7
Whitmore is a centre of learning, Melmidoc had said. He had banged on a bit about this point, smugly self-satisfied about all the academics (even from our Britain!) who flocked to the Centre of Government for the North on the fifth Britain. Not only politically effective but scholastically, too. Lovely. Excellent.
Only, when Miss Makepeace pulled up on the cliff-top over the sea for our second visit there, it did not much resemble either of those things.
The first thing that attracted our notice was the music. It pulsed through the floor, a thumping beat reverberating through Millie’s crumbly old walls, and somewhere out there was a large crowd of people raucously singing.
Millie approved. I gathered this from the way she immediately began singing along.
I didn’t, so much.
Crunch t
