TEACHER'S RELUCTANT HELPER

My ten year old daughter, Michelle is presently studying the Tudor period in her history project. One afternoon when collecting her from class, I happen to mention how well I did in history lessons when I was a schoolgirl. "I got a grade "A" for the Tudors, you know," I boast, not thinking of the possible consequences.

"Oh, really, Mrs. Kaye," teacher replies, eying me thoughtfully. "Well you'll just have to come with us next week on our trip to Shibden Hall near Halifax; we could do with someone who is obviously so knowledgeable along with us."

ME AND MY BIG MOUTH.

"Er... well, it was an awfully long tome ago, I've probably forgotten everything." I awkwardly try to back down, but too late, teacher has me in her clutches. There is no getting out of it now; it seems I'm going to be her helper for the day whether I like it or not.

"See you on Monday 9 am sharp!" Teacher bellows at me as she walks towards the staff-room with a broad grin on her face.

I retreat timidly across the playground, annoyed with myself for becoming inveigled by her. You'd think I'd know how to deal with teachers by now; after all I have four school age children and my husband is a teacher too, but they always seem to be one step ahead of me.
Monday morning arrives and it's almost like being back at school as we are all practically frog-marched onto the coach. I momentarily panic that I'll actually be mistaken for one of the children due to my shortness of stature or "Vertically challenged," as my husband delights in describing me. The kids nowadays are all so tall; sometimes it's as if I'm lost in some Brobdignag-like world - but I'd feel much more at home in Lilliput.

As we approach Shibden Hall I'm amazed that I've lived in Yorkshire for over sixteen years yet have never visited here before. Perhaps it really is one of those boring places no-one ever visits (except on school trips). I begin to wonder how many times I will surreptitiously look at my watch before the day eventually draws to a close and resign myself to my fate as I'm given the task of supervising a group of four children, one of which is my own daughter.

I try to memorise their names and faces and pray that I haven't been allocated the badly behaved ones. Michelle assures me she is the only badly behaved one in my group so that boosts my confidence slightly.

We are greeted at the main entrance to the house by a character in Tudor clothing who introduces herself as

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