MR KING I have never been able to figure out how to get up from the ground once I was down. It didn't take much to put me on the floor, I could slip, trip, tumble, go splatt. I was a genius at finding new ways to fall, exceptional in the many ways it could happen. The most frequent was the slip, a crutch would suddenly slide away from me and down I would go, and Chailey had many lovely polished floors just waiting for me to lose my concentration. I was short. I will proudly announce that I have never grown beyond 5 feet and 1 inch. Sometimes I will add an extra half inch to persuade myself that I am taller. My arms are short, my back is weak and, as so many people were in my youth, I was leather and steel, straps, buckles and laces from my shoulders to my toes. I was solid. Every girl needs a hero, and mine was Mr. King. I have never been sure what role he played at St. Martins. He was always smart, never untidy. His hair was smooth and I was convinced he used Brylcream. He used to say when I asked him what he did, "polishing shoes". I believed him. I also think he was in the navy and why do I say that? Whenever he got me under the arms and heaved me upright he would say " Two, Six, Heave." Like many others he suddenly wasn't there at the start of a term. I never saw him again. I wonder if he was the reason that, whenever I was sailing (which I did every chance I got) and we were pulling on the halliards, I would call out, "Two, Six, Heave.