The Flyer (2 page)

‘I want to stay with you.’

‘You’ll come home in the holidays, Will, I promise, and then it’ll be like old times. You and me. It’ll be grand, you’ll see.’

William blinked back his tears because he knew his dad wanted him to be happy.

Reynolds put his big, calloused hand gently on his son’s shoulder. ‘There you are, see. It’ll be alright in the end. I know it will.’ He turned and pretended to tap his pipe into the fire so William wouldn’t see him wipe his eyes.

CHAPTER 2

It was September when the train took them to Oundle. They passed by the River Nene, and from the carriage windows saw the town looking out over the water meadows and the fields of the surrounding farmland.

Reynolds was uncomfortable in the collar and tie he wore beneath a heavy jacket. It was a warm day. The smells of sweat and work and tobacco lingered about him, though he had filled the bathtub in front of the fire that morning and scrubbed his skin until it was raw. He gripped the rim of his hat in both hands, twisting it with fingers darkened with grime that no amount of scrubbing would remove.

William felt equally uncomfortable in his new clothes. His granddad had sent instructions about what would be needed and the name of a shop in Northampton where an account had been arranged. As well as his school uniform, William had been fitted with an entire wardrobe of clothes and shoes. He hadn’t been allowed to bring any of his old things at all. Not even his socks or underwear.

They hired a cart and driver to take them up the hill. A pair of tall iron gates stood at the entrance to the school. It was the day before term began and other boys were arriving too. A motor car stopped at the foot of the steps and the driver, who wore a chauffeur’s uniform and cap, went to find somebody to help unload a trunk from the back. A boy of thirteen climbed out and waved to somebody he knew.

‘Hello Pritchard, how are you? It’s awfully good to see you again. When did you get here?’

‘I came on the train this morning. We’re in the same dorm by the way, I’ve already checked.’

‘Good show! Where’s Griffin, have you seen him yet?’

‘Yes he was over by the quad earlier.’

The two wandered off. It was all very strange and new to William. The boys spoke in a grown up way, and they all sounded like the boy and girl who lived at the manor in the village. Sometimes William and the other children used to climb the big chestnut tree on the green so they could see over the manor wall and watch the boy and girl playing games on the grass. If the boy saw them he would turn to his sister and say that those dirty ruffians were spying on them again, and that they ought to fetch Jones the gardener to see them off. The boy was away at school except in the holidays. William supposed he must go to a school like this one. Perhaps he might even be here, though William hoped not

Reynolds looked around for somebody to ask where William should go, and spoke to a boy of perhaps seventeen who appeared to be directing people.

The boy consulted a list, and ignoring Reynolds said to William, ‘You must be a new boy. Let’s see… Reynolds, yes here you are. You’re in Lakston, first year dorm. It’s over there, the last building by the playing fields. Have your man take your trunk over there and get yourself settled in.’

William realised that the boy thought his dad was a servant, but the boy strode off before William could correct his mistake.

‘Come on, Will,’ Reynolds said quietly.

When they found Lakston house, the cart driver helped to carry William’s trunk to the dorm on the third floor where William would sleep. It was difficult to climb the stairs with his crutch, but eventually he managed. He passed other boys who looked at him curiously, but nobody spoke to him. The dorm was deserted. Each of the beds was surrounded by a curtain and wood panelling to form a small cubicle. Some had already been claimed. Trunks had been placed inside and in some cases partially unpacked. As Reynolds paid the cart driver, a boy of about eleven came in.

‘Hello, are you a first year too?’ he said to William. ‘I’m Thompson, how do you do?’

William shook the proffered hand uncertainly.

‘What’s your name?’

‘William Reynolds.’

Thompson looked at him in puzzled surprise, and William knew it was because of the way he spoke.

‘We don’t know which bed he should have,’ Reynolds said, though it sounded much more like ‘
We dunt know whuch bed he should ‘ave
.’

Without acknowledging Reynolds at all, Thompson addressed William directly. ‘I think you can take any one you like, so long as nobody has beaten you to it.’

William decided on the one closest to the door, which appeared untouched, and his dad dragged over his chest.

‘I’ll help you get unpacked, Will.’

‘It’s alright, I can do it,’ William said, aware that Thompson was watching them curiously.

‘I’ll say goodbye here then shall I? So you don’t have to come down the stairs.’

William nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His throat felt tight and tears swam in his eyes. He wished more than anything in his life that his dad wouldn’t leave him there.

‘It will be alright, Will, you’ll see,’ Reynolds said. He would have liked to bend down and put his arms around his son and hold him tightly, but instead he held out his hand. ‘You won’t forget to write to me will you?’

William shook his head.

‘I’ll see you in the holidays, then.’

As soon as his dad was gone, William began to unpack his trunk. He didn’t want the other boy to see the tears that were blurring his eyes.

After a minute or so, Thompson sauntered over. ‘I say, Reynolds?’

He turned around. ‘Yes.’

‘That chap just then, who was he?’

‘My dad.’

Thompson regarded him incredulously. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said at length.

By the end of the afternoon the dormitory had filled with boys. Some were quiet and uncertain in their new surroundings, others took it in their stride and went around introducing themselves to one another. At five o clock an elder boy, who was their dormitory prefect, came to tell them they had to go to the hall for tea. Hundreds of boys of all ages arrived at about the same time, and there was a good deal of pushing and jostling. William self-consciously negotiated his way to his dorm table with the others, aware of the attention his crutch was attracting. He noticed that Thompson avoided sitting near him, and the place next to him was taken by a thin, nervous boy.

‘I’m Carmichael,’ the boy said. ‘What’s wrong with your leg?’

‘It were caught in a harvester.’

‘Why are you speaking like that?’ Carmichael demanded, looking puzzled.

William didn’t know how to respond. He felt himself blush.

‘I saw his father earlier,’ Thompson said. ‘I thought he was a porter at first.’

The boy next to him was intrigued. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Reynolds here.’

The boy, who was big for his age and had red hair, stared at William belligerently. ‘What are you doing here if your father’s a porter?’

‘He isn’t,’ William protested.

‘What is he then?’

‘He’s a blacksmith.’

The boy, whose name was Yardley, addressed the table in a loud indignant voice. ‘I say, did you hear that? Reynolds here says his father is a blacksmith. What do you think of that?’

‘Is he pulling your leg?’ somebody said.

‘He must be. My father wouldn’t be very pleased to know they were letting common boys come here now. How can he afford it anyway?’

‘It’s a damn cheek if you ask me.’ Yardley gave William a threatening look. ‘We’ll teach you a lesson later.’

‘Yes, we ought to thrash the blighter,’ agreed Thompson enthusiastically.

William looked in alarm at the faces all turned towards him. Carmichael shifted further along the bench.

‘Do you know, I think he smells?’ he said and with a smug look turned to William. ‘Do you ever wash?’

The others laughed, and before William could respond they were all joining in.

‘I bet he’s never seen soap, have you, Reynolds you dirty little rotter?’

‘His father certainly had a bit of an unpleasant whiff about him,’ Thompson said.

‘That’s what we’ll do then,’ Yardley announced with authority. ‘We’ll give him a thorough wash afterwards.’ He grinned malevolently, then picked up a slice of bread and butter and spat on it before putting it on William’s plate.

William spent the rest of the meal in isolated silence. He was miserable, and felt desperately lonely. Wherever he looked he was met with sneers and hostility. Carmichael took to kicking him in the shins underneath the table, emboldened by the idea that by being cruel to William the others might not think of bullying him.

After tea was over, the younger boys were allowed an hour to themselves before they had to go to bed. William spent it alone in the dorm. He was terrified of what would happen when the others returned. He washed and put on his pyjamas, then climbed into his bed and drew the curtains around his cubicle, hoping that they would forget about him. He heard their voices when they began to return, and then the dorm prefect came and told them to hurry up. Eventually the gas was turned off, and they were left in darkness with a threat from the prefect that he would return to beat anybody who made a noise.

William lay in his bed listening to whispers in the dark. After a few minutes the curtain was pulled aside and Yardley came into his cubicle, followed by Thompson.

‘Let’s have a look at your leg,’ he demanded.

Though Yardley was big, William had decided that he would not let himself be bullied. ‘No,’ he said.

‘What a cheek!’ Thompson said indignantly.

‘I’ll soon show you some manners.’ Yardley grabbed William’s bedclothes to try and turf him out of bed, but as he leaned over, William hit him as hard as he possibly could on his nose, and Yardley stepped back with a yelp. Blood dripped onto the floor. For a moment he was too stunned to react, but then he leapt on William and began pummelling him furiously about the ears. Though William did what he could to protect himself, it was hopeless. He tried to get up, but Thompson pushed him down again. Suddenly a voice bellowed from the door.

‘What the devil is going on in here?’

When the dorm prefect lit the gas light again he was confronted with the sight of Yardley with his pyjamas covered in blood.

‘What on earth happened to you?’

‘It was Reynolds. He punched me on the nose.’

The prefect looked doubtfully at William.

‘It’s true,’ Thompson chimed in. ‘These common boys are all ruffians.’

‘Common? What are you talking about?’

‘Didn’t you know? His father’s a blacksmith. Ask him to say something if you don’t believe me.’

The prefect clearly didn’t believe a word of it. ‘What have you got to say about this nonsense Reynolds?’

William didn’t answer. He knew as soon as he opened his mouth he would be condemned, but his silence made the prefect angry.

‘I say, are you going to answer me, you insolent brat?’

‘I told you,’ Thompson said. ‘They don’t know how to behave. We’ve a stable boy at home who’s just as impudent.’

‘You’d better answer me, or it’ll be the worse for you,’ the prefect threatened. He pointed at Yardley. ‘Is it true that you gave this boy a bloody nose?’

In the end William decided he had no choice. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I only did it because he tried to see my leg.’
I only did ut ‘cause ‘e troid to see my leg
.

The prefect regarded him with fascinated revulsion. ‘Good Lord.’ He fetched a stick from his room, and when he came back told William to get out of bed and bend over, but when he did, William’s disability became obvious and the prefect hesitated.

‘Well, I suppose I can’t hit a cripple. You’d better do some extra work instead. Come and see me in the morning. The rest of you get back to bed immediately, and if I hear another sound I’ll punish you all.’

As Yardley returned to his bed he scowled at William, furious that he had escaped a beating, and William knew that sooner or later Yardley would get his revenge. He spent the rest of the night unable to sleep, worried by the slightest sound. In the morning, when he got up and went to the bathroom, some of the other boys were waiting for him. Two of them seized his arms at once, and though he struggled and managed to kick one of them with his good leg he was easily overpowered, and they dragged him to the floor and pulled off his pyjama bottoms.

‘Look at his leg. That’s disgusting,’ Yardley said and all the boys crowded closer to examine the ridged and scarred tissue.

‘He’s a freak,’ Thompson declared.

‘He’s a dirty, common, freak,’ Yardley said. ‘Have you cleaned your teeth, Reynolds? I bet you haven’t. I expect you don’t even know what a toothbrush is, do you, you disgusting oaf.’

From behind his back Yardley produced a toilet brush. He grinned as William began to struggle violently.

‘Hold him tight,’ he said, and grabbing William by his hair he thrust the brush at his face. William kept his mouth resolutely clamped shut and twisted his head from side even, though he could feel his hair being torn out by its roots.

‘Hold him still, damn it!’ Yardley said angrily, but it was no good. William bucked and twisted with all his might. Suddenly Yardley drew back his fist and thumped William hard on the side of his head. It felt like he’d been hit with a brick, and for a moment he saw specks of silver floating before his eyes, and his ears rang.

‘That’s better,’ Yardley said, then sat down on William’s chest and clamped his head between his knees and pinched his nose so that he couldn’t breathe. He felt like a sack of potatoes, and William was sure that he would suffocate and die. His heart pounded and blood pulsed in his temples.

‘Open up, you little peasant,’ Yardley demanded, waving the brush in front of William’s face.

Still William refused. Yardley’s face swam and blurred before his eyes, but he decided he would rather die than surrender. But then, without even realising what he was doing, he gasped for breath, and straight away Yardley thrust the brush into his mouth and jerked it vigorously back and forth.

‘This is all you’re good for, Reynolds, eating a gentleman’s shit.’

William gagged, and when they let him go he turned over and vomited onto the floor, crying tears of rage and utter humiliation. And while he lay there, beaten and helpless, one by one the boys all took turns to kick his bare, pale arse.