‘It wasn’t too bad a paper,’ I said. ‘I thought it would be a lot harder. What did you think, Iggy?’ Ignatius was walking along with us, looking neither pleased with himself nor downcast.
‘Not too bad,’ he repeated.
‘I bet you got full marks,’ said Micky. ‘That essay you wrote for Mrs Sculthorpe a few weeks ago about the trip to Whitby, she read it out it was so good. Fancy that question about a visit to a seaside place coming up. I suppose the maths was a doddle for you as well. And everyone knows how interested you are in railways, Iggy.’
Ignatius didn’t say anything.
I completely forgot about the eleven plus until one Saturday morning three weeks later. Mum got me up early. ‘Come on, sleepy-head, let’s have you downstairs. It’s the day the eleven plus results come out.’
I shot out of bed like a rabbit with the runs and rushed downstairs. ‘Has the postman been?’ I asked, jumping up and down.
‘Not yet,’ said Mum. I could tell she was trying to keep calm.
The wait seemed endless, but just before nine o’clock a brown envelope dropped through the letterbox.
We both stared at it lying on the carpet in the hall, and then Mum said, ‘Do you want to open it?’
‘No, you,’ I said. ‘I can’t.’
Mum picked up the envelope and, taking a knife from the kitchen table, slit open the flap. I could see her hand was trembling. She breathed out noisily, took out a white piece of paper and read it slowly.
‘Well?’ I said. My heart was in my mouth.
‘You’ve passed,’ she said really quietly. ‘You passed. You got through to the grammar school.’
I yelped for joy and ran round and round the kitchen screaming ‘I’ve passed! I’ve passed!’ at the top of my voice. I couldn’t believe it. I snatched the letter from Mum and read it to make sure they hadn’t made a mistake, but it was there in black and white. I was to start at King Henry’s College on the 5th of September.
Later that morning Micky called round. He was like a cat which had discovered a bucket full of cream. His smile stretched right across his face. He too had passed.
‘My mum’s gone mad, telling all the neighbours, phoning everybody she knows. She was on the phone to my Auntie Doreen for ages. Dad’s gone to play golf. He said she’s getting worse. We’re going into town this afternoon to get the uniform and a bike. Dad said I could have a new bike if I passed.’
‘I’m really pleased you’ve got through,’ I said. ‘That means there’ll be at least two people I know going up to the grammar. Shall we go and see Iggy? I’d like to see his face when we tell him we’ll be going to the grammar as well as him.’
‘The thing is,’ said Micky, looking at his feet, ‘my mum said it might be best if I didn’t hang about with Iggy when I’m up at the grammar school. She said he’s… well… you know what he’s like.’
‘What do you mean, I know what he’s like?’ I asked. ‘He’s just like you and me and he’s our pal, isn’t he?’
‘Mum thinks, well, she thinks he’ll sort of drag me down.’
‘Drag you down!’ I repeated. ‘Rather than drag you out, like he did when you were stuck in the mud?’
‘She said it’s all right me staying friends with you, though.’
‘Oh, thanks very much,’ I told him sarcastically. ‘I’m glad your mum approves of me.’
‘Anyway, I had better get off,’ said Micky. ‘I have to go into town.’
‘You know, Micky,’ I told him. ‘I don’t think I want to stay friends with you.’
I found Ignatius painting the front door. He was wearing a really grubby blue overall two sizes too big for him. He had black paint in his hair and on the tip of his long nose. ‘I thought I would give the front door a lick of paint,’ he told me. ‘It’s long overdue. My father would have done it, but he’s allergic to paint.’
‘We both got through to the grammar, Iggy,’ I said. I wasn’t as excited now after what Micky had said. ‘Both Micky and me.’
‘Congratulations,’ he replied, continuing to paint the door.
‘That means there’ll be the three of us going up to King Henry’s.’
Ignatius stopped painting. ‘I won’t be going to the grammar school, James,’ said Ignatius.
‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘What do you mean you’ll not be going?’
‘I didn’t pass,’ he said simply.
‘Didn’t pass!’ I gasped. ‘You must have passed. You’re the best in the class.’
‘I didn’t, I’m afraid,’ said Ignatius. ‘I got the letter this morning. I’m going to the secondary modern school.’
‘You can’t be,’ I said. ‘There must be some mistake.’
‘It’s down in black and white,’ he said, starting to paint the door again.
I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it. When I told Mum I didn’t expect the reply I got. She shook her head and said, ‘Well, perhaps it’s for the best.’
‘What do you mean for the best?’ I asked.
‘Well, look, Jimmy, you have to admit Ignatius is a bit odd, isn’t he, and just look at his home life. I mean, can you imagine his parents at parents’ evening or at speech day or at the school play at King Henry’s?’
‘It’s not his parents who are going,’ I said. ‘It’s Ignatius and he deserves to go. He’s brighter than any of us.’
‘He would have had a real job fitting in at the grammar school,’ said Mum.
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘He’s really clever.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ said Mum. ‘He might be the cleverest lad in the school but he won’t fit in. He’ll stand out like a sore thumb. You’ll be mixing with a different class of people up at the grammar school. Dr Owen’s lads go there and your headmaster’s son. They’re a different class of people to Ignatius and his family.’
‘Perhaps I won’t fit in, then,’ I said, ‘with all these snooty people.’
‘Of course you will and you’ll make me very proud of you.’
‘But Ignatius’s really clever, Mum,’ I said. ‘He deserves to go more than any of us.’
‘We don’t always get what we deserve, love,’ Mum told me.
*
On Monday morning the pupils who had passed their eleven plus were summoned to Mr Griddle’s room. I felt really special. There were twenty-five pupils in Mrs Sculthorpe’s class and only Michael and me were going to the grammar school. Caroline Johnson, Pauline Wilmot and Valerie Harper were going to the girls’ high school.
The headmaster stood behind his desk and shook hands with each of us in turn. ‘You’ve done very well,’ he said, ‘and I am sure you will do credit to yourselves and to this school. It is a wonderful opportunity to have a grammar or a high school education. It leads to great things, so make the most of your time there. The work will be hard and there will be lots of it, but I am sure you will all rise to the challenge.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ we all said.
‘Now,’ Mr Griddle continued, ‘I don’t want any of you to go bragging about this in the school yard. Those children who did not get through will understandably be very disappointed. I don’t want you showing off. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ we all said.
‘All right, you may return to your class.’
I called in at the boys’ toilets on the way back to the classroom. I sat there in one of the cubicles thinking things over. I really didn’t know whether I wanted to go to the grammar school after all. There would only be me and Michael there and I didn’t know whether I wanted to be his friend any more. Then there was Mum, who had such high expectations – ‘You’ll make me very proud of you’ – and Mr Griddle – ‘The work will be hard and there will be lots of it.’ Suppose I didn’t fit in. I hadn’t got much in common with Dr Owen’s sons or Mr Griddle’s. They didn’t live in a terraced house with their mums working in a corner shop and their fathers at the steelworks. The more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want
to go.
I made my way back to the classroom feeling really down in the dumps and was just about to turn the corner in the corridor when I heard familiar voices. It was Mrs Sculthorpe and Ignatius.
‘Whatever happened, Ignatius?’ she was asking.
‘I don’t know, miss,’ he replied.
‘Well, I just can’t understand it at all. The paper wasn’t that hard, certainly not for somebody of your ability.’
‘It’s just one of those things,’ Ignatius said.
‘I think they must have got the papers mixed up,’ said the teacher.
‘It’s very unlikely, miss, that there will be another boy with the name of Ignatius Plunket,’ he replied.
‘Well, something’s gone drastically wrong,’ said Mrs Sculthorpe. ‘There must have been some dreadful mistake. It’s beyond belief that you failed. Anyway, Ignatius, you can be certain that I shall look into the matter. I shall get to the bottom of it, if it’s the last thing I do. I don’t intend to let this drop. You, more than anyone in my class, deserve a grammar school place. I perhaps shouldn’t say this, but James Johnson and Michael Sidebottom can’t hold a candle up to you. You’re head and shoulders above them in ability. You’re the ablest pupil I have ever taught, Ignatius. I intend to have a word with Mr Griddle and see how your paper was marked.’
‘I would rather you didn’t do that, miss,’ said Ignatius.
‘Don’t you want to go to the grammar school?’ asked the teacher.
‘No, miss,’ Ignatius replied. ‘I don’t.’
‘No!’ gasped Mrs Sculthorpe.
‘No, miss, I don’t want to go. You see, my father and mother can’t afford to send me, what with the uniform and everything else.’
‘We could see if you could get some financial help,’ said Mrs Sculthorpe. ‘A scholarship or something of that kind. I’m sure –’
‘Miss,’ interrupted Ignatius, ‘even if I did manage to get a scholarship, what happens if my brothers and sisters pass? They probably won’t get a scholarship and it would be unfair for me to go to the grammar school and not them. So it’s really for the best that I go to the secondary modern.’
‘Did you deliberately fail that paper, Ignatius?’ asked Mrs Sculthorpe. Ignatius didn’t answer. ‘You did, didn’t you? Oh, Ignatius,’ she sighed.
‘Things sometimes don’t turn out as we might like them to,’ said Ignatius, ‘but what can anyone do? You must take what life throws at you and make the best of it. I’ll be happy enough at the secondary modern. Thank you for all you have done for me, miss. You’re a very good teacher and I will miss your lessons.’
‘The teachers at the grammar school will never know what they’re missing, Ignatius,’ said Mrs Sculthorpe. I detected a tremble in her voice.
I have never forgotten that overheard conversation between Mrs Sculthorpe and my very best friend, Ignatius Plunket.
A Load of Old Tripe Page 8