| < Prev |
School For Scandal
Moving house also meant changing school. This excited me quite a lot, not least because I was getting away from the crap of one school. James went to another school too but his was the senior school which meant that he was moving further away from me. On the first day at our new schools he walked with me and left me outside the gate of mine. Anxiety pulsed through me as I braved my way in.
Looking at the other kids told me nothing about them. They were much as the kids had been in my previous school, except this school had a different name. This was Saint Winifred's Juniors, which I considered to be a soppy kind of name. My previous school had been Saint Alexander's. So, from Saint Alec's to Saint Winnie's - what a come down! Stepping into this new unknown brought with it new hazards and I was scared. I avoided all eye contact since I was quickly sussed out as being a 'new kid'. The yard was packed and I felt like I didn't belong. It wasn't long though before some kids began to talk with me. They were mainly little kids so I told them to piss off and concentrated on my body posture. It was vital to send out the right messages. Most of the little ones moved off but this one little kid hung around and was pushing his luck. I told him that if he didn't piss off I'd thump him one.
'I'll tell our Frannie on you,' he whined.
The name Frannie meant absolutely nothing to me but it obviously did to the onlooking kids. Their faces told me that Frannie must be the hard case of the school. Shit! I'd only been in the place five minutes. What the hell, I'd known that I'd be tested out. James and I had discussed it frequently beforehand.
'Who the fuck's Frannie?' I sneered.
Saying 'fuck' was crucial. I had to be as hard as anyone in the yard.
'He's my big brother,' said the stupid little kid.
'An' he's cock of the school,' said another.
Holy shit! I was in it. Brave it out, I told myself. I had nothing to lose. I could take a good hiding and not cry.
'Fuck off! Go on, fuck off, you smarmy little git.'
He went dashing off, no doubt looking for Frannie. I lost sight of him as he went. It was important that I didn't follow him with my eyes for the others would have sussed that I was scared stiff. I was, but there was no way I intended for them to see that. All the swearing was hard work but if I wanted to survive this place there was no choice. Then I saw the little kid. He was leading the way over to me. Behind him came four other kids all about my own age. I figured the big kid in front to be Frannie. He looked as though he could take care of himself, but then so could I. Here goes your first fight, I told myself, so fight to win. I put my back against the wall and waited. As they got closer I picked on the one I'd figured to be Frannie and stared at him right between his eyes. When they were about six feet away I spat on the floor directly in front of him. He lost eye contact for a fraction of a second and I knew I had the edge. If the others didn't join in I could take him. My heart was pounding, my breathing erratic.
'Who are you?' Frannie demanded to know.
'Who's asking?' I countered to the space between his eyes.
'I am,' he returned to the same space between mine.
'Who are you?' I challenged.
'He's Frannie!' said the little kid.
Frannie acknowledged his introduction with a shrug of his shoulders and a butting gesture of his head. He was confident enough but this was his turf. Using exactly the same gestures I said, 'I'm Richie!'
There was no avoiding it now. There had to be a fight. I'd called his bluff and he'd called mine. There was no other honorable way out. I prepared to get the first kick to his balls. I knew that if got me first I'd be the lowest of the low for the rest of my school career. I had the slight advantage of being unknown and my adrenaline level was high. The thought of backing down didn't enter into my head. I'd had fights with bigger kids than this and done okay for myself. I knew that I'd be fighting for a position in the school and I was ready to fight like a cat. I also had the advantage of being ready for this moment for weeks, ever since I'd known that I was changing schools. He'd only had seconds to prepare. I could take him, I knew it. I spat on the ground again and was just about to send in the first kick when one of Frannie's henchmen said:
'I'd watch it if I was you. Frannie's cock of the school.'
I looked to the face which spoke and said, 'Who the fuck asked you?'
'He's with me,' said Frannie.
'Need more than one do you?' I mocked.
'No I fucking well don't! Get this straight, smart arse,
I'm the fucking cock around here...'
Before he could go on, I said: 'For the time being pal. You've not fucking beaten me yet. So don't push your fucking luck unless you can back it up on your fucking own!'
Absolute silence. Everyone, me included, waited for the fight to start. He wasn't in a good position to get a clear kick of my balls, I'd made sure of that. But I could get a kick at his the moment he moved.
'What's your name?' asked the henchman. 'Richie McMullen. Why?'
This seemed to have quite an effect on them. It was as though they'd heard of me. I went through the shoulder shuffle again and spat on the floor again.
'Go and get Richie,' commanded Frannie, smiling.
So he did need more than one, the bastard. Eye contact was maintained but he was smiling a weird kind of smile. Was he backing down? The henchman brought the other kid over. Everyone was amused and waited for Frannie to speak.
'Richie McMullen meet Richie McMullen!'
Everyone was laughing in a kind of wonder. The tension disappeared instantly. There wasn't going to be a fight. Everyone was telling everyone else that the new kid had the same name as Richie McMullen. My namesake and I fumbled for words to talk with each other. He struck me as being a really nice guy. I discovered that his middle name was David and I told him that mine was John. This was how teachers came to identify us throughout our remaining school years. Frannie and I checked each other out whilst all this new found excitement was going on. Neither he nor I had lost any face so we let it go at that. I'm not sure who was the more relieved. I was to be in the same class as both Frannie and my namesake. Both he and I became kind of celebrities. Not only for having the same names but for both having stood up to Frannie. It was weird and kind of magical. You know what I mean? My standing up to Frannie was enough of a warning to any other kid that I was no easy pushover in a fight. I'd survived the yard. Now, all I had to do was to survive the teachers.
The kids had warned me that the form teacher, Dickie Moss, was a bit of a bastard, so when I joined the class I attempted to get a seat in the back. The teacher spotted me though and made room for me to sit in the front row, directly in front of him. I hadn't tried to get a back seat to hide from him or anything like that. What I was trying to do was find a place where I could get a view of the class. I wanted to see how the kids reacted to the teacher. As it was I had to rely upon my ears and the atmosphere for clues. The teacher looked me over and I looked away. No point in pushing my luck, right? I could feel his eyes burning into me and I got the message when he placed his cane in front of him on his desk. I thought him kind of clever the way he got his message across. I'd have to watch myself with this guy. I'd heard in the yard that he was some kind of war hero. His wrist bone was huge and looked kind of weird the way it stuck out. I thought of how difficult it must be for him to get a sweater over it.
On the third morning we began the day as usual. First with prayers, then the register and then an hour of religious instruction. We recited standard answers to standard questions from the Catechism. You know the sort of thing, 'Who made you?' 'God made me.' 'Why did God make you?' 'God made to know him, love him...' Anyway I think you get the message. So repetitive was this routine that I could allow my mind to drift off some place whilst reciting the answers. Suddenly I was on the spot. He'd asked me a question and I hadn't caught what he'd said. He began to walk up and down between the rows of desks. The class remained deathly quiet.
'When you're ready McMullen. I'm in no hurry.'
I could feel him standing behind me. If I told him I hadn't heard the question he would know that I'd not been paying attention. Before long his bony wrist hit my neck very hard and my face hit the desk just as hard.
'Pay attention!'
What to do? What to say? All the other kids could see what happened and I had another four years of school to get through. I must do something. I was in pain and I'd just about had enough of grown-ups anyway.
'Who the hell do you think you're hitting?'
He wasted not a single second in his reply. He grabbed and hauled me out towards his desk. He was a strong son of a bitch too. Picking up his cane with his free hand he told me to put my hand out. I couldn't lose face in front of the class and I had to prove that I could take whatever this war hero could dish out. Besides, I was a bit of a war hero in my own right. I put my hand out and kept the thumb lower than the fingers. I looked at him directly in the eyes but his attention was on my hand. I counted six blows. Six stinging painful blows. I didn't even flinch. I'd beaten the sod at his own game just as I'd often done with my father. Nonetheless, I was pleased that break was still some way off. It would give me a chance to recover. He asked me another question. I knew the answer but refused to speak. He made some snide remark which some of the kids giggled like girls about and left it at that. For the rest of the lesson I allowed my mind to ask questions. Questions like, is it fair that such a big man should be allowed to beat an eleven-year-old boy with his hands or with a stick? The answer was simple, no! But what could an eleven-year-old kid do about it? Perhaps more than they bargained for.
At playtime Frannie and his gang congratulated me, which I was grateful for. I stayed around with them for only a short time before putting my plan into action. Making sure that no one saw me I headed back inside the building and into the classroom. I took the cane and with all my strength I broke it into pieces. I cursed as I did it. To this day I consider that act to be the bravest thing I've ever done. I knew all too well, you see, what would happen when they found out. So incensed with rage was I that I went to each classroom in turn and did the same thing. I wiped my eyes of the sweat, or was it tears, and went back into the yard in just enough time to hear the whistle. As we lined up in our class rows in the yard a teacher went up to the headmaster and whispered something to him. I was the only kid in the school who could guess what it was about. That made me feel strong. Then the headmaster addressed us all:
'Go back to your classrooms. Sit quietly and wait.'
All the kids were glancing around them to see if anyone knew what was going on. In our classroom, we waited our turn in silence. Ten minutes later the headmaster, the deputy headmaster and our teacher came in.
'During playtime canes were broken in this and other classrooms and I want the person responsible to stand up.'
Don't ask me why. To this day I still don't know why but I stood up. There was a general gasp of amazement in the class and I was taken off by the headmaster to his room. I knew what was to happen. He was going to beat the living daylights out of me but I didn't give a damn. I followed him through the school into the administration section where his office was situated. In his room, on his desk, was the best sight I've ever seen in my life. There, in all their glory, were the broken and twisted canes.
'Did you do this?' he asked, pointing to his desk.
'Yes,' I said without saying 'sir'.
He looked at me with searching eyes as he sat down behind the canes. I nearly burst out laughing, or was it crying? His face formed question after question. He nodded to the deputy headmaster who left the room and closed the door.
'Why?'
I thought it the most stupid question a grown man could ask a small boy. It didn't deserve an answer. I said nothing. That was the best answer I felt I could give. His face changed a thousand times as he searched mine.
'You went around each classroom and... did this?'
'Yes.'
He looked lost in thought.
'Were you caned this morning?'
'Yes.'
The fact that he couldn't see what was plainly obvious made me laugh secretly with contempt.
'A teacher must have control of his class and the cane is a symbol of his authority...'
Here we go. Here comes all the shit. I interrupted him in full flight: 'It's not fair. I mean, it's just not fair!'
'That's the way things are, McMullen, fair or not.'
'It's not fair, that's all.'
It amazed me that I could talk this way to such a powerful man. I was beginning to feel good.
'A teacher must have control, respect...'
'What, by hitting kids! Hitting kids with... Respect? Who can respect a man who hits kids? It's daft,' I countered with unashamed anger.
'Yes, McMullen, respect. That is the way things are and what you've done is no way to change things. Teachers must have respect.'
I was still angry.
'Respect? Ugh! You mean just because they're bigger they can hit us when they want. They can just hit us. I bet you don't hit them when they've done something wrong, right? Yea! No, I bet you don't. It's just kids. Right? It's always kids.'
My anger was allowing me to say things I didn't think I was capable of. I was furious. So much so that I lost control and began to cry. I repeated my claim that it was 'just kids' over and over again, because that's the way it was. As I began to calm down he told me to sit down. I became confused. Where was the beating? His voice was gently telling me to sit down. It was weird. I sat down and broke into deep sobs. I was furious with myself for letting this man see just how vulnerable I was. I cried for what seemed an age. When I stopped he asked me, 'Does your father hit you?'
I wanted to scream out loud - Of course he fucking well hits me! You all hit me.' This answer was bouncing around in my head but I said, 'Of course not. My father's not like you lot.'
'What, not even the odd slap on the legs?' he teased.
'No! My father has never laid a finger on me in my life... He's always taking us out and... buying us things and... He never hits us... Never! He's...'
I was cracking up. I dried up. The headmaster didn't ask any more questions and told me that he wasn't going to punish me and furthermore that the class teacher would be instructed not to hit me again. This man had seen right through my defences but had left them intact. I was grateful and nodded my thanks. He allowed me to sit in the office for quite some time and even gave me a glass of milk. I fell asleep in the chair and he woke me to tell me that I could go home.
'Tell your mother that I said it was okay for you to go home. If she's worried she can telephone me.'
I went instead to the park and fell fast asleep in the sun. I dreamt of my father. You know I was telling you about how I wanted to look brave in front of the class when I was caned? Well, that was true but I left something out. It's the bit about not being able to answer the teacher's question. Well, anyway I'd always been real scared of answering questions for fear of getting the answers wrong. I guess it was to do with my father. The way he'd ask questions there was always a trick in it, if you know what I mean. No matter what answer I gave him, he'd have me. I just couldn't win. Everything was a kind of test, a game he'd play with my mind and he really scared me when he did it. It would get so that I thought I'd lied because I gave the wrong answer. Whatever it was it was the wrong answer and he'd end up belting me. Anyway, that's what I dreamt about in the park that day.
After less than a year at this new school we had to do an exam called the eleven-plus. One look at the paper and I wanted to die. These other kids must be as clever as anything. I looked at the paper and knew that whatever answer I put down would be wrong. I know it makes no damn sense now but I froze. I put my name and the date at the top of the paper and that was that. I froze. I simply couldn't commit myself to paper. They'd have me then, see? I looked at the questions and tried to figure out what the trick was. I couldn't. Not one of the other kids in the class passed the eleven-plus either. Each and every one of us were transferred to Saint Winifred's senior school.
At the senior school we were the little kids now and had to watch our step with all the bigger kids. It was a weird place. There was this teacher there who used to make us stand real close to him behind his desk while he marked our papers and things. His elbow used to rub in the middle of our pants just like the old guy in the picture house. Well, perhaps not in the same way. I mean the old guy had been more honest about it really. This teacher pretended that it was just an accident. Sometimes he would take a boy into the stock room for the whole lesson. I was as curious as anything about what went on but not one of the kids in the class ever spoke about it, I guess because we kind of knew. That teacher suddenly left. He just didn't show up one day and the caretaker came to clear things out of his desk.
Shortly after that a policeman came to talk to us about not taking sweets and money from strangers or getting in their cars with them. I have to confess to being somewhat intrigued by all of this. Nonetheless, I also felt really quite guilty too because he kind of implied that if these things happened to us it was our own fault for not doing the right thing. He told us that 'the family' was the one place of safety we had and we should tell our parents if anything was troubling us. He had to be joking. Why, I wondered, had no mysterious stranger offered me sweets or money from some luxury car? You could be sure of one thing, from now on I'd keep a lookout for this mysterious stranger.
The next week we had a similar talk but this time from a priest. He went on and on about the sins of the flesh and about how evil it all was. I got a hard-on. All his talk about sex and stuff, well what did he expect? I got the hard-on and it wouldn't go down. Shit! What if he asked me a question? I mean, you always had to stand when you answered a priest. I was one of those people he was talking about. A sinner. A dirty-minded sinner who would burn in hell for my sins of the flesh. It still wouldn't go down. I began to recite the Lord's Prayer. It was still up. I tried thinking of other things but my view was always blocked by this giant erect penis in my vision. I looked at the priest as he thumped the table and there it was, the penis, huge and erect. My thoughts went to the gym teacher who always checked to see that we weren't wearing any underpants. He would pull our shorts away from our bellies and look down. When he slapped us with his slipper he always stroked the creases out of our shorts first and he would wait at the bottom of the ropes while we climbed both up and down. He would let his hands slip under the shorts. I lost the hard-on. I earnestly prayed that I would stop having dirty thoughts and even went to confession on the way home and told the priest about them. He told me to say three 'Our Father's and three 'Hail Mary's and one 'Glory Be'. He also advised me to join the scouts.
| < Prev |