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Then there was a loud bang on the door of the classroom. Giesma dropped the chalk in shock. Marga turned round with a questioning look in her eyes, as if she could feel what I was planning.

‘Open ze door!’ yelled André from the back of the class. Joost dropped forward laughing, with his face in his arms. Giesma went to the door and, for a second, checked that his bow tie was straight. Berghout, the principal, peered into the classroom, the strands of hair falling across his balding head, and grinned with satisfaction at the effect of his sledgehammer blow.

Next to him stood a black boy.

‘Come in,’ said Giesma.

Berghout went over to the spot behind the teacher’s desk, followed by the black boy, who was wearing a shiny light-blue shirt and trousers with wide legs that had a slight sheen and a red stripe down the side. He swung his hips loosely.

‘Boney M,’ whispered Joost.

The boy seemed shy, yet at the same time exuded self-confidence.

Marga turned round to me again. Her beautiful lips formed three excited words: ‘He’s black!’