The Late Miss Dorothy May

“I’ll come get you if I can. If I don’t, it means I’m dead. Or late.”

Monsters vs. Aliens (2009) 

We’re now a couple of weeks into September. My younger siblings are back at school, my university Freshers’ Week begins on Monday,¹ and there’s a general sense of an approaching return to humdrum, routine normality after the change of pace afforded by the summer holiday. I find that the start of the autumn term always has a crispness, a blankness, about it – it appeals to my deep-seated human desire for a new start. And so, as a child returning to school, I used to promise myself that this year, I would be organised, I would get all my homework done with time to spare, I would remember to get my planner signed,² I would keep my exercise books neat, I would not be late.

Here we have a picture of a clock, showing roughly the time I would quite likely arrive at something that was supposed to start at 8:15.

I’m awfully good at being late – not dramatically, hopelessly late, just by a few minutes. Contributing factors to this situation include my dislike of being early (I have a dread of having to wait around awkwardly before whatever event I’m attending actually begins) and my fondness for staying in bed. Nevertheless, I still find myself greeting the new academic year with a resolution to be on time. Who knows? Maybe I’ll actually get better at it this year.

As a tribute to this resolution, and because I rather robbed myself of blog-writing time this week by spending it in rural Cornwall³ (which I suppose means, rather ironically, that I left it too late to write a proper post about lateness), I thought you might enjoy a poem I wrote a few years ago called ‘Exploits of Dorothy May’.⁴

So, tell me, then, Miss Dorothy May –

Why have you come in so late today?

I’m terribly sorry, Miss, truly I am –

I was leaving the house when, from out of her pram,

My two-year-old sister fell onto the floor,

And rolled down the hallway and out through the door.

I reached out to stop her before she went far;

She rolled into the road, almost under a car…

I managed to reach her with seconds to spare,

Then fainted away on the pavement just there,

So severe was my shock. When, at last, I came round,

I looked at my watch and I gasped when I found

I was five minutes late – but I’m sure you’ll agree

That, in this situation, you can’t punish me.

Miss Dorothy May, you’re late again!

Perhaps you’d be good enough as to explain?

Oh, Miss, an apology most, most sincere –

I was leaving the house when I happened to hear

A commotion of some kind at number sixteen

And felt I had no choice but to intervene.

In the garden, a very small fire had begun

When a spectacle lens focussed light from the sun.

Well, I say very small – it was starting to spread

And had already burned the chrysanthemum bed.

I had to do something, so took out my juice

From my lunchbox: I hoped it would be of some use.

I tipped it out over the fire, which died.

That’s the reason I’m not here on time, Miss. I tried.

Miss Dorothy May, here you are, late once more!

You won’t mind informing us why, I am sure!

I could not be more sorry, indeed I could not!

I was leaving the house, had set off at a trot,

When a spaniel ran past me, purloining my bag,

And then went on its way with a bark and a wag.

For a second, I stood there, too startled to blink,

Then I swallowed my panic and made myself think.

Assuming the spaniel would not change direction,

I worked out a short cut and planned interception.

As fortune would have it, I timed it just right.

I caught hold of my bag, pulled with all of my might,

And successfully prised it from slavering jaws,

Then I had to run back here – my lateness’ cause.

Miss Dorothy May! Yet again, you are late!

I suspect, due to more strange, surprise twists of fate?

Miss, all the apologies under the sun!

I was leaving the house, had decided to run

To make sure I would be here in plenty of time,

When I happened to witness a terrible crime.

With trembling fingers, I dialled 999.

The police wanted statements, and documents signed.

I knew I’d no time and I tried to explain,

But gave in when they asked me again and again.

It turns out, what I’d witnessed was part of a top-

Secret MI5 case, which is simply called Op. –

I’ve said too much already; I can’t tell you this!

They have sworn me to secrecy. So sorry, Miss.

Miss Dorothy May! So, you’ve got here at last!

Well, what was it today? Some new law has been passed

Making lateness compulsory only for you?

Did you end up entrapped when you walked through some glue?

Were you passing the river and jumped in to save

Some unfortunate soul from a watery grave?

Maybe bandits attacked you and stole all your books,

Or perhaps it was pirates with peg-legs and hooks.

You got stuck in a time warp and just made it out?

You were chased across town by malevolent trout?

Abduction by aliens? Meteor storm?

Well, go on, then, explain to the rest of the form!

Oh, Miss, I’m so sorry I feel I could weep –

Today, I … er … happened to just oversleep.

Footnotes

¹ I’m fairly sure the relevant pages on the Students’ Guild website didn’t look this snazzy for my Freshers’ Week: http://www.exeterguild.org/freshers/.

² Up until Sixth Form, everyone at my secondary school had a school-issued homework planner which we had to have signed every week by a parent or guardian, supposedly for our parents or guardians to indicate their approval of the amount of homework we were receiving. I have no idea how normal a system this was.

³ Not that I regret doing so one iota – it was a week away with other students from my church and it was utterly excellent. We read a book called Heart Attitudes by Graham Beynon (http://www.ivpbooks.com/9781783591718), which definitely had a lot of valuable stuff to say, but above all I loved spending time with a bunch of wonderful people who love Jesus, and so being pointed back to him.

⁴ Just to be clear, Dorothy May is a fictional character invented entirely for the purpose of this poem. Her name is of no significance: it was simply convenient for scansion and sounded rather pleasing. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, or whatever the disclaimer is.