“Men of Harlech -ch -ch -ch,” says Bryn Jones to his class of Timorese trainee pilots. They struggle to reproduce the rasping sound at the back of their throats. One produces a packet of tissues and hands it along the row of desks.

“Bloody frustrating this,” Jones mutters to our reporter. “First six nations victory since 2013 and everyone’s talking about the new Avengers film.”

“Ever fancied a game of rugby, Ramos?” Jones addresses a portly students, beads of sweat clustering at his temples as he realises he is expected to reply. “You’d make a fine prop forward you would.”

“Prop…” the student begins, tentatively. “Propeller?”

A few moments later, Jones is trying to demonstrate the workings of a scrum by having Ramos (no last name) link arms with two of his classmates and lean their shoulder against the legs of the table, which collapses.

“You’ve got the idea anyway. You’d have got the ball there if you’d hooked in time.”

As the bell rings, Jones continues to hum Men of Harlech to himself as he gathers up the worksheets he never got round to using.

“It’d be great to have a couple of English colleagues. Where are they when you need them? There’s an Aussie bird but she only follows the tennis.”

With a sigh, Jones leaves the classroom, strains of Bread of Heaven echoing along the corridor as he goes to his next lesson.

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