Nine Till Three and Summers Free

by Mike Kent

  ‘Listen!’ he bawled at the top of his voice. Only the front row heard him. The boys in the second row had turned round to annoy everybody in the third row, and the four in the balcony were aiming pellets of paper at whoever happened to be moving directly underneath them. Gerry watched in disgust while Johnson took a ball of bright orange bubble-gum from his mouth and looked around for somewhere to deposit it. His partner looked at him and pointed earnestly towards the jacket pocket of the boy on the other side of him.

  ‘Nah!’ Johnson shouted, struggling to make himself heard. ‘I ain’t puttin’ it in there. ‘E’s me friend.’

  ‘So what,’ the other boy shouted back. ‘‘E’s just put a bit in yours.’

  Thinking an alternative tactic might be the way forward, Gerry grabbed a rounders bat that had been left in the room and whacked it down hard on the low bench near the screen. Heads turned immediately in his direction, a look of interest and mild surprise spreading over the boys’ faces.

  ‘Listen!’ Gerry roared again. ‘I have something to tell you.’ This time there was almost silence, and the boys looked at him expectantly, wondering if what he had to say might be more interesting than The Glenn Miller Story.

  ‘We’re going to stop for a short break,’ Gerry said quickly, while he had the advantage. ‘We’ve got to stop the show for a few minutes while we put the next reel of film on the projector. Those of you who’ve brought some money might like to buy something from the table over here.’

  He pointed towards Samantha, who trembled slightly. Gerry struggled for something else to say.

  ‘Now look, if you want to stretch your legs for a minute or two or go to the toilet you’d better follow me.’

  ‘That was a mistake,’ Mr North murmured softly.

  The audience need no second invitation. The boys clambered noisily out of their seats and divided themselves between Gerry and the refreshments table. Stepping backwards, he dived through the swing doors, followed by about twenty children. I hurried to Samantha’s side, and we were soon struggling to deal with a multitude of hands containing money thrust at us, while trying to make sure nobody was stealing the stock. Few of the boys knew what money they had, or what change they should be receiving, and some didn’t bother waiting for any. Then, hands full of refreshments, they moved back to their seats to inspect what they’d bought. A few boys wandered to the back of the theatre to look at the projectors and Duggan moved towards the machines protectively.

  When the queue at the refreshments table was short and Samantha looked safe, I hurried out into the corridor and ploughed my way through the rest of the boys until I found Gerry, red-faced and very angry, trying to organise a reasonable line and at the same time make sure that nobody wandered off. It seemed to be an impossible task.

  ‘What the hell’s that bloke supposed to be doing?’ he snapped at me.

  ‘I don’t think he wants to know.’

  ‘That makes two of us. I’m never doing this lark again, I can assure you of that. It’s like trying to control a bunch of bloody Houdinis.’

  By the time we reached the toilet I was sure half the group was missing, and several others tried to creep away even while they were being watched. We stood like sentries while the boys disappeared inside and came out again almost immediately, not wanting to be left behind if there was any likelihood of exploring the building. Gerry caught the jacket sleeve of one of them, and the boy looked at him distastefully.

  ‘Stay here!’ Gerry urged.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because you’ll get lost.’

  ‘No I won’t. I wanna go with them.’

  ‘You stay here. The ones who’ve gone off are going to be in a lot of trouble for this.’

  ‘‘Oo said?’

  ‘I did. Now stay here!’

  ‘Let go of me jacket, then.’

  ‘Well don’t wander off, then.’

  Gerry released the boy’s sleeve. The child inspected it for damage and then stuffed his hands sulkily into his pockets, half wondering if it was worth making a run for it.

  It was now so obvious why the attendants at the Tower of London, and other ancient monuments visited by large parties of school children, always wore such a dismal, pained expression. Good discipline was vital for effective control of children and Dorothy Bridgewood had been able to command respect and affection so easily from her pupils, while Mr North quite obviously couldn’t. Although these children attended St Bernard’s because they had emotional and behavioural difficulties, I was convinced that most of them would probably have thrived with a teacher of Dorothy’s calibre. Perhaps that was it. The quality of teachers and teaching was paramount, and these boys were products of homes or teaching systems that had failed them badly.

  Gerry nudged me and my mind snapped back into focus as we pushed, urged and ordered the children still with us back into the hall. Mr North had at least stood up, and he was shouting loudly at the other boys to sit down. Samantha and Duggan were patrolling the ends of the rows.

  ‘I hate to say this,’ I said, ‘but I think we’ve got quite a few missing.’

  ‘It’s impossible to keep them in one place,’ Duggan shouted in Mr North’s direction. ‘Why did the school send so many?’

  Mr North shuffled awkwardly. ‘Well, as I explained…’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t exactly make it very easy for us, does it? I mean, this is just ridiculous. Some of them will probably be all over the college by now.’

  Gerry’s face went a chalky white, and he closed his eyes.

  ‘I expect they’ll be alright,’ said Mr North, but any confidence had disappeared from his voice.

  ‘It’s not them I’m worried about,’ said Duggan angrily. ‘God knows what they’ll get up to if they get into the lecture rooms. I mean, we’ve had one breakage this afternoon already. At least the Principal’s out today.’

  ‘We’ll have to go and search for them, that’s all,’ I said. ‘How many have we got at the moment?’

  Mr North counted the children, but even this was difficult as they wriggled about in their seats and moved between the rows.

  ‘I make it nine missing. That’s not too bad, I suppose. I lost more than that at the zoo once. I’ll help you look for them but you’ll have to show me the way. I don’t know the place.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Gerry moaned softly.

  ‘Gerry, stay here,’ said Duggan. ‘Just in case they try to take the projectors to pieces.’

  ‘I’ll stay too,’ said Samantha. ‘They keep offering to help me pack the stuff away. I think I’d better do it quickly before the shop gives us a huge bill for stuff we can’t account for.’

  We hurried grimly along the corridor and into the main building, with Mr North in hot pursuit. It would soon be time for the dance group to use the lecture theatre and it was obvious there would be no time to finish the film. Duggan began to search the area around the main hall, while Mr North and I peered through the windows of any empty lecture rooms.

  ‘I don’t know how you cope with this,’ I grunted moodily. ‘It’s crazy.’

  ‘I’m not exactly wild about it myself. We all start out with good intentions. You will too, but they get to you eventually. Try teaching in a third rate comprehensive for a few years.’

  We followed a noise coming from inside a history tutorial room, and Mr North leapt forward in time to stop two of the smaller boys from leaning dangerously out of a window. He took hold of each boy roughly by the arms and half dragged, half marched them out into the corridor, where he shook both forcibly.

  ‘Morris, Benwell, what are you doing in here?’ he barked, tightening his grip on their arms. ‘You’re supposed to be in the hall watching a film show.’

  ‘It’s boring,’ said Morris. ‘I don’t wanna watch the rest of it.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what you want to do. You and
the others who wandered off have ruined it for everybody else.’

  ‘They never liked it much neither.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Mr North prodded the boys forward, while I looked briefly into each of the rooms along the corridor. All of them were empty.

  ‘Wait a minute. Let’s try to do this logically,’ I suggested. ‘Imagine you were them. Where would the most interesting places be? How do their minds work?’

  ‘They don’t have minds,’ Mr North said simply.

  I suddenly realised where we would probably find the strays, and I hurried Mr North and the captive boys down a short flight of stairs and along to the section of the building containing the craft workshops and laboratories. A lot of cheerful noise was coming from inside, and I hurriedly threw open the door of Ernest Benton’s craft workshop. Inside, three boys were hovering suspiciously around one of Mr Benton’s historical treasures, a washday mangle that he had bought in one of his regular junk shop forages. A smaller boy stood at a strange angle in front of it, partly hidden by the others, and for the moment I couldn’t work out what they were doing.

  ‘Harris, what on earth are you doing?’ Mr North roared. Harris jumped and turned quickly.

  ‘Nothin’.’

  ‘Nothing? It doesn’t look like nothing to me, Harris. What are you doing with that mangle?’

  ‘Nothin’.’

  ‘Yes you are. What are you doing?’

  ‘Seein’ if it works?’

  ‘What do you mean, seeing if it works?’

  ‘We’re tryin’ it on Charlie’s tie. We’re seein’ if it flattens it out.’

  ‘Really? And who told Charlie he could take his tie off?’

  ‘‘E ain’t taken it off. It’s still around ‘is neck.’

  The small group stood back, and it was suddenly obvious why Charlie looked so uncomfortable. His neck was perilously close to the rollers of the mangle, and his face was turning purple.

  ‘You stupid fool, Harris,’ Mr North shouted. ‘You could have throttled him!’

  ‘Charlie don’t mind,’ said Harris. ‘It’s just a bit of fun, ain’t it Chiles?’

  Charlie grunted unhappily. ‘They jus’ grabbed me, Sir,’ he croaked. ‘I couldn’t stop ‘em.’

  ‘Well get out of it at once!’

  ‘I can’t, Sir. I can’t reach the ‘andle. Me tie’s stuck.’

  ‘Harris, get him out. Now!’

  Harris smiled sheepishly and turned the large handle of the mangle backwards. Charlie took a deep breath as he was released, and then fingered the muscles of his neck gingerly. Mr North ushered the boys towards the door, a look on his face suggesting he might murder the first one who dared to wander off again.

  ‘I know where Johnson and Creamer are,’ Harris offered suddenly, feeling that if he had to go back he might as well make sure the others returned as well. Mr North stared at him.

  ‘Well? Where?’

  ‘Down there. In that room.’

  We hurried into the biology laboratory. Johnson and two of his friends had dragged a life-sized skeleton from one of the equipment cupboards and made it sit upright on a stool beside a work bench. A clay pipe had been stuck between its teeth and there was a pair of shoes on its feet. A boy with chubby pink cheeks and an angelic expression was gently stirring the water in the fish tank with a ruler and watching the effect it had on the fishes, while another child was exploring the shelves to find an interesting chemical to drop in the water. Johnson looked up and grinned at Mr North.

  ‘‘Allo, Sir,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll give you hello, my lad,’ Mr North shouted, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him towards the others. ‘Now get moving, and stay just in front of me. Creamer, Davis, Matthews, you as well. Creamer, get away from those bottles.’

  ‘I was jus’ lookin’ to see if they ‘ad any gunpowder,’ said Creamer politely.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me at all. If I had some, I know where I’d put it. Now get down, and get over here.’

  I held the door open and the group moved sheepishly out into the corridor. Johnson slouched in front of the others, frequently glancing back and scowling at Mr North.

  ‘He really is a right bloody headache, that one,’ Mr North said irritably. ‘He hasn’t been at the school long. His mother hates his guts and so do I. Nobody knows who his father was, her included. She spent half her youth tearing around the countryside on the back of a motorbike. Hasn’t got a clue how to look after kids of her own. His sister’s already in care. You can reason with a lot of the kids, but not Johnson. He’s the sort who smiles at you while he’s sticking the knife in.’

  I felt the wave of hatred in Mr North’s voice and I was rapidly coming to strongly dislike the man and his attitudes. Johnson was a mere twelve years old, and it seemed his life had already been set on a downward spiral. Mr North was clearly fuelling the fire with his own bitterness and disillusionment and however hardened I eventually became to teaching, I vowed I would never become like that.

  ‘The trouble is, he’s not thick, either, just half crazy,’ Mr North continued in a louder voice, as if he no longer really cared whether he was overheard.

  ‘Can’t you do anything?’

  ‘Do anything? What on earth can we do? We need a dozen more teachers at the school before we can do anything.’

  ‘That seems a bit negative.’

  ‘You try handling kids like Johnson. The social worker said the smell from their flat was so bad it started seeping through the walls next door. His bed is continually broken. He set fire to it once, to make his mother get a new one. Then he went and phoned the fire brigade and stood on the pavement watching while they put the fire out.’

  I was shocked and disturbed by what I was hearing. My own suburban childhood seemed a million miles from experiences like these. I’d known the Barton children in the next road, whose father was in prison, and I’d often wondered why their mother seemed so worn and unhappy, but I rarely played with them at school. And on the occasions I did get up to a bit of mischief outside school, I was very aware that my parents, a reliable and united constant in my life, would be extremely displeased if they found out.

  The boys were walking more quietly now, and Mr North led them back into the lecture theatre while I went in the opposite direction to find the others who hadn’t been caught yet. There was a sudden shout from the end of the corridor, and Duggan appeared leading two more boys by the hands.

  ‘I cornered these two upstairs with Milly,’ he said. They were offering to help her scrub the floors. How many have you got?’

  ‘Most of them, I think. North’s taken them back inside the theatre.’

  ‘That’s no indication he can keep ‘em there. I hope Samantha and Gerry are managing all right. Where do you think the rest are likely to be?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue. We’ve looked in all the likeliest places. There’s only three missing now. I’ll look in the rooms at the front of the college. You take these two back. Gerry will probably need some help, anyway.’

  I hurried back down the corridor, wondering how I was going to explain things to the dance group. As I turned the corner, I collided with a boy carrying a large bunch of daffodils. For a moment, we stared at each other suspiciously.

  ‘You’re from St Bernard’s, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ the boy replied, trying to walk past quickly. I caught hold of his arm and swung him round.

  ‘Where did you get those flowers?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘The flowers. Where did you get them?’

  ‘I’m takin’ ‘em back for Mrs Clinton.’ The boy clutched the bundle tightly to his chest in case I tried to take them from him.

  ‘Whose are they?’

  ‘Whose are what?’

  ‘The flower
s, of course. I want to know where they came from,’

  ‘Oh, them. I got ‘em from out there.’

  He pointed out of the window, and I realised the daffodils had been pulled from the beds surrounding the front lawn. With an icy hand clutching at my stomach, I hurried outside, just in time to stop the remaining boys from ruining the flower beds completely. Hands filthy with damp earth, they were busily selecting the best blooms and groaned in disappointment when I insisted they get off the lawn immediately.

  ‘We’ve only got a few,’ the taller of the two objected, standing upright and wiping his hands on his shirt. ‘We ain’t taken many.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask? In any case, you’re not even supposed to be out here. You’re lucky the caretaker didn’t catch you. He locks people up who walk on his lawn.’

  The boys looked distinctly uneasy.

  ‘We was only takin’ a few back for Mrs Clinton,’ the smaller boy said meekly. ‘We thought it ‘ud be nice, that’s all. She and Mr Green are our best teachers. Can’t see ‘ow anyone’s gonna miss a few flowers. It ain’t as if you ain’t got many.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to give them to me immediately.’

  Looking decidedly hurt, but sensing the firmness in my voice, the boy picked the bundle up and put it carefully into my arms. I held the flowers for a moment, and then suddenly handed them back to the boy.

  ‘Here, take them,’ I said quietly. ‘You might as well have them. They’re cut now. And I’m sure Mrs Clinton will like them.’

  ‘Cor, thanks, Mister!’ the boy exclaimed, surprised and pleased. ‘Mrs Clinton really likes flowers.’

  ‘And she ‘elps us with our gardening,’ said the smaller boy enthusiastically. ‘We wanted to take some back for ‘er when we saw these. We wouldn’t ‘ave taken ‘em ‘cept Billy said it ‘ud be alright…’

  ‘I never said that,’ Billy interrupted. ‘I said I don’t suppose they’d miss a few.’