Our Queen Without a Crown

Our headmaster droned on and on dispersing his school assembly address with tiny smirks that came so frequently they might have been tics, his spittle sometimes floating down on the first form kids in the front row. There were a lot of male teachers in my years of secondary schooling at Wangaratta High that had spittle problems! Suddenly our ears picked up an interesting sentence in his boring monologue. The Queen was coming to Benalla! A steady hum spread throughout the assembled group. We will get a day off school! Wow!