Bill Bailey

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Don’t be silly, Bill. The trouble is I’ve got a grumbling appendix and will have to have it out sometime.’

  ‘Aye, when it gets perforated I suppose.’

  And now turning to the doctor, he said, ‘And you’ll let her hang on until then, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s what I’ll do, Bill.’ As he took the cup of coffee from Fiona he smiled at her, adding now, ‘But don’t you have me up in the middle of the night; I’ve been out three times in the past week and I’m going to report to the union that any more and I go on strike.’

  ‘You can be funny but I don’t see it that way.’

  ‘Bill!’

  ‘Oh, shut up! woman. He knows me. And I’ll tell you something you didn’t know, his father was a brickie an’ all.’

  ‘No, he wasn’t’—the doctor’s voice was indignant—‘he was a carpenter.’

  ‘Not much difference when you’re on the job. Anyway, the brickies earn more money.’

  And so the chipping went on until Bill closed the door on the doctor; but then he almost bounced back into the sitting room, saying, ‘That’s a nice thing to do, to keep it from me, making a bloomin’ fool of me. What am I supposed to be? Your husband or still the lodger?’

  ‘Oh, Bill, please, don’t go on.’ She slumped into the corner of the couch. And he, dropping down beside her, demanded, ‘Well, woman, don’t you understand how I feel?’

  ‘Yes, Bill.’ Her voice was quiet and patient. ‘It’s because I understand how you feel that I didn’t worry you with a trivial thing like a pain in the side. You see. Listen.’ She smacked his cheek with her fingertips. ‘Listen to me. They don’t know if it’s a grumbling appendix, it could be a little twist in the bowel, diverticulitis.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Diverticulitis, it’s a weakness in the bowel, it’s nothing. Hundreds, thousands of people have it.’

  ‘Well, you could have told me about the diver…tickle…itis, or what have you.’

  ‘Look; forget about it. And tell me, what do you intend to do tomorrow?’

  And he told her what he intended to do, which caused her to plead, ‘Oh Bill, please be careful.’

  ‘Well, d’you want me to pass it over?’

  ‘No, but I know you when you get going, so please keep your temper. Promise me.’

  ‘I promise you,’ he said.

  At seven o’clock that evening the phone rang. Bill happened to be passing through the hall and he picked up the receiver and heard a pleasant voice ask, ‘May I speak with Mr Bailey?’

  ‘Bailey here.’

  ‘Oh. Good evening, Mr Bailey. Leonard speaking. I’m calling from Swandale. Is anything wrong? Mark hasn’t returned.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t returned and he’s not returning.’ And with that he banged down the phone. Later, he asked Mark if he was in the same form as the Brown fellow. And Mark said he was. ‘And where would you likely be on a Monday morning?’ Bill had gone on.

  ‘In room two in the annexe.’

  ‘About what time?’ Bill asked.

  ‘The first lesson after hall.’

  ‘And what time would that be?’

  ‘Nine o’clock until half-past; then we go to the labs.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bill arrived at the school almost on the point of nine.

  As he entered the main doors it seemed that he was about to be engulfed in a wave of boys when an adult voice called an order to the unruly group; and so he made for the man, saying abruptly, ‘The headmaster, is he out yet?’

  The man stared at him for a moment; then apparently realising who he was, he turned his head towards the far end of the hall and pointed, saying, ‘He…he has just gone into his study. If you can wait a moment, I…I will announce you.’

  ‘You needn’t bother, I’ll announce meself.’

  He had been in the headmaster’s study before when he had been smiled on and given a cup of tea. This time he knocked hard on the door once before thrusting it open and entering the room, to see two men, one seated behind the big desk, the other standing at his side, both their faces showing a mixture of surprise and indignation.

  Bill was the first to speak. Walking towards them, he said, ‘Have no need to introduce meself, have I? And you know why I’m here.’

  The headmaster, Mr Rowlandson, said quietly, ‘Take a seat, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘I’ve no time for sittin’, thank you; I’ve just come to do two things: to tell you something, and to ask you something. And the first is, I think you should be damned well ashamed of yourself to allow the things to go on that do go on in this school.’

  ‘This is a well-run school, sir!’ It was the deputy headmaster, Mr Atkins, speaking now. And as Bill turned his steely gaze on the man, the headmaster made a motion with his hand for his second-in-command to hold his peace. But he endorsed the statement by saying, ‘We have never had any complaints about the way the school is, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘Then there’s something radically wrong with the parents of the lads, that’s all I can say. Now, first of all, you must have known that my boy had been badly burnt and, too, worried enough to get a doctor to him. And I’ll have something to say to him an’ all, for he should have informed us. But perhaps he wanted to and he left it to you. And then what do you do? You get my lad to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘I did no such thing, sir! You should be careful what you’re saying.’

  ‘I know what I’m sayin’: Play up and play the game, it’s all in good fun, or words to that effect. You translated it into telling him that he wouldn’t want to upset his parents, didn’t you? And so it would be better if he kept his mouth shut.’

  ‘What happened to your son was merely the outcome of a prank. He was party to it: they were playing with fireworks.’ It was the second master again. And now Bill bawled at him, ‘They were not playing with fireworks, at least my son wasn’t. The bully boy Brown doesn’t play with anybody; he punches them into submission. Makes them clean his boots, make his bed, as my son’s done since he came into this damn place. And what is more, he steals their food, not only my boy’s, but from every tuck box that goes into that dorm he takes the lion’s share. And don’t tell me you don’t know these things go on.’

  A quick glance was exchanged between the headmaster and his deputy. And it was the headmaster who said, ‘Well, we look on fagging as a form of discipline which helps the boys to be of service to others.’

  ‘Aw, come off it.’ Bill flung his arm wide. ‘It’s degradin’ to make one kid clean another one’s boots. It’ll have one of two effects: make him feel damned inferior as he grows up or turn him into a bully an’ all to get his own back.’

  ‘No, sir, you are wrong. We have proof from all the old boys who return here that such training makes them into men, fine men.’

  Bill looked at the assistant head, then glanced at his watch before saying, ‘I haven’t much time, I have things to do. Will you be good enough to bring my son’s clothes down? I’ve a list of them here.’ And he thrust the piece of paper across the table to the headmaster, and he, handing it to his deputy, said, ‘See to that, Mr Atkins.’

  As the man made towards the door Bill again looked at his watch and said, ‘I’m in a hurry.’ And at this the deputy head cast a disdainful glance back at him before going out. And now Bill addressed the headmaster once again: ‘The second thing is, what has happened to Master Brown?’

  ‘What do you mean, sir, what has happened to Master Brown?’

  ‘Has he been expelled? That’s what I mean.’

  ‘Expelled? Certainly not! As I have informed you, it was the outcome of a prank. Unfortunate, very unfortunate. No-one realised that more than I did, but we did everything for your…your son. He’s had the best of care.’

  ‘Best of care.’ Bill’s voice was grim; and now he went on, ‘And what punishment did you mete out to a boy who got his cronies to hold my son to the floor, then thrust a lighted fire
work, and not a small one, down his pants, then roll him onto his back so that he was sitting on it?’

  The headmaster’s eyelids were blinking rapidly and his words were slightly hesitant as he said, ‘Well…well, that is not the version that I heard. I understood they were all larking about.’

  ‘They were not larking on. That Brown scum of a boy had been taunting my son by deriding me. Now I ask you again, what happened to Master Brown for his bit of fun?’

  ‘He…he was given lines.’

  ‘Lines?’

  ‘It is a punishment that boys don’t like. They would rather have anything than their spare time taken up with lines and being kept from the playing fields to work at them.’

  ‘Really!’ The sarcasm in the word was not lost on the headmaster and he came back, saying now, ‘You are not conversant with the rules that govern a prep school like this, Mr Bailey. We spend our lives in aiming to turn out decent, honest citizens with a cultural background…’

  ‘And no thought of making money out of the cultural background, eh?’

  The headmaster’s face became suffused with colour, and his jaws tightened before he said grimly, ‘One has to live. And there’s nothing in this business compared to that made by developers.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for that. But when we’ve hit on money, I paid you a year in advance, I’ll want two terms back.’

  ‘We don’t do things like…’

  ‘Well, if you don’t do things like that, sir, the Newcastle papers are going to sing, and they’ll be accompanied by a photograph of my son’s backside, and leg, and a report from my doctor.’

  ‘You cannot blackmail me, Mr Bailey.’

  At this point the door opened and Mr Atkins dropped a case none too gently on the edge of the headmaster’s desk, then threw on to the floor, almost at Bill’s feet, a tennis racquet and a cricket bat with a pair of boots attached to it by the laces.

  Bill lifted the lid of the case, flicked through the vests and pants, pyjamas and shirts, then, looking at the second master, he said, ‘Where’s the burnt pants and vest? Done away with them, I suppose. Aw well, it doesn’t matter.’ He banged the lid closed, locked the case; then gathering up the racquet, the bat, and boots, he looked at the headmaster and said, ‘If I don’t hear from you within a week you’ll be hearin’ from me.’ Then he inclined his head from one to the other and went hastily out.

  On the drive he threw the things into the back of the car, then hurried along by the side of the school to where the annexe was situated. It was now three minutes to the half-hour. The three classrooms were merely prefab buildings; number two had a half-glass door. He looked through the door and saw a young master talking to a class of about twelve boys. Then pushing the door open, he entered the room to find all eyes turned in his direction.

  His voice was level and even pleasant as, looking at the young man, he said, ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’ And at this the young fellow hesitated, then said, ‘Oh, yes, yes, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘This was my son’s class, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Mr Bailey, it is I…I hope he’s all right.’

  ‘Yes. At least he will be; he’s suffering from shock at present.’ He smiled as he said the words and nodded his head. Then he looked at the sea of faces staring at him. It would seem that each boy in that class knew who he was and why he was here. Bill was still smiling quietly as he said, ‘You have Brown here?’

  The young fellow hesitated just for a fraction, then turned his head and looked in the direction of a boy sitting in the end seat of the front row. His head seemed to be on a level with the rest of the class; his face was longish and thin; but he had a breadth of shoulder. After having glanced at the visitor he was now looking down towards his desk. Bill said, ‘Ask Master Brown to come out.’

  ‘Mr Bailey’—the young man’s voice was just above a whisper—‘please.’

  ‘What is your name? I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Howard, sir.’

  ‘Well now, Mr Howard’—Bill put his hand out and laid it gently on the young man’s shoulder—‘will you oblige me by going to the back of your class?’

  It seemed for a moment that the petrified class came alive, for a slight titter passed over it.

  ‘Please Mr Bailey, I…I wouldn’t do anything that…Let me dismiss the…’ But Bill was leaning forward and whispering in the young man’s ear, ‘You wouldn’t like me to use force, would you? It wouldn’t be seemly. Perhaps though you could just resist a bit so the boys can verify that you put up a stand, eh?’

  The poor young fellow stood gaping at this man who wasn’t any taller than himself but emanated such strength that he found it formidable. And now he muttered, ‘Yes, yes, it would be.’ So, at this, Bill’s bark almost bounced the boys in their seats and it certainly shook the young teacher as he made play of pushing Bill, only to find himself turned around and thrust none too gently up the aisle between the desks. Then Bill, looking into the startled face of a small boy sitting in the front seat, said quite gently, ‘Would you like to get up, sonny, and go and join the master?’

  Before he had finished speaking, the child had scrambled out of his desk and dashed up the aisle. And now looking towards the boy who was staring at him wide-eyed, Bill raised his finger and beckoned him. And when the boy made no effort to get up, he said, ‘Come here, Brown.’

  ‘I’ll not. I’ll not. If you touch me I…I’ll tell my father.’

  What happened next brought a gasp from the whole class when they saw bully Brown lifted almost by the collar of his shirt and plumped in front of the desk that the boy had vacated moments earlier.

  ‘Take your pants down.’

  ‘I…I’ll…I’ll…I’ll not. You’ll get wrong. My fa…father knows you, you’ll…you’ll get…’

  As if Bill had been used to stripping boys of pants every day of his life, Brown’s pants came down, his underpants with them. He was twisted round and pushed over the desk, so exposing two very white buttocks.

  He was yelling at the top of his voice now as Bill, thrusting a hand into the inside pocket of his overcoat, brought out a ruler and began to lay it across the screaming boy’s bare pelt. When he had counted six he looked over the startled faces, shouting now, ‘Who’s Arthur Ryan?’

  When a wavering hand came up, he said, ‘Would you like a go, Arthur, for all you’ve had to put up with off this bully?’

  Arthur’s hand came down but he didn’t move.

  ‘Who’s Hugo Fuller?’

  A boy who had crouched away from the proximity of Brown’s flailing arms, stuttered, ‘M…m…me, sir.’

  ‘Well, I’ll give him one for you, Hugo. And here’s another for Arthur.’

  By now there was a commotion outside the door; and when it burst open the deputy headmaster rushed in, only to come to a dead stop at the sight before him.

  Bill pulled up the wailing Brown to his feet and, thrusting him towards the master, he said, ‘I didn’t burn him as I should have done. I thought of it, mind. But there, he’s all yours. Now get on the phone and tell his father what’s happened. If you don’t he will. And let this be a lesson to you, sir, to know what goes on in your school under your bloody nose…’

  The boys outside had to make a pathway to let him pass, and when he reached the end of it he turned and, raising his arm and wagging his finger from one startled face to the other, he said, ‘Brown is a bully. He’s got his deserts and you all know why. Now, should anyone bully you in the future, stand up to him. And if you’re afraid write home to your parents and tell them. It isn’t cissy. D’you hear me?’

  Mouths opened here and there but no-one answered.

  A few minutes later as he was turning his car in the drive he had another audience of boys. And when two hands, held at cheek level, made waving motions to him, he waved back at them and gave them the ‘V’ sign.

  He now drove straight to the works, and there, seeking out Barney McGuire, he gave him a brief picture of what had ha
ppened; and he finished, ‘So there you are, Barney, he’ll be out for blood. And you know what that means, he’ll never be off the site.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right there, boss. We can look out for squalls.’

  ‘Aye, so that being the case, tell our lot to hang on for five minutes or so the night; I’ll put them in the picture so they’ll keep on their toes. I’m going down home now but I won’t be more than half an hour…’

  A short while later he thrust open the kitchen door to see Fiona and Nell sitting at the table having coffee while Mamie sat on the rug in front of the stove stuffing dolls’ garments into a miniature washing machine, and at the sight of him the child jumped up, crying, ‘Uncle Bill!’ But when she ran to him he did not lift her up, or make some facetious remark about hard-working housewives; instead, he pointed to the coffee jug and said, ‘Any of that left?’

  They had both risen from the table and Fiona, looking hard at him, said, ‘Yes, yes’; then added, ‘What happened?’

  He gave a short laugh before answering, ‘Well, you know our marching song, “There Is A Happy Land”?’

  Before she had time to make any comment the small voice piped up, ‘Far, far away, where all the piggies run three times a day.’ And seeing that she had the attention of all the elders, Mamie went on gleefully, ‘Oh, you should see them run when they see Bill Bailey come, three smacks across their—’ she now put her hand over her mouth and whispered “bum” and finished on a laugh, ‘three times a day.’

  Bill now playfully smacked her bottom, saying, ‘And that’s what you’re going to get, my lady, three times a day.’

  ‘You didn’t! I mean?’

  He looked at Fiona, nodded his head, then said, ‘Yes; eight of the best.’

  ‘Oh, Bill.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  At this Fiona turned on Nell, saying, ‘’Tisn’t good for him, Nell,’ and she, holding out her hand to Mamie, said, ‘Come and help me tidy up.’ And as she led the child to the door she said to no-one in particular, ‘Cannons to right of ’em? Cannons to left of ’em, into the valley of death rode the six hundred.’ Then as she closed the door they heard, as if from far away, her voice ending, ‘And they were all called Bill.’