It had been Tolerance Week at St Eton's Primary School. Word had got round the village that the posh boys were bullying the Oiks from St Abbot's Primary on the council estate, and the local paper the Daily Mudrake had a reporter outside the gates of both schools looking for a story.
Outside the Head's office sat Mrs Fry and Mrs Cameron, waiting for their husbands to come to take them home. Mrs Fry was sobbing quietly into her hanky, but Mrs Cameron was aloof and looked into the middle distance, her coral lipstick just beginning to melt.
The Head had been furious. Both boys had been standing outside St Abbott's Primary heckling the parents.
'Bag Lady, Bag Lady!', young Stephen had been chanting in a sneering voice at an unfortunate mother, who although she prided herself on sewing every stitch of her children's clothing, sometimes forgot to put on make-up and high heels at the school gate.
'Where'd ya get yer suit, where'd ya get yer suit?
Yer look like a dustman yer ug-ly brute!'.
A pleasant chap with a beard who worked at the local library had phoned St Eton's to complain, and had been able to describe a boy with a new shiny suit very like young David's birthday suit that Grannie had bought him two weeks ago. But Mrs Cameron knew that young David couldn't possibly have been so rude. He didn't even know what a dustman was.
The two Mummies sat and waited for the two Daddies. Privately, each of them decided to move their boys to a school that had a little more sense and tact. Didn't the school realise just how precious their little ones were?