So for two weeks each August, Simon was on top of the world. They met up with the same families each year and together formed a friendly group, Simon friends with boys around his own age whom he would ride around with in the motor boat. Mum and Dad didn't argue, Frances made friends with some older boys who had their own sailing boat, a National 12 foot, in which they competed in the annual regatta. Simon too learned to sail and developed a love of being on the water, if not in it.
A particular friend was Jack Griffin, who was from London and whom they met up with each year. He was a few months younger than Simon, blond, blue eyed. He was keen on sailing and would help crew his parents' Enterprise dinghy. Over the years a regular routine developed whereby the two boys would get up early and meet at the moorings, row the pram dinghy out to Invention's mooring buoy and set off up the estuary to pick up a can of fuel from a boatyard which opened up at seven o'clock near the Ferry Inn. Often the boys were there waiting for it to be opened. Invention was known of course and the fuel was charged to the hotel's account.
There was the time on this early morning run that they got into trouble. Carefree and happy together, as Invention chugged up the estuary, they burst into song.
"Volare, oh oh
E contare, oh oh oh oh
Nel blu, dipinto di blu
Felice di stare lassu …"
In the quiet of the early morning when only hotel staff were up preparing the many breakfasts to be served in Salcombe that morning, two young voices echoing across the town and up the sides of the estuary raised a barrage of complaints which of course came straight back to the hotel, as the boat's ownership was recognised. But they managed to retain the use of the boat, sworn to early morning silence. They remained friends and when it came to depart, it was always,
"See you next year, Jack?"
"Yes, see you then, Simon."
The two weeks seemed to last for ever to Simon while he was in Salcombe, but when it came to an end, it seemed to have lasted no time at all. The journey home was always more subdued, Simon with very mixed feelings, worried each time about the new school year, knowing that once away from the magical world away from the world that was Salcombe each year, everything at home would be back the way it was; yet keen to see Daniel, hoping that all would be well and that in the fortnight away from him, somehow things hadn't changed. One of Simon's first tasks he set himself when he got back home was to construct a calendar on which he could count down the days until the family would be setting off again to their escape from reality. That hope and his friendship with Daniel were his anchors in his troubled life.
With regard to Daniel, he need never have worried. As soon as the two were back together, recounting their various holiday adventures, it was as though they had never been apart, and they resumed their routine.
On one of their visits to the aerodrome hill as the summer holiday drew to an end, Simon voiced a worry he had about Hooray Henrys to Daniel. One aspect that worried Simon was the ritual that the new boys, called fags, would be chased by groups of older boys and their trousers and pants pulled down, known as debagging.
"All the fags get it done to them," said Daniel.
"Even you?"
"Yes, you know. I told you last year."
The thought of his dear friend being set upon, overpowered and humiliated upset Simon.
"It's OK," said Daniel, noticing. "It happens to everyone and then it's done."
"I thought that friend of yours from Scouts …"
"Evans?"
"Yes, Evans. I thought he was going to look after you. Couldn't he stop them?"
"Yes, he could have I suppose, but that would have been the worst thing he could've done. It's like a way of showing that you can take it, and if you can't, nobody will be your friend. They'll think you're soft."
"So what do you do?"
"When the second years catch you, it's best to put up a bit of a fight to show you can, but they're bound to get you coz there'll be so many. Main thing is not to cry, whatever you do. It's quite quick really."
"Do they do anything else? I mean, like this, us?"
"Oh no. As soon as they've pulled 'em down and seen your cock, they're off to get the next fag. And that reminds me, whatever you do, don't get a hard on. A kid in my class did that and they call him a queer now."
"How do you stop yourself if it wants to?"
"Do what I did. I was saying my times tables to myself in my head."
"Don't the teachers stop it?"
"Teachers never come out on the field, which is where it happens, they leave it to the prefects and they all had it done when they were fags and did to the new fags when they were second years."
"You'll be a second year when I start."
Daniel grinned. "That's true."
"So just stay off the field then?"
"No. They'll know you're hiding and then it's worse. A kid in my year tried and some got him in the toilets, stripped him completely and shoved his head down the toilet. I heard they pissed on him. He's never been the same since. Mind you, I don't know what he was like before. He's not in my class. Best just go down to the field and get it over with. Make sure you've got clean underpants on too. You'll be OK, I promise. Scout's honour."
Simon knew that when Daniel said that, he really meant it, and felt a little reassured.
1957/9 Off to Hooray Henrys
That summer was Simon's last with his few friends from his neighbourhood. He was the only one to go to Henrys, a couple of other boys went to the Grammar Tech, most went to Vicks. Their lives gradually separated, drawing him even closer to Daniel if that were possible.
But that first day came, and as arranged, they met at the corner as usual, Simon now proudly wearing the coveted green blazer and long grey trousers like Daniel but at just eleven years old, anxious about what lay ahead. On the bus there were some other new Henrys kids and a lot of scared looking young kids in new Victoria Road uniforms.
"Remember what I said, you have to let them get you in the end, don't cry, and say your tables in your head," smiled Daniel. "Don't want any unexpected standing to attention."
Simon had to smile despite his nerves. He watched as the junior kids got off, one or two saying hello to Simon and Daniel, and the bus continued its journey.
Off the bus, they walked towards the gates of King Henry VII Grammar School for Boys. Just inside the gates, there was a large group of green blazers, all looking very new, fags gathered together like fish in a shoal, seeking protection from sharks.
"When will it happen?"
"Maybe now, but most probably morning break or dinner time. Look, I have to go. I can't stay with you, it's not done. See that group of trees over there?" Daniel pointed across the school field.
"Yes," said Simon.
"At morning break, get down there as quickly as you can and stay there."
"Why?"
"You'll see," said Daniel, and left, pushing Simon toward the shoal.
Simon went over to the sea of strange faces, most looking as scared as he felt.
"Hey, Simon!" came a familiar cheery voice. Peter. Never was Simon so glad to see Peter Holman.
"Hiya Peter."
Peter came close. "Is it true they pull your pants down?"
Simon nodded. "Whatever you do don't cry, and don't get a hard on."
Peter looked surprised at this, but nodded. "OK. I'll remember. You're a pal, Simon."
At the top of the drive, another group of boys was standing, watching the shoal. Simon knew that they were the predators. He thought for a moment of leaving the shoal and inviting the ordeal, getting it over with, but he didn't want to be the first and he remembered what Daniel had said about the trees at morning break. With a start he saw Daniel, in among the predators, laughing and joking, watching the shoal like the rest.
But a teacher came and led all the fags into the school hall, a large impressive place, with high beams, dark panelling, old paintings in heavy gilt frames. They were divided in
to their first year classes. Simon and Peter were in the same class, and they managed to sit together.
"Like the juniors," said Peter, happily. Books were given out, a timetable to be copied down. Their form tutor, Mr Andrews, seemed nice, but of course he would not be teaching them all the time. His subject was French.
Then it was break. Daniel had warned him never to call it playtime like at the juniors.
"Come with me, Peter," said Simon, urgently. He led the way quickly down the field to the trees. He saw some fags being taken unawares and dropped to the grass by groups of second years. Peter watched and gulped. "So it's true then," he said.
They stood by the trees, Simon wondering about the meaning behind Daniel's instruction. Was this a sanctuary? They watched as chases developed across the field, all with the inevitable result. At the top of a grassy bank, two much older boys were watching and laughing, with cups of tea in their hands, their green blazers edged in gold. Sixth form prefects.
"There's two more!" came the shout. A group of perhaps twenty predators was fast coming towards them.
"Remember what I said," urged Simon to Peter. "Run!" They ran, splitting up to divide the approaching sharks. Simon ran as fast as he could, outrunning the pack.
He heard them shouting behind him. "You get that one, we'll get this one." Daniel's voice! Now understanding Daniel’s intention, he slowed and swerved back towards the trees, a move deliberately designed to look like he was still avoiding but in fact to allow capture by Daniel's group. Then they were all around him. He couldn't see Peter. He was pushed to the ground, his arms and legs pinned.
"I know this one, he was at my juniors. My turn." Daniel getting in quickly, speaking with authority.
"Go on then, Gray, debag 'im."
Daniel knelt down beside Simon in the circle of boys and quickly undid Simon's long school trousers, pulling them down to his knees, and then his pants.
"His shirt, Gray," shouted one of the boys. Daniel lifted up Simon's shirt front to complete the exposure. Simon was trying to say his twelve times table, but all he could think of was Daniel and all these boys. Oh no, please no! But then one said, "He's OK, he'll do," and the predators were leaving for their next victim.
Daniel dropped Simon's shirt down again. "That was OK," he said.
"Thanks, Daniel," said Simon. "I'm glad it was you."
"That was the plan," said Daniel, with a grin. "Nobody else was gonna do that to you. If it had to be done, it was going to be me. Give me your hand." Daniel was scrawling 'DG 2A' on the back of Simon's hand. "Shows you've been done and who by. You won't get done again. Get dressed quick, you’ve got a hard on now. That's why I did it as quick as I could, I know you. Gotta go, see you tonight." And he was gone.
Simon recovered himself and pulled up his pants and trousers. He saw Peter coming towards him, shirt hanging out, obviously upset.
"Don't cry, Peter, for Christ's sake, don't cry."
"I'll be OK," said Peter, but he was close to tears.
"They got you?" asked Simon. "But you didn't cry then, did you?"
"No," said Peter, "but remember what you said about a, you know, a hard on? I felt it was going to happen to me. I was scared."
"Did they say anything?"
"They said 'He's passed muster'. What does that mean?"
"It means you're OK. You passed the test, Peter," said Simon relieved. He saw 'TH 2B' on Peter's hand.
"Oh good," said Peter. "Did you get done?"
"Yes, Daniel Gray did me." He showed Peter his hand with Daniel's mark on it.
"Daniel Gray? Yes, he's here, isn't he. I'm surprised, I thought he used to be your friend."
"He still is," said Simon. "That’s why he did it to me instead of letting anybody else."
"I get it," said Peter, understanding dawning. "I'm glad I didn't actually get that hard on."
"Me too," said Simon, omitting that it was touch and go because it had been Daniel, his protective predator on that day, that had almost given rise to it and that he had succumbed when Daniel was talking to him afterwards.
Simon gradually settled in at Henrys, absorbing the ethos of the place, its traditions and rituals, aping the great British public schools. A lot of famous people were 'old boys' and the school's foundation dated back to Henry VII – it was made clear a lot was expected. But Daniel was there and although there was less opportunity for them to be together at school – friendships outside one's own year group were discouraged – Simon felt better knowing that contact could be made if needed, usually in the school's own tuck shop at dinner break.
1957/9 Simon catches up
Much changed for Simon in that September. Fitting in at Hooray Henrys as best he could, coping with the demands of a new range of subjects to study, finding maths hard once again, doing well in English, French and History, less certain with Latin, physics, chemistry (especially) and biology.
On the sporting front, Simon quickly found that he hated rugby football. This was the winter game at Henrys, and Simon knew that Daniel liked it, sporty as always. Daddy also was a great follower of rugby, rugger as he called it. Daddy had taken him to one or two games where the city team, one of the top ones in the country, had usually won. Daddy had played rugger as fly half at school and for his county down south, and was sure Simon would be a great rugger player. But Simon found there was a great difference between watching from the stands and being down in the mud, which is where he inevitably finished up. It always seemed to rain on games day. Lots of the boys had played rugger already at their prep schools, and Simon was taken unaware by the violence of the game. Already his speed was recognised, and they tried him on the wing, but he lacked the ball handing ability required.
After a particularly brutal game, he came home dirty, bruised and battered and then recounted what had happened and his feelings about rugger at tea, unhappily when Daddy was there. The disappointment in Daddy's face was obvious. Simon knew he had failed again in his father's eyes, but by now was getting used to it. Daddy just got up and left the table. Simon found he didn't care.
But Mr Atherstone, the school athletics coach, had noticed this speedy eleven year old with his quick acceleration, and pulled him to one side.
"What's your name, son?"
"Scott, sir."
"Not very keen on rugby football, are you?"
"It's OK, sir," said Simon, warily.
"Don't try to kid me, Scott. You detest it, that's obvious."
Simon nodded, fearing he was in trouble for not liking rugger, for being no good at rugger.
"I thought as much," said Mr Atherstone. "How would you like to run instead?"
"Run, sir?"
"Yes, on the track. You look to have makings of a sprinter. Depends on your stamina."
"Did you say 'instead', sir?"
Mr Atherstone smiled. "Yes, Scott, I did. I assume that means you would like to try? I understand, even if perhaps some other people don't, that rugby is not every boy's cup of tea."
"Yes, please, sir," said Simon with enthusiasm, smiling now.
"It will be hard work, make no mistake," said Mr Atherstone. "A lot of training and fitness work, as well as technique. I'll talk to Mr Russell. Next games lesson, report to me in the gym. Standard PE kit."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir."
So began a new interest for Simon. He had always been a fast runner, even Daniel had said that more than once, so perhaps this was something he could be good at. Maybe Daddy would approve after all. And he was spared the ignominy of the ritual of team picking where he was left last, publicly unwanted, pushed into the team with last pick unwillingly and unwelcome. Unlike some, at least he had a way out, his speed.
It was hard work, a lot of gym training and hours running round the track, but at least from there he could see his classmates getting muddy and bashed about on the rugby pitch. He also liked the other boys Mr Atherstone had recruited too. And then Peter Holman came along as well.
"I didn't really like rugger," sa
id Peter. This was an understatement. Peter had always been a bit smaller than Simon, and he had got crushed a few times playing rugger, but that understatement was typical of Peter's positive way of saying things. "Mr Atherstone thinks I might be able to do distance running."
So Simon had a companion in his training and running. Gradually his body grew fitter and stronger and filled out, a fact not lost on Daniel in the coming months.
Also that September, Daniel took Simon to scouts. Not quite on the day he was eleven therefore, but not long afterwards.
"It'll be OK," said Daniel. "I've talked to Evans and he says he's spoken to Skip. I think you'll be in my patrol". This use of the possessive was partly justified for Daniel's shirt now sported a single white bar. He was Second in the Harriers patrol. Daniel had explained his promotion over other scouts by pointing out that he was the best one for the job. "The other kids are OK, but not the brightest." Simon wondered how he would fit into this hierarchy that Daniel described. But his prediction came true.
"Welcome to Harriers Patrol, Simon," said Evans. "Daniel has told me all about you."
Simon had a moment of worry at that, but realised that Daniel would not have divulged their secret. Simon developed a keen interest in Scouts, he loved the ethos, the competitive yet friendly and supportive company of the other boys. He soon made his mark as a promising scout, and worked hard for his tenderfoot. Mum was always finding bits of rope tied to the backs of the dining chairs as knots were practised. He was to achieve his tenderfoot in only a few sessions, took the oath of the Scout Promise and could then sew the scout badge to the centre of his shirt pocket, and was a proper scout.
In term time it was harder for them to be alone together as Daniel's mother was at home at weekends, and if she went out and his Dad was at work, Louise might be around. There was the den of course, but if they could they preferred the even greater security and seclusion of the hilltop near the airfield. It took almost an hour of cycling to get there, but the aircraft provided a valid reason to go, and as the summer's fine weather by and large extended into September, they would go as they had earlier that summer.
The Secret Catamite Bk 1, The Book of Daniel Page 16