Dear Mrs Dunkley_
1N1952, when Lwassine and my name was Helen Ford, Leame from
1, sohere the ceachers were
y country
toa private gies school in Geelong. I was pl
rade five clas.
‘You were very this, with short black
trembled, You wore heelsa black caF-lengh
nipped-in waist.
‘We hae Arthur Mee’ Childrens Eneyelopedia at home, and f
‘hough [as prety good at General Knowledge.
“In what yeur was the Great Plague of London?”
Up ew my hand. 1665"
‘You sare at me.“t deg your pardon?” You mimicked my at
re school accent, You corrected it. You hurniiaed me. 1
beceme such blusher that other kids would ley Fordie!
‘What colour’ red?"
T wos weak at arthmeti. On such weaknes you had no mercy.
‘Stand up, you gsest MOON CALE’ You made us queue at your
into your
jr and hands that
anda back jacketnd said, ‘Mrs Dunikley, how can an
sudverb modify aa adjective?
‘You pas, up therein Frome oF the boned with the
your hand. My checks were
‘your face a mysterious thing, Ie wasa tay, crooked smile. YouTooked
atme fora long moment-—a slow, careful, serious look. You looked
i ist ching after the
numerals ofthe clock Face then tale the
sythi, We had to ade acme, ands or the Bir knew shat you had seen me
wer ready when you stopped. The name "Here's an exa
ofthis daily practice wee THE Di wind we terribly cold?
“Then your face snapped shut
hot you your sivage contempt
sons continued t0 be ¢ hi
T got, and you sw me ger
T never lat sy terrar of y
But if acithine
yet
From nigh
‘lossoming knowledge
“Many years later, dear Mrs Dunkly, when Thad turned youinto
an entertining ogc from my cildhond whose antis made people
Taugh and shudder, when I had published four books and fl a
iter had deear about you. In this
nol where
dream I walked along the sandstone veranda of the
you had taught me, and looked in
stflionn stead ofthe longtables at
hod use ost nal
and exams, [saw a bizarre and
1 saw you, Mrs Dunkley, moving
stafroom—but instead of your grim back 190s woo! suit, you were
dressed in a jacket made of some wondrausly tender and lxible
and how to writes proper letter: the address, the dae, the courteous
sslutacon, the corec layout of the page the Formal signing off. Bue
most crucially, you taught us grammar andl syntax, On the black-
boar yu and introduced ust Parts
of Speech, Parsing, Analysis. You showed us how to take a sentence
paride tscomponens aa fi chem ck together with fresh
serous the
ike suede or buckskin, in soft, unstable colours that
se thats you walked you drow alongrbehind you s thick, smudged
sainbow tal
1m 1996 described ehis dream nthe intron
‘along. [knew 1 as supposed to beseratching away with my dip pen
opying thelist into my exezcse hook, but I was so excited by thiscof my esays A few months after the book came out, I eeceved a
letter froma stranger She hed enjoyed my book, she said, particulaely
the introduction. She enclosed phoeo that she thought might like
"The photo shows &
nan and at
fates suburban backyard. Iesan amateurish black and=
‘white snap of a mother andl daughter: it eus of both subjects atthe
ankles, The ils deesed in» gingham school uniform, Her haireut
places the picture ia abou 1960, She isslghty taller than che woman,
and is looking at che camera withthe corners of her mouth drawn
buck into her eheeks; but her eyes are not smiling: they are wary
snd guarded
“The woman in the photo i in her Inte Fortes She has short
avy hair combed back off her forehead. Her brows are dark
her lips Gsrly closed in an expression of
s rackether mouth. She's weatinga
lgan undone toshowrs nest white
ging by her sides,
dark,
steaight black skirtand a block
toned tothe neck, Her hands are
red the photo to my husband. "What enormous hands!"
knew your hands, Mes Duakley. Not tha they ever touched
ime, bu I recall chem as chin and sinewy and frce looking,
purplish kin that seemed file, They quivere
thought was rage, as you skimmed your so
ry wonky long
sions and mu
ou Thad tamed you and made yo a part of me, But when
Tooked at that phot, 1 felt as
1nd something imperfectly Familie had
the dark. The real Mrs Dunkley shifted out from under the grid of
walked into a strange room
ned to me in
‘my creation, and I saw you at ls, my teacher: an intense, damaged,