Arthur hadn’t noticed Jack when he first went to the grammar school but eventually he became aware of the slightly strange boy who seemed so out of place. On the fringe of the class, a bit like Arthur but clearly from an entirely different background, Jack seemed to have no friends. From exchanging the odd word at break times to sitting next to each other at lunch, their acquaintance grew into a reluctant friendship. Jack began to take an interest in his school work as the year progressed and he rapidly improved, his marks beginning to rival Arthur’s. They found themselves thrown together as they began to share the privileged space at the top of the class.
Standing at the gate to Jack’s house, Arthur was deeply shocked as he came to terms with Jack’s different lifestyle. Jack’s house was on the far side of the town, the side that Arthur’s parents described as posh, and was not in an area that Arthur had visited before. The house looked huge and was set within its own grounds, at least that’s what Arthur thought as he looked over the gate. The house was standing in a large front garden and was separated from the neighbouring houses by open spaces. There were trees and flowers in neat borders lining the drive which swept past the front door and came to a halt in front of a detached garage.
The house was asymmetrical with the entrance set off centre. Roses, neatly trained, grew over the long front of the house which was built in the mock-Tudor style that had become popular after the war.
Jack led Arthur round the side of the house. They went in through the back door, entering a lobby which opened into the kitchen. Red formica work surfaces and shiny chrome almost dazzled Arthur. He looked around. It could not have contrasted more strongly with the kitchen at his home. The walls were clean and the room was filled with light. Modern appliances took the place of the dirty coal range in his home and there was a clean, stainless steel sink, gleaming beneath the window looking out from the back of the house.
‘Let’s go up to my room,’ Jack suggested.
Arthur nodded; he didn’t trust himself to speak.
They left the kitchen, passed through a large dining room where the table was so polished that it looked more like a mirror than a place where you sat to eat a meal, and came to the entrance hall. Arthur could see a large room with chintz sofas through the open door at the far side of the hall.
‘We’d better say hello to Mum,’ Jack said.
Arthur followed him into the room where Jack’s mother was sitting reading a magazine. She looked up.
‘Is this one of your friends from school?’ she asked Jack, scrutinising Arthur.
He felt embarrassed by her penetrating stare and tried to hide behind Jack, acutely aware that he didn’t belong in these luxurious surroundings.
‘This is Arthur and he’s come to help me with my homework,’ Jack said ingenuously. ‘We’re going up to my room.’
‘Just call out if you want anything,’ Jack’s mother said. ‘I’ll make you a drink in a while when you’ve had time to settle down.’
Arthur hadn’t spoken a word since he’d arrived at Jack’s house. Mutely, he followed Jack who led him back into the hall and up the wide, carpeted stairs. They walked along the landing to a room at its far end.
‘We’ll be safe up here,’ Jack said. ‘She won’t bother us.’
Arthur stood in the doorway of Jack’s room and wondered what Jack meant by safe. Jack's room looked bigger than Arthur’s entire house. There was clutter everywhere; books and games, Jack’s sports kit and dirty washing littered the floor, the bed was unmade and Jack’s desk was a mess of comics and partially made model aircraft. Arthur felt as if he’d died and gone to heaven.
‘Is this all yours?’ he asked.
‘There’s no one else,’ Jack said. ‘I haven’t got any brothers or sisters.’
‘Lucky you,’ Arthur muttered, instantly feeling as if he’d betrayed his family.
‘At least you’ve got someone to talk to,’ Jack said, ‘I’ve got nobody to talk to or play with. You could come and stay for the weekend if you want. Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind. They’d probably be only too pleased not to have to bother with me.’
The idea of living in a house such as this appealed to Arthur but at the same time he was only too aware that he was out of place. He was embarrassed by his shabby clothes and his broad accent. How would he cope with Jack’s parents at meal times? What would they talk about?
When Jack’s mother called up to them they tumbled downstairs, had their drink and biscuits in the kitchen and then went out into the back garden. Used to a small, dirty back yard as he was, Arthur felt as if he’d stepped out into a park. They kicked a ball around, taking turns to shoot at an improvised goal.
Later that evening, back at his own house, Arthur was beginning to realise that he lived in squalor. The more he saw of life outside his home and his street, the more he realised that if he wanted a better life he would have to work for it. Envying other people did nothing to improve his lot. He resolved to take up the offer of spending a weekend at Jack’s house and decided to accept the next time Jack asked him. But what if Jack didn’t ask him?
The awaited invitation came a week later and Arthur packed his best clothes and set off for Jack’s house late one Friday afternoon. He found Jack waiting for him, lounging over the front gate.
They made their way up to Jack’s room and Arthur dumped his bag on Jack’s bed. ‘Mum said you could have one of the spare rooms but I said it’d be more fun if you slept in here with me,’ Jack said. ‘Mum’s put a camp bed in for you but I’ll sleep in it, you can have my bed.’
Jack had changed into shorts and a T-shirt but Arthur was still wearing his school uniform, the only tidy clothes he possessed, yet again he felt out of place.
‘Why don’t you change into something so we can go outside?’ Jack asked.
‘I haven’t got anything, really,’ Arthur said. ‘Mum thought I should wear tidy clothes.’
‘You can borrow something,’ Jack said pulling a drawer open in his chest of drawers. ‘Take your pick!’
The drawer was full of casual clothes.
‘How can you wear so much?’ Arthur asked, instantly wishing that he hadn’t.
‘I don’t. Mum keeps buying me things so I just bung ‘em in here.’
Arthur could see that some of the clothes still had their shop tickets attached.
‘Help yourself. You can take some home if you want.’
Jack was more perceptive than Arthur knew. He saw that Arthur was poor, that his clothes were shabby and second hand. He would do anything to win Arthur’s friendship and this seemed to be a golden opportunity and his Mum would never know.
The late afternoon passed quickly enough as they explored Jack’s garden. They ate a meal on their own in the kitchen.
‘Dad’s always late on Fridays,’ Jack said. ‘They’ll probably go out for a meal anyway.’
Going out for a meal was something that Arthur’s father never did. He was always home on time; the shift in the mine finished and then his father came home. His meal would be on the table and the family would eat together, sharing the events of the day. As soon as the meal was finished Arthur’s father went to the miners’ club. His routine never changed.
‘So, they leave you on your own?’ Arthur said.
‘I don’t mind. sometimes I have someone round, sometimes I just read or watch the television. But we can have fun tonight if they go out. Nobody to tell us off!’
Arthur and Jack spent the first part of the evening in Jack’s room and Arthur gradually began to relax. Dressed like Jack, with many of the same interests and with their shared school life, he no longer felt so out of place. When Jack’s father came home they went downstairs and Jack introduced Arthur to his father.
‘It’s good for the boy to have friends round,’ Jack’s father said as if he was addressing a meeting, not talking to them. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Arthur was tempted to call him ‘Sir’ because he looked and sounded more like a teacher than a father but in
stead he just nodded.
‘It’s nice of you to invite me,’ he said, carefully moderating his accent.
Jack’s father turned away and started talking to Jack’s mother. Arthur felt as if he had been dismissed. The two boys left and went outside, down to where Jack was making a den at the end of the garden behind a shed. He’d had the idea of digging out the soil beneath the end of the shed and had nearly made a big enough burrow to hide in.
‘I thought that I could cover it with old branches and then no one would know where I was,’ he told Arthur.
‘We used to make them up on the hills above the mine,’ Arthur said. ‘Nothing like as posh as this, though.’
An hour or so later they heard Jack’s mother calling to them. She took one look at them and ordered them up to the bathroom to take a shower.
‘Leave your dirty clothes here,’ she said. ‘I don’t want that mess upstairs. I’ll put them straight into the washing machine. I dread to think what your mother will think of me, Arthur, letting you get your clothes dirty like that.’
Arthur was about to say that they were Jack’s clothes but, catching the look on Jack’s face, he kept quiet. He was used to the showers at school where the water was usually cold but here, in the large bathroom, the shower was enormous and there was hot water to spare.
Arthur was used to bathing in front of the kitchen fire where there was no privacy. More often than not he would have to scrub his father’s back and, in their turn, the boys bathed in their father’s water. Arthur was used to communal bathing although, until he went to school, he’d never seen a shower and the way the boys covered themselves with towels amused him.
Jack and Arthur spent as long as they dared in the shower and Arthur washed Jack’s back. It was what he was used to doing and he had no idea of the effect this had on Jack. Summoned by a stentorian bellow from Jack’s mother, they put on their pyjamas and went down to the kitchen where hot drinks were waiting for them.
They didn’t settle down to sleep for quite a while and they talked for a long time. Arthur felt less inhibited in the darkness and he described what it was like at his house. Jack made few comments and eventually fell silent. Arthur turned over, enjoying the luxury of a bed all to himself.
In the small dark hours of the night Arthur suddenly woke, disturbed by Jack who was talking in his sleep.
‘It wasn’t me, mister,’ Jack said, ‘I didn’t do it. I just found him.’
Jack began to shake and cry. Arthur switched on the bedside light, another luxury, and saw that Jack’s eyes were still tightly closed.
‘I won’t tell anyone. Promise.’
Tears were coursing down Jack’s face and yet he was still asleep. Arthur didn’t know what to do. Should he try to wake Jack up? He’d heard that you shouldn’t wake up people who were sleepwalking. But Jack wasn’t sleepwalking, he was just dreaming. He leaned over and prodded Jack.
‘It’ll be our secret,’ Jack said, still asleep.
And then his eyes were wide open and he was looking at Arthur. He felt his face and wiped the tears across his cheek.
‘I must have been dreaming,’ he said.
‘It sounded more like a nightmare,’ Arthur said.
‘What did I say?’ Jack asked.
Arthur was aware of the edge in Jack’s voice; it felt as if he was being accused of something.
‘I didn’t hear what you were saying,’ he said cautiously. ‘You were just mumbling. And shaking.’
‘I was cold,’ Jack said artlessly.
Their friendship grew. Going to a different school from most of the kids in his street meant that Arthur had little in common with his old friends who began to exclude him from their games. Being the odd one out at school and now the odd one out at home, Arthur began to spend more time at Jack’s house.
He understood that Jack’s lifestyle was different from his own. They always slept in Jack’s bedroom despite the fact that there were bedrooms to spare.
‘It’s more fun,’ Jack told his mother when she mentioned it. ‘I don’t have any brothers.’
‘Perhaps Arthur would prefer his own room.’
‘No. He says he shares his room with his brothers so it’s just like being at home. He likes it that way.’
The bathroom fascinated Arthur and they always had a long shower before their supper. After their shower they usually ate in the kitchen. Jack’s mother would set two places with table mats, with the shiny stainless steel cutlery and with polished drinking glasses, one at either end of the red formica table. She would serve them as if they were in a restaurant, waiting on them and asking Arthur if the food was to his satisfaction. It always was. Arthur discovered hot dogs, burgers, salads — all kinds of food that he’d read about but had never seen or tasted.
The summer holiday was a special treat because they could spend whole days together, often camping in the back garden when the weather was hot. Arthur took Jack up into the hills and showed him some of the places where he used to play although he was careful to avoid the other kids from his street.
Chapter 5
Arthur worked hard at school. Over the next four years he learnt to keep his mouth shut and to do what he was told. He was never bullied again; his physique, coupled with his willingness to use his fists, saw to that; and as time went by he earned the grudging respect of his peers, beating them not only with his brawn but also with his brain.
His remained friends with Jack and spent a lot of time at his house although he never invited Jack back to his own home. It was mutually understood that this was not an option although it put Arthur at a disadvantage and he felt obliged to do whatever Jack wanted since he was always the guest in Jack’s home.
The boy from the mines, as his teachers called him, was proving that he had a brain. He was a success story. They had rescued him from his unpromising beginnings and were slowly turning him into a worthwhile citizen. Wasn’t this what good education was all about? Wasn’t he a triumph of the system? ‘O’ level examinations were looming on the horizon and his teachers were confident that he would pass them with flying colours, predicting that he would obtain good grades.
They knew nothing of his home life, of the struggles that Arthur had to find a space in which to work, of the desperate lack of money, of the scarcity of food. And yet Arthur was not unhappy. He had two lives, one at home where he naturally fitted into the rough and tumble, and one with Jack where he was had space to breathe. As they grew older, Arthur and Jack remained friends but the first flush of boyish fun was over and they turned their attention to more serious pursuits, often doing their homework and revision together.
Arthur’s older brothers still lived at home and now two of them used the front room downstairs as their bedroom. One of his sisters had married and the other lived away and so Arthur shared the small upstairs bedroom with his brother.
At home he did his homework on his bed with a board across his knees and his books were stored in a cardboard box under the bed. How different from working at Jack’s desk!
He wasn’t ashamed of his home, accepting that it was a different world from that which he inhabited at school or at Jack’s house. He found his father’s increasingly militant left-wing views hard to reconcile with what he learnt at school. He had experienced enough to know that the solution to life was not the easy route his father proclaimed. And yet, at the same time, he rejected the smug assurance of many of his teachers at school. There had to be another way that gave ordinary people the chance of a decent and rewarding life. At home the word ‘Conservative’ was seldom used unless followed by ‘bastards’ and at school the word ‘Labour’ was tantamount to swearing.
The lack of money in his pocket became more pressing so Arthur took on a Saturday job. It wasn’t so much that he needed money to buy things; he was well used to going without. Rather, it was that he wanted to have money to buy small things when he was out with his friends from school. Even something as simple as a drink or a packet of crisps had been be
yond his means until he had his job.
With the few shillings that he earned on a Saturday he became able to pay his way. It didn’t buy him friends but it brought him self-respect and that mattered to him more than anything else. At last he was able to stop cadging from his friends and he was even able to afford to go to the pictures.
Easter passed and the examination season started. Seated in long rows in the school hall, the boys struggled with the questions in front of them. Latin and French, English and maths, geography, history, physics, chemistry, biology — one after another they came and Arthur felt that his head would burst.
And then, almost before they had started, the examinations were over. The last days of the term were filled with sports; cricket and tennis, athletics and swimming took over; by the end of July Arthur was not only mentally tired, he was also physically exhausted.
There was one more battle to fight. What would he do when his results came out? He wanted to stay at school, his teachers and his father wanted him to stay at school but his mother thought that it would be better if he left and found a job.
‘He’ll earn enough to make a real difference,’ she said, ‘and he could get a good job; in a shop or an office.’
Arthur’s father won the battle and Arthur stayed at school moving into the sixth form and taking A-levels. Standing six feet three and a half inches in his socks, he was the fulfilment of William’s dreams. Arthur went into the sixth form science classes but Jack went into the arts side of the sixth form. They grew apart, only seeing each other in assemblies or in the library. Arthur was content; their friendship had served its purpose and they were both making their own way into the future. It was the natural order of things.
Just as everything seemed to be going well for Arthur, disaster struck. The miners’ strike destroyed his father’s life. Protesting on the picket lines, he was arrested and sent to prison for disrupting the peace and using undue violence resisting arrest. He claimed that he had been stitched up but it wasn’t the time for calm or reason, and no one listened. The family became dependent on the little money that Arthur’s brothers brought in and times became even harder.
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