Barefoot and Lost (23 page)

     My desk mate has written Rodney and like me has turned his paper over, and is looking blankly at it. I write, Orphaned, live in a Children’s home. Sussex County 50 metre breaststroke record holder, boxer, which has taken all of five minutes, I can’t think of another thing to write, other kids seem to be writing furiously.
Rodney
still hasn’t written a thing, Dad in the Navy killed on the Repulse Mum killed by doodlebug. That is not my history; I have to write about me. Lived in Harrow moved t
o Hastings Gran died- ‘One minu
t
e
’ came to Pen Dalton, sexually abused, I can’t write that; I’m in the process of scribbling it out when Sir calls, ‘Time.’

    
Rodney
and I are in the front row, our papers are gathered first. As he lifts the paper he reads the name out aloud and continues around the class, stacking the papers as he goes. 

     The rest of the morning is spent explaining the
system, how we move to specific
rooms for specific classes, we have to copy a chart from the board, showing when and where we should be, we also have to copy a diagram of the school layout. Sir explains that, as well as being our form master, he is also our mathematics teacher, therefore to save moving around, each morning will commence with the first period being Math’s. Periodically Sir walks up to a boy and asks, how are you doing
John
or
Thomas
,
Frederick
or
Charlie
? So far I don’t think he has any wrong. When he collected our papers he said, ‘
Rodney
, do you mind if I call you Rod?’

     ‘Actually I do Sir; I don’t like my name being abbreviated.’

     ‘Very well
Rodney
’ a couple of kids laugh, someone puts on an affected accent ‘Actually Sir’

     ‘That’s enough of that, settle down. What about you
Phillip
do you prefer
Phil
?’

     ‘Yes please Sir.’ A bell sounds in the corridor Sir raises his voice, ‘Look at your program, ensure you know where you are going this afternoon. Those of you having school dinners make your way to the dining room; I will see you here tomorrow morning.’

    
Mr.
Simmons
is waiting at the dining room, he tells us to quickly eat our meal and join him in the assembly hall. The meal is good, far better than the stuff they dish up at St S’s but the kids that live at home think the food is terrible the boy next to me hardly touches his, pushing it away. ‘Are you going to eat that?’ I ask, he looks at me as though I have just dropped in by parachute.’

      ‘What that muck not likely.’

      ‘Can I have it?’ He gives me an even stranger look.

      ‘If you want; your mum must be a terrible cook if you like that muck.’

      ‘I don’t have a mum, you should come and eat at
Saint
Stephens
, and then you would change your mind about the food.’ Turning to the boy next to him he laughs and says,

     ‘Ere
Fred
, we got one of them bloody orphans here thinks he’s bloody
Oliver
Twist
. Please sir
,
can I---.’ Jack sitting on his other side, grabs the kids hair, cut
ting him off in mid sentence,
slamming him face down into the food he has just pushed aside. ‘There I knew you would like it if you tried. Sorry I’ve ruined your second helping
Phil
.’

      ‘That’s okay
Jack
, I haven’t got time to eat it anyway.’

    
Mr.
Simmons
is seated in a corner with four other chairs arranged around him. ‘Come and sit down lads, I have read the note you gave me several times, and found it appalling and, no doubt what you are about to tell me will shock me even more. I want you to tell me your experience with Mr Flynn and any other information you may have, no gossip, only your own experience, bearing in mind we haven’t much time so Toby will you start off, I will make notes

      Between us we tell him everything about PT, and about the other boys that are
Flynn
’s favourites who are too scared to speak out, I tell him about my experience in detail and how Lion beat him, knocking him into the bath.
Brian
tells about Lion’s experience over months, and about the in his mouth bit. Whenever I hear or think of that, I can’t help but feel sick; to me it is such a relief to get it off my chest. I felt relieved when I wrote to Pop but, somehow, this feeling is better. The bell sounds ‘Okay you must go now, say nothing about this meeting, I know now what I intend to do. Trust
me I will talk to you tonight at lights out.
’

     After some difficulty,
Rodney
and I find 3B for our English period. He seems to want to be my friend, even though he looks past me when he speaks. He is a bit of a drip but is a wizard at maths, so being his desk mate, and now a friend, may be a good thing. Our teacher is a very elderly man, must be sixty five at least. His black suit is older than my blazer and, like mine hangs off his shoulders but, unlike mine he will never grow into his. His baggy trousers sag down both legs to rest on top of his dirty shoes; if the suit had been grey they would look like elephants legs. Under the jacket he is wearing a fawn coloured, woollen cardigan even though it is September. His scrawny neck protrudes through his butterfly, lapel collar, creating the image of a vulture. His voice booms and each word is very precisely pronounced. If you were unable to see him you would assume the voice was coming from a much larger, younger man. ‘My name is Mr Royale wi
th an EEE, you will call me Sir.
I will refer to you by your family name.’ Pointing to the boy on my right he says, ‘What is your name boy?’

     ‘
Alec
Coulter Sir
.’

     ‘Very well Coulter you, and everyone else, when you ask a question, precede the question with your surname for example, in Coulter’s case it will be; Coulter how many I’s are there in Mississippi Sir. Is that clear?’ a mumble of Yes Sir, rumbles around the classroom.

     ‘Dickens, Charles Dickens, the nineteenth century author, born in eighteen hundred and twelve, lived, as a child, not so very far from here, in Chatham. We are going to read his novel,
‘
A Tale of Two
Cities,
’
it will be our study book this term
for English literature. You will each, in turn read a passage aloud, I will ask questions about that passage, you will digest it, make notes about it and fully understand its content. Learn it well, is that understood?
’
Yes Sir mumbles around the room. Pointing at
Rodney
and me, ‘You two, boys take fifteen each of those books stacked on my desk and distribute one to each boy.’
Rodney
gathers up his pile and promptly drops them on the floor, with a fluster he gathers them up amid the laughter from most of the class.

     The books are about seven by five inches, very old, the red hardback covers have broken corners, and spines, the pages are very thin, almost like tissue paper, the print is extremely small.
Mr.
Royale
, once again, points with his ruler at
Rodney
, ‘Boy, read the first few lines of chapter one, aloud, so everyone can hear you.’

     ‘
Archer
Sir
: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.’

     ‘Next.’

     ‘Snell Sir; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness. It was the spring of hope; it was the winter of despair.’

     ‘What do you think all that means?’ not one hand is raised
, ‘Think about it’ I can almost
hear the brains churning over, but all I can think of is how much Royale looks like a vulture. ‘If you put two opposites together what do you have in the middle’ Silence, once again no hands go up, the expressions on faces range from confused to, what the hell is the old fool talking about? Then Rod puts up his hand,

     ‘
Archer
; normality, Sir.’

     ‘Well done
Archer
, I am pleased to see at least one brain has kicked into gear.’ From thereon each sentence is read some over and over again, until the reader reads the words correctly. We get to the bit about a young man having his hands chopped off as a punishment when thankfully; the bell in the corridor sounds and saves us all.

     The science room is a new, single storey flat roofed building at the rear of the school. There are no desks, only long benches with high stools.
Mr.
Cochrane
, our teacher, is a young, well built, sandy haired man; he has high cheek bones and a broad smile. His hands and wrists are like
Peters
, wrinkled and shiny; I can tell he has been in a fire. He stands patiently, waiting for us to sort ourselves out and stop talking. ‘I thought I was in the wrong place I was convinced I was at the girl’s school, with all that mindless chatter going on. My name is
Mr
Cochrane
but, as it is the rule in this school you will call me Sir. I will call you by your first name; it will take me a while to learn them s
o, if I get it wrong, forgive,
and correct me.’

     He gives the black board a heave, it clatters up, and drops down behind another board, drawn on it are two diagrams the heading is. The internal combustion engine. The rest of the afternoon is spent learning about the difference between a two stroke and a four stroke engine. Rod doesn’t appear to be interested at all he is just staring into space, picking the pimples on his cheek, one is quite red and looks very sore, he seems oblivious to this and just picks away. I can’t bear to look and half turn my back to him. The bell on the wall signals end of lessons and the end of my first day at TSM.

     ‘
Rachel
, how is
Miriam
, is that house mother just being nice?’

     ‘Yes
Phil
, it’s great because I can now do all the things I want without having to worry about Mir.’ We are on the school van, on our way back to St S’s and St Gabs.

     ‘How was school today
Phil
, was it your first day like me?’

     ‘Good, yeah
it was my first day and I think I am going to like it, the English teacher is a bit weird though.’

     ‘Why, in what way?’

     ‘Oh, he looks like a vulture and booms like a fog horn that’s all.’

     ‘
Phil
, you say the strangest things. We have a weird cookery teacher, she is Dutch she is nine feet six tall and speaks with a funny accent.’

     ‘Nine foot six?’

     ‘No, not really, but she must be six foot at least. My Dad was six foot two and she looks taller than he was. She is very nice; her name is nearly as big as she is.’

      ‘Why, what is it?’

      ‘
Wilhelmina
Hagenblom
; thank goodness we only have to call her Miss.’

      ‘What a mouthful, my Gran would never have been able to say that.’

     ‘Why not?’

     ‘Because her teeth would have fallen out, that’s why’

     ‘Oh
Phil
, you are a laugh, I like you very much, you make me laugh.’ I can feel my ears going red, I hope so much that
Rachel
can’t see them; I don’t want to look a fool.

     ‘I like you very much too; can we always sit together on the van?’

     ‘I would like that
Phil
’

     ‘Hey
Phil
, why are you blushing, what has your girl friend said to make you blush?’

     ‘Shut it Toby or I’ll bash you one.’ Oh God I wish I hadn’t said that.

    
Mr.
Simmons
as promised has come to us at lights out. His face is very grave, the laughter he normally has around his eyes has gone. ‘I have given this considerable thought, it would seem that,
Mr.
Flynn
has been given leave of absence for no apparent reason, therefore, the problem may be more deep rooted than I can imagine. I; like you boys, am not sure who I can speak to here at Saint Stephens, so I have made an appointment with the authorities at County hall on Monday, my day off, that way I won’t arouse suspicion by taking time off.’