as I know not one of them ever made
it as a bank robber. After all that preparation, I wonder why not?
Looking
back, I suppose our devoted teachers had probably never robbed a bank
themselves and perhaps saw it as a romantic activity that gave
purpose to our study of English, Maths, Latin and the rest of our
unrelentingly worthy curriculum. Perhaps they hadn't considered the
wider context of the 1960s. This was the time of the Great Train
Robbers and their lengthy prison sentences, of the Krays, of Mad
Frankie Fraser and Jack 'The Hat' McVitie - serious villains with
whom a grammar school boy from the leafier suburbs might not wish to
tangle; even the very best of us armed with nothing more lethal than
an ability to dominate the lineout, or – on a good day – to get
one to nip back from outside off stump and climb sharply towards the
batsman's ribs.
We
were out of our depth and I suppose we knew it. The banks needed to
have no fears about us. Years later it would take a different sort
of chap altogether to lose billions for them, and I doubt that this
new breed bothered much with classical allusions or good grammar.
ANAGRAM CORNER
Anagram corner was close to despair during April. It proved nigh on impossible to create a decent anagram for David Moyes, and absolutely impossible for Ryan Giggs. Three gs and a y in only nine letters just isn't playing fair. Please don't let them appoint Nick Clegg next.
Then, along came a gift!
PATRICK MERCER
MR PRICE RACKET!
And to celebrate that gift, here is a little bonus, also from April's news...
A minister due some expenses
Claimed too many poundses and pences
She should have resigned but abruptly declined -
Then finally came to her senses!
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