Friday afternoon and Billy Thomas was daydreaming of all the things he and the gang had to do over the weekend. He was jerked back to reality by a piece of chalk hitting him squarely on the forehead. Mr. Jenkins was bellowing at him, ”Pay attention boy. ”
A knocking at the door and a head poked around. A groan rippled around the class. It was Nitty Nora who had come to look for nits; always bad news. No one wanted the pink note telling their parents they had nits.
One by one they trudged into the hall for inspection. Nearly all of the class had pink notes. Disaster! Nora came into class declaring an epidemic and sent them all home. The boys huddled together, scratching as they walked, knowing their plans would come to nothing, each knowing what the weekend held.
Billy’s mother looked up. Billy held up the pink note. Leaping into action she dragged him off to the kitchen, head over the sink. Out came the nit comb. All along the street children could be heard squealing as they received the same treatment. Billy was sure his mother was taking the skin off his scalp.
Rushing upstairs, he found the bed was stripped. His mother was yelling at him to light the kindling under the boiler and fill it with water. Out came the flea powder, the mattress and pillows coated liberally. Up and down the village boilers were lit. In two hours lines in back yards were full of sheets and pillowcases, in varying shades of white.
As fathers came home to the news, chairs were put out the yard. Razors, shears, anything with a sharpish blade would do. Again, screams were heard throughout the village, as the shearing began with varying outcomes. All clothing got boiled. Each child sat in the kitchen in clean underwear while the mothers checked their heads again, before washing their hair in carbolic soap, just to be sure, even the ones with no hair left to speak of.
No child dared to come out over the weekend, as their mothers were convinced they would catch nits again from so and so. Monday morning heads covered in helmets, woollen hats and scarfs, wandered into school. Mr. Jenkins walked into the classroom. ”Right hats off everyone.” Protests erupted but he was adamant. Slowly they revealed their sheared heads. Some were quite nice as Millie’s mother was a hairdresser. Those who could afford it had gone to her. Boys on the other hand ranged from bald to tufts sticking out, to crewcuts. How they hated that unwelcome visitor .
