A classroom

 

The register is about to be taken by a typical primary school teacher – A woman, about 40, horn-rimmed spectacles, slightly frazzled look, quite hot in a Miss Honey-out-of Matilda kind of way

 

 

Timmy: Here Miss.

 

Teacher: Angelica?

 

Angelica is a cherubic blonde girl with a pink dress and her hair in a bow

 

Angelica: Yes Miss Davenport

 

Teacher: Adolf?

 

Adolf is a mini version of Hitler complete with SS uniform, swastikas and moustache, despite being clearly six years old

 

Adolf: Zeig Heil Miss! (He stands bolt upright and makes a Nazi salute)

 

Teacher (sighing): Winston?

 

Winston is a mini version of Churchill: Fat cheeks, pocket watch, bowler hat and big cigar

 

Winston: Present, my good woman.

 

Teacher: Ghengis?

 

Ghengis: Here.

 

Teacher: Ghandi?

 

The child-Ghandi stays silent but bows his noble head and puts his hands together in silent acknowledgement. You get the picture – mini-Ghengis, complete with pencil-thin beard and moustache and Chinese war helmet, sits at Adolf’s right hand, while Ghandi sits next to Winston.  We fade the audio down as the teacher continues the register. Adolf and Winston stare across at each other and their eyes narrow confrontationally

 

Cut to close-up on classroom clock. It ticks over to 10.30 and the bell goes for break-time

 

Teacher: WALK! Don’t run!

 

The kids all stream out onto the playground. Timmy, Angelica and some of the other “normal” kids run around like made buggers in the middle. Adolf marches purposefully towards the climbing frame followed closely by Ghengis and several other “evil” children. Winston, cigar in mouth, hands thrust in pockets strides to the swings on the other side with Ghandi (and others) in attendance. “Mother Teresa” does the hopscotch en route. We cut quickly between the two groups of kids as they approach their “camps”

 

Adolf has a German accent, but the high-pitched voice of a conventional schoolboy. He gathers his gang together and walks up and down like a sergeant-major inspecting his troops

 

Adolf: My evil friends! Vot mischief und mayhem can we unleash today? Vinston und his mob of do-gooders are getting me down mit their snivelling benevolence – und zat imbecile Miss Davenport vill pay for smacking me on ze bottom after ze incident mit ze Bunsen Burner…

 

All (chorus): Yes Mein Fuhrer,

 

Adolf: Now. Our esteemed brother Saddam is spending zis breaktime facing ze vall after Florence Nightingale grassed him up for letting off ze stink bomb during Geography…

 

Cut to Saddam – a swarthy child in military uniform and beret with a large moustache. He is facing the school wall while the teacher looks on disapprovingly. While she turns to chat to a dinner lady, Saddam looks darkly over at an angelic girl in a nurse’s outfit holding an oil lamp. Saddam pulls a sinister finger across his throat and the girl runs off crying

 

Back to the climbing frame…

 

Adolf (continued): Vich of you evil geniuses vill avenge him?

 

Peter has a beard like the Yorkshire Ripper and carries a toy plastic hammer – he speaks with a gentle Northern accent

 

Peter: I could smash up ‘er lamp up with me hammer, boss?

 

Adolf (stroking chin): I like your thinking, Herr Sutcliffe. It is true you haf a vinning vay mit the ladies. It is decided. You shall secure her affections mit kind vords and ze offer of a valk to ze sandpit. Vait until ze dinner-ladies are looking ze other way - Zen… BAM! Destroy zat infernal lamp! Throw sand in her face and call her a stinking poo-poo-head. Ha!

 

Adolf laughs maniacally and his cohorts join in

 

Cut to Winston, who is comforting a tear-stained Florence

 

Winston: Dear girl – Do not let these monsters intimidate you. Your kindness of spirit, and the way you tend to the injured and ill-treated teddy-bears has not gone unnoticed. Bullies like Adolf and Saddam cannot change that with their cruel words and Chinese burns.

 

Mother Teresa, Abraham Lincoln and Ghandi gather around to comfort Florence as Winston stands on the end of the slide and addresses his coalition of heroes

 

Winston: My fellow paragons. Let us stand here together now and vow to uphold all that is good in this world. Let us stand here together and promise to banish tyranny. When evil children threaten our idyllic corner of Albion, we shall cut them down and teach them the errors of their ways – or, failing that, inform Miss Davenport immediately,

 

Nelson (cutting in): … I tried that when Napoleon knocked over my sandcastle, but she just told us to shake hands and build a new one together …

 

Winston: Come now, Admiral! Are you going to stand for that kind of oppression? We have lain dormant long enough – now is the time for action! (Dramatic pause) We shall fight them in the sandpit. We shall fight them on the playground. We shall fight them in the canteen and the on the Jungle Jim. We shall NEVER surrender. Not until our last breaths have departed our noble bodies. Or the bell goes for home time. Whichever comes sooner.

 

The heroes all cheer

 

Winston: Over to you, Vera…

 

A young girl with rosy cheeks starts singing, and the gang link arms and join in merrily

 

Vera (singing): We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny d…

 

Vera reels backwards after being struck on the head by a rogue missile – we pan across the playground to a mini version of Osama Bin Laden who is holding a slingshot and grinning. Winston, incensed, starts striding towards the climbing frame. Seeing him advance, Adolf marches purposefully to cut him off, pushing other children out of his way. The camera cuts between them as they near the centre of the playground – hurling insults all the way

 

 

 

 

Teacher (Sternly): Good morning class, now before I take the register, I would like to talk about some of your behaviour recently. I don’t want to see any more fighting, pinching or hair pulling. When it comes to break time I want you all to play nicely together, not go off in to these silly gangs and cause trouble. Is that understood?

 

All (in chorus): Yes Miss Davenport.

 

Teacher: Well all right then. Timmy?

 

                                          Timmy is a typical 6-year-old

Winston: Fiend!

 

Hitler: Sanctimonious fool!

 

Winston: Murderous fascist!

 

Hitler: Vat’s ze matter, my chubby English friend? Are you still thinking about

ze time Clementine showed me her knickers over by ze paddling pool?

 

Winston: Mention Clementine again and I’ll knock your block off, Nazi swine!

 

Hitler: Ha! You vish, sausage-breath!

 

Before they can reach each other there is a shrill whistle to signify the end of

breaktime, and Miss Davenport appears between them. She grabs each of

            them by the ear and marches them back to the classroom

 

Teacher (briskly): Must you two boys constantly be at each other’s throats? Goodness, anyone would think there was a war on!

 

Back in the class room after break and it’s time for maths. Miss Davenport turns to the blackboard and draws a fiendish equation

 

Teacher: ... So class – who can tell me the value of x?

 

Pan across a sea of blank faces to the side of the classroom where a small paraplegic child in a specially-modified wheelchair with his head lolling to one side is desperately flapping a deformed arm

 

Teacher (exasperated): Someone other than Stephen? How about you Adolf?

 

Adolf (desperately counting on fingers): … I … erm … carry ze vun … nein … I give in! Sheisse!

 

Teacher (slightly patronisingly considering he is a 6 year old child): Put him out of his misery then, Stephen.

 

Stephen (high-pitched computerised voice): The value of x is seventeen, Miss Davenport. And may I say that is a lovely blouse you are wearing.

 

Teacher: Why, thank you! Correct yet again, Stephen! You’ve just earned yourself ANOTHER gold star!

 

Tight close-up on Adolf who is grim-faced

 

Adolf (inner voice): Ze cripple must die!