by Madoc Fox
A deep gestured cough from behind the desk brought Oscar's attention back to the present and he waited whilst the Master lit his pipe. The old man drew on it for a long breath before releasing a thick grey cloud that diffused around the room.
“Five years you have been with us, since returning from the Appleby’s and yet you still insist upon this disruptive attitude.” The Master inquisitively peered at the lone figure before him. “This is your fourth attempt to escape, am I correct?”
“Yes sir” Oscar timidly replied. The Master nodded to himself, flicking through the files before him.
“It says here your parents died when you were two. A bombing raid I see. Sounds like you were lucky to have survived, if you can call it that. Though perhaps so - it sounds like you weren’t here long before you moved out South with the Appleby family. You have been with us a long time overall Oscar, yet the Appleby’s are the first and only family to have taken you in since. Why do you think that is?” The Master had a mild disposition that made the whole affair seem rather academic.
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“No, I expect you don’t,” the old man interrupted. “All I read is that you are distant and uncommunicative, refusing to engage in interviews. The matrons seldom wish to put you forward, it seems so futile.”
“They just want shot of me like the rest of the kids!” Oscar realised only too late that his mouth had run away from him. But incredibly it hadn’t riled the Master. He merely sat back and drew another lug on his pipe.
“I don’t find that surprising. Tell me, if the warden hadn’t caught you, where would you have gone to Oscar? Do you think there is anywhere out there for you? You have no family.”
“I would have joined the army Sir, they’d have me.” Even as he spoke Oscar wasn’t too sure how much he really believed he would have enlisted. He might be young, but he wasn’t naïve to the perils of war.
“I’m sure they would, though if I was you I wouldn’t be so hasty about joining.” The old man paused. “Since this war began long ago I have seen many young men and boys - both friends and acquaintances alike - be shipped off to fight. And over the years this war has ravaged I have yet to see but one arrive home alive.” Sorrow swept across the Master’s brow as he spoke and a breeze of self reflection passed through those old bones.
“Your situation isn’t going to improve Oscar unless you change your attitude. Life here isn’t ideal.” Far from it! Oscar thought, as the Master continued. “But it is the only life you have. A boy of fourteen could no more survive out there than he could in the army. So my advice is to buck up your ideas and make fit.” The Master gave one more cursory glance at Oscar, and then with a self satisfied nod he rang for the Head Matron to enter.
The large, oak panelled door swung inwards, bringing with it a chilling draft. A tall wiry woman strode in, cane under arm and without so much as a glance in Oscar’s direction. The wrinkles across her face were indicative of someone who seldom smiled.
“Master?” she enquired.
“Ah yes, Matron Clarke. I’ve had words with the boy and so now I leave him in your care. I trust you will punish him firmly but fairly, for these things cannot be ignored.”
Oscar had a grim suspicion it was going to swing more in the favour of firm.
“However, Matron, despite the inherent need for discipline within our institution, I believe it is my conversation with Oscar which will ultimately influence his conduct in the future”.
“Well, quite...” said the matron. Though a little too obvious was the hint of condescension creeping into her tone. “Is that all?”
Despite the veiled implication of doubt over his judgement, it was only the Master’s bushy eyebrows that acknowledged this step over the boundaries.
“Yes, you may leave. Go and get some lunch Oscar and then report back to the Matron. Oh, and if I see you back here again, you might be joining the army sooner than you expect.” With that, the old man returned to his paper, ignoring the figures present in his office.
“Hmm... Right, well, out!” Matron Clarke barked. Oscar turned on his heels and scuttled out into the hall. “Keep on.” She prodded Oscar, conveniently making contact right at the epicentre of his aching shoulder – something he was sure she had done deliberately.
They continued down the hall before coming to a halt just off the main corridor at one of the bay window areas, out of earshot of any passers by. This is it, Oscar thought, steeling himself for the worst. It is officially the start of a gruelling few days or maybe even weeks, of hell.
“Now I don’t know what that senile old man has told you, but now you are entrusted to me and I promise you Oscar, that you will be punished.” The matron’s eyes blazed through her metal framed glasses, savouring the potential fear of her prey. But this situation was not new to Oscar and unlike with the Master, whom had earned a level of his respect, he was not going let the matron get quite what she expected.
“Yes Matron” Oscar said raising his head to show an angelic and anticipatory smile. The sharp pain across his ear was worth it for the aghast look on her face.
***
Walking into the food hall Oscar was met by the usual level of silence, yet today this was supplemented by a wall of stares. A hundred or so children had downed their spoons and were looking curiously at him – some excited, some fearful and others in awe. Given the usual monotonous discipline of the lunch room they could hardly have made their reaction to him more obvious to the matrons if they had been cheering and standing on the wooden benches.
He smiled inside at the subtle suggestions of support but knew in his heart it would never truly amount to anything. It was each child for themselves and the matrons did far too effective a job of quashing any budding sense of unity between their charges. Nonetheless it was a tiny measure of comfort that he briefly enjoyed, until the Matrons walked up and down aisles cuffing children across the head and physically turning them back to their food.
Under the glare of three stern middle aged women Oscar quickly found an empty seat at one of the closest tables and slowly began eating a bowl of fish stew slammed down before him by a kitchen worker. It was lucky he wasn't that hungry Oscar thought to himself, as half the stew spilt out onto the table thanks to the over zealous placing.
The food hall was a disgusting place to eat. Tables and floors were crusted with the remnants of years of matured stew; so much so that the wooden tiling seemed to be taking on a new grain. The air was thick with a confused smell of rotten fish and unwashed children. In some ways it was fortunate to only have fifteen minutes break, thought Oscar, as he almost always felt he was gasping for breath by the time he left. And as for the stew -and it was always stew– well, it was best just to eat fast and be done with it.
“Psst, Oscar, Osc. Hey Oscar. Look up for goodness sake”. Oscar didn’t need to raise his head to know that the hissed greeting would be from George, a boy intent on pestering anyone he thought might listen. Whilst most of the children kept their heads down and mouths shut when the matrons were around, George seemed unable to do so. He hadn’t been at the institution for as long and his natural enthusiasm for social interaction was proving quite resilient. Perhaps this positive demeanour was linked to the level of nourishment available; whilst most of the other children slowly wasted away and became apathetic, George seemed to have maintained a pretty sizeable weight. So much so, that the other children had begun referring to him as ‘Piggy’. Oscar couldn’t help but wonder how he did it. Perhaps he had resorted to licking the tables when everyone departed from the lunch room.
“Yes Piggy?” Oscar said in a weary voice. Piggy was nice enough, but had a knack of pestering at the wrong time. The boy shuffled closer so he was nearly opposite Oscar and reached across to scoop the spilled stew off the table, licking his fingers.
“So how far did you get Osc? I bet they gave you a nasty beating when they got you.”
“I got right away actually, far into town.” Oscar said, a little d
efensive about his failed attempt. “Well, as far as the tearoom anyway.” he relented. “I would’ve headed out the other end of town after that – if the warden hadn’t caught up with me. It was a close thing.”
“A warden? Ouch Osc, I bet he done you good.” Piggy said continuing to mop up the spilled stew and barely looking away from the extra food.
“Yeah, well. Not without me giving him what for first. I kicked him square in the jaw.” Oscar fell silent as the matrons patrolled the aisles.
“What! No you didn't, that’s pig swill Osc. Not even you could be that stupid” Piggy exclaimed a little too loudly and received a clip round the ear from the nearest matron. He rubbed his ear distractedly before returning to the spilled food.
“Yeah right Piggy. Keep on and I’ll boot you just the same. It’s none of your business anyway” Oscar hissed before turning back to his stew, ignoring the envious gaze radiating from across the table. Taking no notice of Oscar's rebuttal, Piggy pestered on.
“So you think you might try again?”
“Maybe,” Oscar said, trying not to give away the extent to which this failed attempt had crushed his spirit. “I don’t know yet. I won't get the chance for a good few weeks, that’s for sure. It seems like Clarke has lots of fun planned for me.” Oscar stared darkly at his uneaten bread roll. After a few moments he decided he’d had enough and stood up to leave. With casual disregard he tossed the roll at Piggy, who seized upon it greedily.
“Cheers Osc, sorry for calling you stupid an' all. I don't envy what’s in store for you at the moment.”
Back in the corridor Oscar passed a host of children heading towards the workroom, all talking in hushed whispers. Oscar however was heading to Matron Clarke's office. He thought wistfully of the work he would be missing – it was never something he had enjoyed but in comparison to what the matron would undoubtedly have in store, he knew where his preference would lie. Furthermore, if they were continuing on from the previous week then the work class would only consist of several hours spent repairing old army kit – not much fun, but it would at least have given him an opportunity to rest his unceasingly sore shoulder.
Piggy caught up with him just before the lobby, where their paths would diverge “I expect Edmund will want to see you later, get you to fill him in on all the details.” Piggy remarked through a mouth full of bread.
“He'll just want to know how I did it, and if he thinks I’m going to tell him he can think again.” Oscar replied with a slight grimace.
“Don't go crossing Edmund. He's as bad as the matrons when he wants to be.”
“Thanks but I think I’ll be fine. I've been dealing with Edmund a lot longer than you.” With these parting words Oscar bounded up the stairs, not wanting to incur any unnecessary reprimand from Matron Clarke for being late.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Oscar found his back became the least of his worries as he spent hours on hands and knees cleaning the various surfaces all over the institution. His ceremonious arrival clearly had not gone unnoticed either, as he found most of the whippings he received for idleness focused on a gradually numbing shoulder – presumably the entire body of staff in the institution had been informed of his new injury. After having spent the afternoon chiselling dried stew from the lunch hall tables, Oscar came to the realisation that the task was insurmountable in a single day. Whilst daunting in the scope of the chore, this realisation also provided some measure of relief. Even though the punishment would extend for possibly a couple of weeks, at least there were not going to be any nasty surprises.
The day was coming to a close and Oscar looked around for some form of indication that he might finish. His supervisor was a janitor named Simms. A scrawny man, he had spent the afternoon reclining on a chair with his feet propped up on a spare metal bucket. It seemed Oscar was lucky; whilst the man had clearly enjoyed his new sense of power and abundance of spare time, he was not spiteful and finally acknowledged the day’s hard work. With a sudden nod and a toothy grin he gave Oscar the dismissal he was waiting for.
Yet Oscar’s relief was short lived. Unbeknownst to him, Matron Clarke stood waiting outside the entrance to the lunch hall with much in store for the rest of the evening. Oscar was oblivious to her presence as he passed out of the hall.
“And where do you think you’re going?” she exclaimed, catching Oscar off guard. Heart sinking, he turned around.
“To wash up ready for supper, Matron. I’ve been dismissed for the day.” he replied, though something had already told him that supper was off for tonight.
The matron was clearly enjoying herself. Wagging a finger she put him straight. “I think not. To my office, now!”
The walk back to the matron’s office was conducted in silence with Oscar following two paces behind. He should have known he wouldn’t have got away with simply a hard day’s labour. Thinking longingly of the bread roll he had foolishly given away, Oscar entered the room. Scanning around he soon sussed his evening’s entertainment; a desk positioned in front of the wall with a thick old textbook and piece of parchment.
“Sit there and copy from the book until I tell you to finish.” With a sign of resignation, Oscar obliged. It was going to be a very long evening.
***
The boy’s dormitory consisted of rows of double level bunks that spanned the length of a large hall. The Institute was not suitably funded to afford electrolamps, so instead situated at regular intervals between bunks were small drawers each with a solitary oil lamp on top. Passing into the dorm Oscar was greeted again by a sea of mildly curious faces and a lull in conversation. The other children were quietly chatting or playing games using makeshift boards that consisted of bottle tops and other conveniently shaped scraps of rubbish. As the low murmur began to build back to a normal level Oscar strode through the dorm to the end where his bed was situated.
As Oscar stretched out on the bunk in exhaustion, Piggy’s head appeared by his feet, peeking up over the frame from the bunk below.
“Hey Osc, didn’t see you around at supper. Take it Clarke is making you pay?”
Oscar rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, something like that - just wish I had eaten more beforehand. I tell you, if I knew I would be missing supper, I would’ve taken a leaf out of your book and licked the lunch table clean.”
Piggy reddened slightly but didn’t look as though he really minded the ribbing. “Oh, so I suppose you won’t want this then?” he said, chucking a half eaten bread roll in Oscar’s direction.
Oscar caught it and stared at the roll, uncertain at what to say to this uncharacteristic act.
“Thanks Piggy, are you sure?
“Just remember where your spare lunch belongs if you're not hungry.” Piggy said with a wink. Oscar smiled in return and went about devouring the humble offering. “So how long do you reckon this is gonna' go on for?” The chubby head at the end of the bunk enquired. Oscar shrugged an ‘I don’t know’ with his cheeks bulging. The bread was dry and sucked the moisture from his mouth so that it was like chewing a handful of sawdust. All the same, it would keep his stomach quiet for the night.
“You know, the new kids think you’re pretty tough the way you upped and left. Edmund won’t be a fan of that.” Piggy continued.
As though on cue, Oscar saw a large figure haul himself out of his bunk. Tossing a stick he had been carving to one side, the boy made his way over to Oscar’s bed, his whittling knife still in hand. In an inversion of the way that Piggy was abnormally large about the waist, this new figure, Edmund, was excessively tall - and it wasn’t just the year’s extra growth he had on Oscar. His square face, with two tiny eyes set closely at the centre, gave the impression of an adolescent ogre.
Oscar believed the boy's imposing figure was the reason why he seemed to escape the matrons’ wrath – they knew only too well that any reaction from him could become out of hand very easily. As such, Edmund was given a relatively free rein over the rest of the children with clear signs of disob
edience going unpunished.
“So Osscar.” Edmund hissed, the sibilants drawn out provocatively through his jutting jaw. As he spoke the boy rested an elbow on the rail of Oscar’s bunk so that the scene almost had the appearance of a casual conversation between friends. Yet Oscar felt far from relaxed, eyeing Edmund warily in the full knowledge that he was anything but a friend. He could not help but be conscious of Edmund’s hand, which never seemed to stray very far from the handle of the whittling knife.
“Edmund.” Oscar nodded an acknowledgement and shifted as casually as possible into an upright and more defensible position. Piggy’s face remained frozen, peering over the end of the bunk as his eyes darted between the two figures facing up to each other nearby.
“Did you miss me Osscar?” Edmund said, again placing an altered emphasis on the name. His eyes burnt through the side of Oscar’s face as the boy did not turn to address him.
“Hmph. Can’t say I’ve given it much thought.” Oscar wasn’t going to give Edmund the satisfaction of deferring to him but would instead walk closely along the cliff edge that any small act of defiance represented.
“Well, I must say I’m quite hurt, Oscar! I would have enjoyed a day’s outing as well, you know.” Oscar didn’t really want to look into those thuggish features, let alone enrage them, but the opportunity to tease him just a little seemed too tempting to resist.
“Well next time I go, Ed-munnnd,” Oscar pushed his luck mimicking Edmund’s drawn out pronunciation. “Maybe I'll send you an invite.” He looked at the huge boy keeping his expression deadpan and wondered if the taunt would be registered. Edmund showed no hint that the teasing had hit home but moved his face a little closer.