by Wade, Calvin
I never knew when to give up on something. I told you Amy was tactful and I was not.
“Someone has written about me on this desk, miss. I was just trying to get it off.”
“Save your breath, Watkinson! Go and explain it to Miss Turnbury .NOW!”
Shit! Miss Turnbury (or “CC” as we called her) was Deputy Head and also Head of Girls. She was about one hundred and six years old. The school was founded centuries ago and she was probably teaching back then. She hadn’t updated her teaching methods either. They were still PRE-Victorian. Anyway, off to her office I went. I knocked on her door, praying she’d gone roaming somewhere, seeking out misbehaviour like Supergran gone wrong. No such luck. She was in.
“Enter!”
I entered. She was sat there behind an old oak desk, writing something with a fountain pen. No doubt it was some sort of lecture, as Miss Turnbury was forever lecturing. She gave me a cold stare.
“I guess, Miss Watkinson, that you are not here on a social visit?”
“No, miss.”
I would have loved to say,
“Well, actually, I am as it happens. Miss Caldicott’s lesson was boring me shitless so I thought I’d come and rescue you from 1834. I’m going to a party tonight to lose my virginity, fancy coming with me and losing yours?”
Obviously, that’s what I would have loved to say with hindsight anyway. I wasn’t exactly planning to lose my virginity that night. If I had said something similar, Miss Turnbury probably would have re-introduced hanging to Ormskirk Grammar or even beheading.
Still, as much as I would have liked to, I didn’t say any of the above other than,
“No, miss”.
“So, why are you here then, Miss Watkinson?”
She said this with the superiority complex that she had evidently spent centuries perfecting.
“Miss Caldicott sent me, miss”.
“Why though? Why did she send you?”
“I was carving something off the desk, miss”.
“Carving something off the desk or carving something on?”
“Off ”.
“You don’t strike me as a Good Samaritan, Miss Watkinson”.
I tell you, I would have enjoyed striking her on her grey haired top lip. I didn’t though!
“No, miss. Someone had written something on the desk about me, miss. I was just taking it off. It’s not fair that…”
I thought I was really beginning to sound like the innocent victim, sometimes I was so good at it, I managed to persuade myself I was hard done by! Miss Turnbury wasn’t falling for it though!
“STOP!”
They were all the same, teachers, they didn’t like elongated excuses.
“Miss Watkinson, I don’t care whether you were carving something ON the desk or carving something OFF the desk. The fact is, you were carving. Miss Caldicott was taking a lesson and you had a compass out and you were carving on the desk. It’s vandalism. Pure vandalism. I have absolutely no choice but to punish you. Luckily for you though, young lady, I can swiftly administer this punishment. I have a number of school reports to sign off tonight, so you can join me in the office, after school and complete your lines here. I expect to be here until eight o’clock so you can now expect to be here until eight o’clock too.”
This wasn’t a detention! This was a date! She had no-one to keep her company in her sad and lonely life so I was being punished to fill the void.
“But miss, my Mum will be expecting me home”.
I was hoping that Miss Turnbury was unaware of Vomit Breath’s reputation.
“I shall get the school secretary to ring your Mother and explain your late arrival home.”
You’ll have to ring the pub, I thought. Then it dawned on me -the party!
“But miss, I’m going to a party tonight!”
“Well, you will just have to go to the party after eight o’clock then won’t you Miss Watkinson? Now get back to your class and I shall look forward to seeing you at half past three.”
I left that office in a state of shock. Was it legal for teachers to keep you back at school until eight o’clock at night? That’s not an hour or an hour and a half, that’s bloody ages! I went back to Miss Caldicott’s class in a stunned silence and didn’t catch another word she said as the only thing that went around and around in my head was how I was going to get to Joey Birch’s party. I had made arrangements to meet Amy, at seven, at her house and her older brother, Martin, was going to give us a lift to Halsall, for four quid! How was I going to get there now? Vomit Breath couldn’t give me a lift as she didn’t have a car and even if she had, it would have been useless because she was never sober enough to drive nor kindhearted enough to do me a favour. I don’t even know if she could drive! At break, I spoke to Amy about my dilemma.
“So CC has given you detention until eight o’ bloody clock?”
Amy and I thought “CC” was an entirely appropriate nickname for Miss Turnbury, it had travelled down from one set of schoolchildren to the next. It was short for something very rude! Something to do with her virginal status! The first word was cobweb and the second word rhymed with blunt!
“Yeh, can you believe it? I’m screwed now. I’ll never get to Joey’s party. I’d get a taxi but I’ve got no money, Vomit Breath borrows, or should I say steals, all my money for fags and booze.”
“Of course you can still go,” Amy responded in her calming tones, sounding scarily like the fairy in Cinderella.
“No, I can’t. If I get out of detention at eight, I’ve got to go home, get changed and then get to Halsall. I don’t even know if buses go to Halsall, there are only about six people, three cats, a dog and several hundred sheep that live there.”
“We’ll wait for you.”
“Amy, you can’t do that! It starts at half seven! “
“Get to mine straight from detention. Let’s go and find your Kelly now, I’ll go to yours straight from school and get some clothes for you to wear from Kelly and take them to mine. You leg it to mine after detention, quick change, slap on a bit of make-up and lippy, have a few glasses of Thunderbirds with me and away we go!”
“What about Martin?”
“He doesn’t wear make-up and I don’t think he likes Thunderbirds either!”
“You know what I mean! He thought he was taking us at seven not half past eight. Is he not going anywhere?”
“Martin? Are you talking about my brother, Martin? He’s a geek! He just spends his evenings playing some game called “Elite” on his computer. He’ll take us any time we want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“And you don’t mind?”
“Jemma, I’m not going into Joey’s house alone! If I had to wait until midnight for you, I would. You’re my best mate and we’re going to this party together.”
Richie
Matchmakers. Can you still buy Matchmakers these days? I’m not sure if you can. They’ve probably ceased to exist along with Dip Dabs, Mojos, Texan bars, Spangles and the likes. Matchmakers were long, spindly sticks of chocolate that came in at least a couple of flavours. Mint & Orange I think. From the day it happened to the day I die, orange Matchmakers will always remind me of Rachel Cookson.
Town Green was a decent sized primary school with over three hundred children, all told. Every school year had two classes and Rachel
Cookson had never been in mine, so she pretty much escaped my attention, until fourth year juniors. Fourth year juniors at primary school is a great time of life, but also an uncertain one too, its like a sunny day with a big, black cloud in the distance. You are eleven years old and for the very first time, you are the senior pupils, big fish in a small pond, but in the back of your mind, you know you need to make the most of it, as the following year it will all change, everyone moves on to various Secondary schools and you revert back from frog to tadpole, butterfly to caterpillar.
As I had grown older, my temper tantrums had lessened, then pretty much disapp
eared, in school anyway and by third year juniors, I was almost a model pupil. I still had a fixation with Everton Football Club which would often lead to arguments and the occasional fight with the Liverpudlians, but only in the playground. In lessons, I was well behaved and academically bright. Thus, when we started fourth year juniors, Mrs. Hawkins, our fourth year teacher and Deputy Headmistress, chose me as the House Captain for Windsor. A proud moment! At Town Green, the children were separated into four teams, named after Royal residence, so we had Balmoral, Clarence, Sandringham and Windsor. Every week children were given team points for good work or model behaviour. I remember once a lad called Nick Thompson was given a teampoint for honesty because he confessed, in assembly, to only brushing his teeth once a day, every one else put their hands up for two or three times! You could also lose team points for bad behaviour like fighting in the playground over football!
Every Friday afternoon, two of the House Captains would collect the team point books from the teachers in each class, tot up the scores and the following Monday morning, in assembly, the House Captains of the winning team would receive a trophy in assembly. There were also sporting events too, where you represented your House, the boys did football, the girls did netball and the games were played at lunchtime so the rest of the school could watch and cheer their House on. Then, at the end of the school year there was Sports Day. Competition was actively encouraged and thank goodness, non-competitive events had yet to raise their politically correct head.
I was the Male House Captain of Windsor, the female House Captain was Rachel Cookson. We had some intelligent and sporty kids in Windsor, so we pretty much cleaned up, which meant every Monday morning in assembly, Rachel Cookson and I would be holding a trophy proudly aloft at the front of the assembly hall. For several months we rarely spoke, but testosterone was spilling into my body and oestrogen into Rachel’s, so every Monday morning I was confronted by her ample breasts and the infants on the front row, who happened to look in the wrong direction, were confronted by rather a large bulge in my short trousers.
After Christmas, Rachel and I were beginning to say “Hello” to each other in the playground and by Easter, I had confided in several friends that I wanted Rachel Cookson to be my girlfriend. What you were expected to do as “boyfriend and girlfriend”, I didn’t really know, but I knew the more time I spent with her, the more time I would have to look at her amazing chest. With hindsight, maybe I should have just asked to take a photo of her from belly button to neck, as other than saying “hello”, I had no idea what to say to her. I was incredibly confident in a group of boys, but add a girl into the equation, particularly a girl that I was attracted to, I just clammed up and went a distinct shade of pink. Girls, as a whole, didn’t really know much about football, Everton FC and the failings of Gordon Lee, our manager, but other than that, my conversation range was pretty limited. I knew a little bit about netball as Helen and Caroline, my sisters, had both represented the school when they were at Town Green, but I could probably only eek out a three minute conversation about Goal Attacks, Wing Attacks and Goal Shooters. Nevertheless, despite painful shyness and the inability to converse, I did have a determined streak and decided I must ask Rachel out. I had to ask Helen what exactly this meant as I thought you just said,
“Will you go out with me?”
Then the response would be a “Yes” or a “No”, but Helen informed me you had to ask the girl out on a date and if she enjoyed it, you would go out again and then you would be classed as “going out”. She leant me a few magazines of hers and after a Saturday afternoon of flicking thought these romance fests, I got the idea! I was also a shrewd cookie and seeing as though all the dates in Helen’s magazines involved the cinema, the local swimming baths or a disco, I had a mental picture of what Rachel may look like in a swimming costume, so the “Disco Swim” at Park Pool Swimming Baths on a Saturday afternoon (a Saturday afternoon when Everton were away, of course!) seemed like the ideal option.
So, one lunch time, I left the rest of the boys to “British Bulldogs” and wandered over to the skipping area. I watched, mesmerised, as Rachel Cookson skipped up and down, her breasts bouncing like a pair of Space Hoppers, whilst the rest of the girls sang,
“On a Mountain.
Lived a lady,
Who she is,
I do not know,
All she wants is,
Gold and silver,
All she wants is,
A very best friend,
So call in my very best friend,
My very best friend,
My very best friend
My very best friend
So call in,
My very best friend,
Whilst I go out to play”.
Then Rachel shouted, “Anna” and the pair of them skipped together as the song started again. Before they got through it a second time, Rachel’s foot clipped the rope and she was out. My moment had arrived! I approached her nervously. James apparently watched me from afar and told me, that night, that I was all hunched up and he was expecting me to start saying “Esmerelda” and “The Bells, The Bells!”
I was terrified. What would I say to her? News travels fast in primary school and I guessed she knew I wouldn’t be approaching her to talk about team points. My head was still in a bit of a spin after watching her blouse bouncing, but somehow I kept my nerve for a brief conversation.
“Hi Richie!”
“Hi Rachel”
Her “Hi” was more enthusiastic than mine, mine was filled with trepidation.
“You OK?”
“Yes”.
“Did you want me for something?”
“Yes”.
“What was it?”
She was better at talking than me.
“Doesn’t matter”.
I felt a fool. I turned around to walk away but she called after me.
“Whatever it was you wanted. The answer’s yes”.
I should have thought this through. Here was a golden opportunity the likes of which I had never had before. The answer’s “Yes”, Richie Billingham, you just have to make up the question. Not untypically though, I fluffed my lines.
“Pardon?”
“Whatever it was that you were going to ask me, Richie, the answer’s yes”.
“Oh!”
“What was it then?”
“What was what?”
“What was it you were going to ask me?” “Oh.”
“Come on Richie, spit it out, it’ll be my turn to skip again in a minute!”
She said this in a jovial, amused tone that gave me the impression that she was taking this in her stride. I wasn’t. I was just about managing to breathe!
“Will you come to the disco swim with me at Park Pool on Saturday?”
“No”.
“I thought you said, whatever I was asked, the answer was ‘Yes’?”
“Well, it would have been, but I can’t swim”.
I was shocked. Surely those breasts would keep her afloat. I should have taken stock, then gone on to suggest an alternative venue. The cinema, maybe. If I was nineteen or one of those super cool blokes in Helen’s magazine, that’s what I would have done, I wasn’t though. I was an eleven year old idiot.
“Bring armbands”.
Of all the stupid things I could have said, that had to be number one! I knew it was stupid the second it left my mouth. Whoever heard of anyone going on a date with armbands on? There were no pictures in “Jackie” of some gorgeous fourteen year olds splashing around the swimming pool in their rubber rings and armbands.
“I don’t like swimming”.
“We could go in the little pool. You can stand up in there.” Rachel took a moment to reflect.
“OK then. I’ll bring my brother. What time shall I meet you?”
“Two o’clock”.
“OK.”
Off we went in our separate ways. Rachel back to skipping, me back to “British Bulldogs”. I had to be the chaser because
I’d skipped a game. As I chased the boys around the playground, I reflected on what had just happened. Success. Of sorts. I was now going on a date with Rachel Cookson and her six year old brother, Barry. He was in second year infants. He was a bit mad, he once broke his leg when he jumped out his bedroom window in his Superman costume, but he was OK.I guessed Barry probably couldn’t swim either. Knowing Barry though, he’d probably turn up thinking he was “The Man From Atlantis” and I’d probably have to keep fishing him out from the bottom of the pool. Still a date with Rachel and Barry was better than no date at all, so I went home that night feeling pretty darnn pleased with myself, until James burst my bubble with his “Hunchback of Notre Dame” jibes.
I asked Rachel for a date on the Wednesday, by Friday, I was a nervous wreck. All told, I was a nervous child. Before a football match, whether it was playing for Cubs or watching Everton, I would get nervous to the point where I could not sleep. This was similar, but a hundred times worse. It wasn’t just nerves, it was pure, unadulterated fear. What was I going to say to her? What would she be wearing? If she just wore a bikini, what would I do? Could I be trusted not to stare at her bust? Could my ding-a-ling be trusted to stay in my Speedos? If I didn’t stare at her bust, would I be able to look at her at all? I mean if I was looking at her face, her bust wasn’t very far away and I know I’d want to have a sneaky look. If I just looked away from her the whole time, would she think I was a weirdo and would she be able to hear me when I spoke? Was this a date? What would we do after we got out the pool? Her Mum would probably have to pick her up if she had her brother with her. What would I do then?
There were too many questions I just didn’t have answers for. I liked to be in my comfort zone, not that I knew what a comfort zone was when I was eleven and this was taking me very much outside of it. Friday night, I hardly slept. Saturday morning came and I resorted to new tactics. Safety in numbers tactics. Rachel was taking her brother, so I would do the same. After breakfast, I found James in the corner of our room, building aeroplanes out of Lego.
“What are you up to today, Jim?”
Some of the older kids in the road had started calling him Jim and I thought it suited him, as he was such a serious child, so I had started calling him Jim too. Not in front of my mother though, she hated it. If anyone called around and asked,